chapter 2: Echoes of the Arcade

The sun had just begun to peek between the buildings, but the air already carried the faint hum of a day in motion. Terminan woke up with the same feeling as always: a mix of lethargy and that inexplicable emptiness that settles over days that begin without expectations. The blankets felt heavier than usual, as if trying to hold her back from stepping into the world.

The sound of plates and utensils clinking pulled her out of her reverie. On the other side of the thin wall, Kazuo was preparing the shop as he did every morning. A sort of repetitive ritual that seemed to never bore him.

She sat up slowly, letting the cold floor beneath her feet wake her completely. She walked to the small bathroom, glancing briefly at the mirror. Something about her reflection felt strange, though she couldn't pinpoint what. It was as if her face belonged to someone else for a moment, or as if someone were watching her through her own eyes. The feeling vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving her with only a slight shiver.

When she came out, Kazuo was behind the counter, his sleeves rolled up, an expression of focus on his face as he cleaned a cup with firm, calculated movements.

—"You took longer than usual. I thought you'd oversleep," he said without looking up from his task.

—"I had a strange dream," she replied, grabbing the broom from the corner.

—"One of those philosophical dreams where you think life has no meaning?" Kazuo asked with a half-smile.

Terminan let out a brief laugh.

—"Of course."

As they began sweeping, the TV mounted in a corner of the shop turned on automatically. A sharp beep marked the start of the news. The image of a stern-faced anchor appeared on the screen, his voice resonating with an authority seemingly designed to command the attention of everyone in the room.

—"Breaking news: Class Initiators number 3 and number 7, commonly known as the most influential ICs of the past five years, have been suspended from their positions. This measure comes in response to compelling evidence linking them to illegal specter fights, violating the statutes of the High Council."

The anchor's tone contrasted with the quiet atmosphere of the shop. Kazuo, who had been cleaning a glass, froze mid-motion.

—"I knew they'd fall," he muttered under his breath, almost to himself.

Terminan also stopped, leaning on the broom handle as she listened intently.

—"Due to this situation, the Grand Arcade, the most anticipated event of the year, has been officially postponed by two weeks. The organizers assure that the event will proceed with complete transparency, although it's still unclear who will replace IC number 3 as judge."

Kazuo let out a scoff, shaking his head.

—"Transparency?" —he murmured sarcastically—. "Sure, like they care about that."

The screen displayed footage of the two ICs being escorted by judicial officers. Their faces were obscured, but the calmness in their movements spoke volumes.

Terminan felt a pang in her chest as she watched. She didn't know why, but there was something about that scene that unsettled her. It felt like she was witnessing something beyond what the screen was showing, something she couldn't put into words.

—"Do you think they'll cancel the Arcade?" —she asked, breaking the silence.

Kazuo shrugged, returning to his task.

—"I don't think so. There's too much at stake. But I wouldn't be surprised if they used it as an excuse to make another ridiculous rule change."

Before she could respond, the bell above the door rang, announcing the arrival of the first customer of the day.

The customer was an older man, his face marked by deep wrinkles and a visible scar on his left cheek. His expression seemed perpetually weary, but his movements were firm as he took a seat at the counter.

—"It's a shame about the Arcade," he said, not waiting for anyone to start the conversation.

Kazuo nodded as he poured a cup of tea.

—"That's what they say. But I doubt they'll cancel it."

The man sighed, shaking his head.

—"My son's been training for months. He's obsessed with the idea of participating, and now this. They're saying some of the judges might resign if this isn't resolved quickly."

Kazuo slid the cup in front of the man with a calculated motion.

—"There are rumors the Committee might appoint a substitute, but I'm not sure that'll be enough to calm people down."

The man took the cup with both hands, as if seeking comfort in the warmth of the drink. Then, he turned his head toward Terminan, who was still sweeping near the counter.

—"And you, Terminan?" —he asked with a curious tone—. "Aren't you going to compete in the Grand Arcade?"

The question caught her off guard. She stopped sweeping for a moment, looking at the man with a confused expression.

—"I… I'm not sure," —she finally said, feeling the words slip out before she could process them.

The man let out a brief laugh.

—"Well, you should think about it. You never know what could happen in an event like that."

Terminan continued sweeping in silence, but the man's question lingered in her mind like a drop of ink spreading through water. Her? In the Arcade? The idea seemed absurd, but she couldn't deny that something inside her stirred with an uncomfortable curiosity.

Being an IC meant more than prestige. It was a gateway to a world of privileges, one far beyond the reach of most. The ICs in the top 10 weren't just considered the elite in specter mastery; they were also the pillars of the capital's economic and social system.

The benefits were too tempting to ignore:

Residences in the most exclusive sectors: High-ranking ICs lived in restricted zones, far from the noise and chaos of the rest of the city. The mansions were enormous, with gardens that seemed like they belonged in a dream. Some said each house was protected by barriers of specialized specters, something only ICs could maintain.

Exorbitant salaries: Although no one openly discussed figures, it was common knowledge that top-ranking ICs earned amounts that would make any merchant or regular worker pale. Sponsorship contracts and royalties from their event participations guaranteed them a life of luxury.

Exclusive access to rare resources: From advanced technology to unique specters, high-ranking ICs had access to things the rest of the population could only imagine. Some rumors even claimed they could negotiate with the Superior Council for special favors, such as political immunity or military support.

Social and political influence: Many ICs used their position to influence major decisions within the capital, from economic policies to laws governing the use of specters.

Terminan sighed, shaking her head as she swept up the last of the dry leaves that had blown into the shop. She knew these advantages by heart, like anyone else in the city, but she had never considered them for herself. Participating in the Grand Arcade meant stepping into a game where every move was designed to showcase strength and strategy. It wasn't just about winning; it was about proving you deserved to be there.

"Do I really have what it takes?" she thought, feeling a mixture of insecurity and longing.

Kazuo broke her concentration when he placed a plate in front of her.

—"Take this to Lena, will you?" —he said, gesturing toward a table at the back of the shop.

Terminan nodded, carefully picking up the plate. Lena was a regular customer, a woman in her thirties with short hair and sharp eyes that seemed to notice more than they let on. She rarely spoke much, but her comments were direct, almost as if she were evaluating people with every word.

As she approached, Terminan noticed Lena flipping through a small holographic device. The news continued to play in the shop, and it was impossible to ignore how everyone seemed focused on the same topic.

—"Excited about the Arcade being delayed?" —Lena asked without looking up from the screen.

Terminan hesitated before answering.

—"I don't know. I guess it's good they're postponing it. Things seem pretty tense right now."

Lena let out a brief laugh, almost as if she found her answer naïve.

—"Tense isn't the word. It's chaos. People are losing their minds because their kids don't know if they'll get to participate. And with IC number 3 under judicial watch, the ranking system could collapse."

Terminan placed the plate on the table carefully, feeling the weight of Lena's words.

—"Do you think they'll cancel it?" —she asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.

Lena finally looked up, her sharp eyes locking onto Terminan's.

—"If they cancel it, it'll be because they're trying to hide something. But they won't. There's too much at stake for them to let the Arcade fall apart."

Kazuo approached at that moment, interrupting the conversation.

—"It won't be canceled, I already told you,"—he declared confidently, leaning against the back of a nearby chair. "The ICs from the Superior Council won't let that happen. The Arcade isn't just an event; it's the engine that keeps this city running. If the judges need to find replacements, they will. And if they have to rush the trial of the involved ICs, they'll do that too."

Lena narrowed her eyes, as if assessing Kazuo.

—"And how are you so sure?"

Kazuo smirked, crossing his arms.

—"Because this system is too big to fail."

---

After Lena finished her meal and left, the restaurant returned to its usual calm. Terminan busied herself cleaning the tables while Kazuo checked the inventory. Yet her mind remained trapped in the conversation.

The customers spoke of the Arcade as if it were an indispensable spectacle, but for her, it was something else entirely. It represented a painful memory, an echo of something she had tried to bury.

This wasn't the first time someone had suggested she participate. As a child, she had shown a natural talent for handling specters, something her family had pushed her to exploit to its limits. Her parents enrolled her in local competitions, pressuring her to win at all costs. But after an incident that nearly left her gravely injured, she decided to abandon that path.

The Grand Arcade wasn't just an event for her; it was a reminder of everything she had lost and left behind.

The restaurant was silent, except for the soft clinking of silverware as Terminan stacked them onto a tray. The night was dense, suffocating, as if the world tightened a little more with every passing second. Kazuo was at the counter, reviewing some invoices under the yellowish glow of a lamp. Occasionally, he looked up at her, as if he wanted to say something, but he always returned his gaze to the papers.

Terminan paused for a moment and took a deep breath. The exhaustion of the day weighed heavily on her shoulders, but habit drove her to finish her tasks. As she picked up the last plate, something fell from the folds of her apron, bouncing against the floor with a dull thud.

She saw it. The card.

A shiver ran down her spine. She bent down to pick it up with trembling hands, as though it were a forbidden object that had remained buried in her past. The design was simple: matte black, with golden edges that had lost their shine. In one corner, the number "37" blinked on a small digital screen.

Terminan stared at the card in her hands, the numbers glowing faintly on its metallic surface. Thirty-seven points. Each one was a testament to days of work, to endless hours cleaning, serving tables, and organizing Kazuo's small restaurant. She had done everything possible to save, to spend as little as she could on anything unnecessary. Yet that figure was cruel evidence that money always slipped away, like sand through her fingers.

She sighed and slipped the card back into her pocket. The coldness of the metal seemed to cling to her fingers, a stark reminder of her precarious situation. For a moment, she thought of all she had sacrificed, all she had endured to reach this point. But had she truly arrived anywhere?

Her gaze wandered around the restaurant—at the worn-out chairs, the tables she had cleaned so many times she could recall every imperfection on their surfaces. Kazuo remained at the back, patiently going over the day's accounts, a man used to wrestling with numbers and challenges.

"What would I be doing if I had never run away?" The question appeared unbidden, accompanied by a lump in her throat that refused to dissipate. It wasn't the first time she thought about it, but every time she did, the pain returned with the same intensity.

She was nine years old the first time her parents took her to an important event. They had always insisted she was special, that she had a talent few could match. Terminan didn't fully understand what that meant back then, but she wanted to please them. She wanted them to be proud.

Her ability to handle Class 3 and 4 specters had been enough to stand out in minor competitions. To others, she was a prodigy, a child destined for greatness. But Terminan knew the truth. Most of those specters had been weak, defeated more by luck than skill. She had learned to hide her insecurities behind a smile, to pretend that victories came easily.

That day, however, everything was different. Her parents enrolled her in a much more dangerous trial, pitting her against a Class 7 specter. Specters of that level were terrifying: colossal creatures, filled with rage and strength, capable of reducing an entire team to ashes if not faced with the right strategy. Terminan knew this, but she had no choice. Her parents pushed her onto the field, assuring her it was her chance to prove her true worth.

The confrontation was a disaster. The specter roared, its presence like a wave of darkness crushing everything around it. Terminan could barely stand; her hands trembled as she tried to focus on her weapon. Every movement of the specter was a threat, every second a reminder of her own fragility.

At some point, she lost her footing. The specter struck her with brutal force, hurling her against a wall. She felt her bones crack, the searing pain of a wound opening on her side. Blood soaked her clothes, and the pain paralyzed her. She could barely breathe, let alone stand.

When she woke up, she was lying in a cold bed, bandages covering most of her body. Her parents were there, but their faces didn't show concern. Only disappointment.

—"You cost us a golden opportunity," her mother said, not even meeting her eyes.

—"How could you fail like this?" her father added, his voice laced with contempt. "After everything we've done for you, this is what we get?"

Those words stayed with her, etched in her mind like a wound that never healed. That same night, when the house was silent, she packed a small bag and ran away. She didn't know where she was going or what she would do, but she knew she couldn't stay. Not after seeing the hatred in the eyes of the people who were supposed to love her.

The days that followed were a blur. She wandered the streets, hiding in alleys and train stations. Hunger and cold were constant, but the worst was the loneliness. She felt like a ghost, invisible to everyone who passed her by.

That was when she met Kazuo. He was closing up his shop one night when he saw her sitting on the sidewalk, hugging herself against the cold.

—"Are you hungry?" he asked, offering her a bowl of hot soup.

Terminan didn't respond immediately, too wary to accept kindness from a stranger. But hunger won out. She took the bowl with trembling hands and devoured it as if it were the last meal she'd ever have.

Kazuo didn't ask questions that night. He just let her stay in the small storage room behind the shop, giving her a place to sleep and clean clothes. In the days that followed, she started working for him, helping around the shop in exchange for food and a roof over her head.

—"You don't have to tell me your story if you don't want to," he said one day, handing her a cup of tea. "But you've got a place here if you need it."

Over time, Terminan began to open up. She told him about her parents, the accident, the specter that had almost killed her. Kazuo listened silently, without interrupting, and when she finished, he simply nodded.

—"Well, it seems like you've had a rough life. But here, you can start over. You don't have to prove anything to anyone."

Those words were a balm for her soul. For the first time, she felt like she wasn't alone.

---

Kazuo appeared behind her, pulling her out of her thoughts.

—"Everything okay?" he asked, pointing to the cutlery still in her hands.

—"Yeah, just thinking," she replied, trying to smile.

Kazuo watched her for a moment before nodding.

—"Well, stop overthinking and finish cleaning up. We've got work to do."

Terminan let out a brief laugh and returned to her task. But even as she swept the floor, her mind remained stuck in the past. The card in her pocket seemed heavier than before, as if the 37 points were a constant curse, reminding her of everything she had lost and all she still had to face.

---

The darkness in the room seemed to swallow everything, as though it wasn't just the absence of light but a living entity probing every corner. The cold was relentless, not physical but seeping from the core of his being, filling the cracks he'd tried so hard to ignore.

Cegd sat in a metal chair, his hands resting calmly on the table. The runes on his wrists glowed faintly, as though measuring his breath, constantly reminding him that the power he once had was now bound and chained. Around his neck, a dark seal pulsed faintly, a permanent mark that reduced him to little more than a shadow of who he used to be.

In front of him lay the card. Its balance flickered in numbers that seemed to mock him: 98,756,433,900,000 points. That number was a monument to his entire life, a record of every specter hunted, every sacrifice made, every time he had survived.

Cegd took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He could feel the stares. Not from the judges or the guards. They were more, infinite, incomprehensible, watching him from the cracks of space, from the edges of history itself. Eyes that dissected him, searching for answers, expecting more than words or actions.

I see you, he thought. I know you're there. I can't do much for you, but at least I'll give you a show worth remembering.

He smiled, a grin filled with irony and resignation.

Voices outside the door broke the silence. It was Reiket's turn, whose presence was always like a storm.

—"Why did you do it, Reiket?" one of the judges asked, his voice strained with irritation.

—"Why not?" she replied, her tone sharp and sarcastic.

—"Do you have any idea what the consequences are?"

—"Of course. But to be honest, I was too busy enjoying myself to care. Should I write this in my diary? Oh wait, I already did."

Cegd couldn't help but chuckle softly. That was Reiket: a wildfire that couldn't be extinguished. Her sarcasm was her weapon, and few things could pierce her armor. He pictured her with her arms crossed, eyes blazing with defiance as she unraveled the patience of the judges.

Suddenly, the door swung open with a resounding crash, and a man entered the room. Livius. His presence filled the space with a commanding weight. His uniform was pristine, his gray eyes as cold as steel, and his expression a mask of authority and disdain. In his hands, he held Cegd's sphere, which vibrated and emitted a faint hum as if recognizing his touch.

—"I didn't expect the prodigy who rose so quickly among the top three to end up here," Livius stated, his tone dripping with sarcasm and something just short of pity.

Cegd lifted his gaze, his eyes calm but defiant.

—"Hello, Livius. Have you already found my replacement?"

Livius let out a brief, dry laugh.

—"Not exactly. But your situation doesn't look good. We'll absolve you of any complicity in last night's illegal battle, but there will be restrictions."

—"Restrictions? How original."

Livius ignored the comment.

—"Your body will be purified of all the specters you've exterminated. Your energy will be sealed. Your points will be returned to the Exe Judicial Court. You'll have to start over as a novice IC."

Cegd tilted his head, a faint smile playing on his lips.

—"Is that all? Sounds almost relaxing."

Livius stared at him, as if trying to discern whether Cegd was joking or genuinely indifferent.

—"You and Reiket will receive the same punishment. But there's more. You'll be assigned a system you must adhere to. And, as if that weren't enough, you'll have to participate in the Arcade."

Cegd's brow furrowed slightly.

—"The Arcade? How thoughtful."

Livius continued, his tone more serious.

—"Neither you nor Reiket will be replaced. Your positions won't be vacant, but you'll need to ascend quickly. If you delay, it's likely new IC prodigies will emerge and displace you."

Cegd let out a short, ironic laugh.

—"Ah, of course. Nothing like a little competition to keep us motivated. How considerate."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

—"And the judges? How many this time? Four?"

Livius turned toward the door, his fingers resting on the handle.

—"Not exactly. There will only be three: myself, Number 4, and Number 5. Aurora has refused to participate."

Aurora's name echoed in Cegd's mind. A distant yet influential figure, someone who had always loomed in the shadows of his life.

—"Aurora... always so unpredictable."

Livius glanced back over his shoulder, a fleeting shadow of something resembling empathy crossing his face.

—"She's not unpredictable. She's strategic. You should learn from that, Cegd. Because now, everything you have is at stake."

Cegd watched him leave, the weight of his words settling over him. He remained silent, the sphere in front of him glowing faintly, as if the dark masses within were reaching for something just out of reach.