The number on his phone was still glowing when he shifted, and the notification had been small, but the name made everything rearrange itself.
He put the pudding aside, picked up the phone, and read the message again, thumb moving slowly as he scrolled through the chat. The messages from last night were still open - MoonPetal, the chat, the long stream logs - but he pushed them aside and opened the bank app to be sure.
The balance still read ¥84,500, and he exhaled, feeling a real smile this time, not forced, not brittle. Relief, something he hadn't felt in months, settled into him, and he thought of Lina.
He walked next door and knocked. The old landlady opened the door, blinked at him, and then smiled. "She's at class," she said, and he told her not to worry; he had transferred the money to Lina's account and asked her to remind Lina when she returned. She nodded slowly, grateful.
He waited a moment, and she disappeared back inside, returning with a small, warm pudding in a dish. "For the trouble," she said. He accepted it like a trophy, thanked her, and ate half as he walked back to his room. The pudding tasted like home, sat on his tongue like a small success, and he felt something close to peace.
Back in his chair, he checked the system for anything else he could buy. His points were enough for basic supplies, and he shelved the idea of big purchases.
He bought a few stabilizers and a portable med pack, ignoring the big-ticket weapons. He had learned the value of tactics, preferring many small, reliable tools over a single expensive toy.
He checked his inventory again, noticing the Tether Mask staring at him from the screen: black iron, chain attached, no description. He tried to imagine what it did, shrugged, and left it in the inventory. He picked up the spoon to finish the pudding but paused when his phone buzzed again.
This time the message was from someone from college, and his heart pulled awkwardly. The name on the screen was Kang Wei, a college friend he hadn't heard from in years.
The message was simple: "Hey. Long time." Daryl stared, thinking of the reunion he never wanted to attend, of people with plans and degrees that mattered, of the tide that had carried everyone else forward.
He typed a short reply, "Hey. Long time," and the conversation started small, cautious, testing the waters. Where are you? What are you doing? Kang Wei asked, and Daryl answered carefully, giving truth in fragments but leaving out details about ghosts, the ape, and the system. He didn't volunteer fame or money.
Then Kang Wei's next message landed heavier: "We're having a class reunion." Daryl froze, imagining a room full of people he once knew, faces he had not worn for a decade, laughter that might feel like a mirror he did not want to look into. He typed a decline, deleted it, and typed something safe: "Not sure I can make it." Kang Wei replied quickly: "It's soon. A lot of people are coming." Daryl felt a twinge, a pause, and then another message appeared: "By the way… she's coming." His hands went cold. He read it again, spoon half in his mouth, tasting milk, sugar, and something like fear. The name cut like a small razor, and he sat still for a long time, letting his mind wander through images of college corridors, a younger version of himself, lectures, coffee cups, borrowed notes.
He stood and walked to the window, watching the city move like always.
Trams hissed, cars beeped. No one knew he had pinned a giant nightmare under concrete the night before, no one knew the blood under his fingernails. He stared at the city until the light shifted, feeling something like commitment settle in his chest.
He put down the spoon, went to the bathroom, washed his face, and did not rehearse what he would say or plan a speech. He sat at his table, phone on the counter, letting the message sit. Then it came again: "By the way… she's coming." The room seemed to tilt. He let out a breath, signed off the system, closed the app, put on his shoes, told the landlady he would be gone for a while, locked the door, and left his apartment with a small bag. The city swallowed him, and the road took him.
He put the phone down gently, feeling older and raw, a decision settling in he didn't fully understand. He would go, not for closure, not for bravado, but for the not-know, for the end of wondering. He tapped a quick response: "Alright. I'll come." Kang Wei replied almost immediately: "Glad. We'll send details." Daryl felt a wave pass through him, not relief, but something like acceptance. He packed light, told no one, closed the door behind him, and informed the landlady he would be away a day or two. She fussed like grandmothers do, and he didn't try to explain.
He hailed a cab, gave the address, and let the city slide by as he stared at the passing buildings, thinking of who he had been, thinking of who he was now. He did not sleep much that night, watching the road, trying not to imagine faces. Morning would bring the reality of it, and he read the message again, tried to compose his voice, failed, and let the phone slip into his pocket as he watched the city change.