The system didn't wait long.
Less than five minutes after Ethan's registration completed, the room shifted.
Not physically—no walls moved, no floor cracked.
The air changed.
A pressure settled in, heavy and precise, like something had started counting.
Then a red symbol appeared above one participant's head.
The man near the door.
[Warning: Rule Deviation Detected]
"What the hell is that?" he shouted, slapping at the air above him.
The symbol didn't disappear.
Instead, a second line unfolded beneath it.
[Unauthorized Information Exchange]
The woman with short hair froze. "What did you do?"
"I didn't do anything!" the man snapped. "I just sent a message—"
His voice cut off.
Not abruptly. Not violently.
It simply… stopped.
The symbol above his head pulsed once.
[Penalty Phase Initiated]
Ethan felt it then.
A pull.
Not on his body, but on something deeper—like a string tied to his chest was being yanked.
The man screamed.
Not from pain.
From loss.
"Wait—wait—take it back—!"
Numbers spilled out of him, visible now to everyone.
Hours. Days. Years.
They drained upward, vanishing into nothing.
The system spoke.
Not aloud.
Directly.
[Penalty Applied]
Violation Severity: Minor
Cost: 2 years, 4 months, 11 days
The man collapsed to his knees.
Alive.
Breathing.
Older.
His hair had greyed at the temples. Wrinkles cut into his face that hadn't been there seconds ago.
Ethan swallowed hard.
"That was minor?" someone whispered.
The woman stepped forward, voice steady but pale.
"No private messages. No off-channel sharing. The system owns communication inside registered zones."
She looked at Ethan.
"It punished him lightly."
Lightly.
Two years of life—erased as if they were spare change.
"What if it's major?" Ethan asked.
The woman didn't answer.
The system did.
A new notice appeared, centered in the room.
[Rule Set Update: Entry Tier]
– Information hoarding prohibited
– Unregistered guidance prohibited
– Identity falsification prohibited
– External interference prohibited
At the bottom, in smaller text:
[Escalation Multiplier Active]
Ethan's heart sank.
This wasn't a warning phase.
It was training.
Another notification appeared—private again.
[Observation Flag Raised]
Subject: Ethan Carter
Reason: Adaptive Response Rate
He felt eyes on him.
Not from the others.
From something far above this room.
Something measuring how fast he understood the cost.
"How do we survive this?" Ethan asked quietly.
The woman met his gaze.
"You don't," she said. "You manage the loss."
The man on the floor laughed weakly.
A broken sound.
"They didn't even take my life," he muttered. "Just enough to remind me it's theirs."
No one helped him up.
Not because they were cruel.
Because the system was watching.