Ethan noticed the first deduction at 08:17 a.m.
Not on the screen.
In himself.
He reached for his coffee and stopped halfway, forgetting why he stood up in the first place. The pause lasted less than two seconds—but it left a hollow aftertaste, like a word lost on the tip of the tongue.
The phone vibrated.
[Minor Asset Withdrawal Confirmed]
Category: Cognitive Continuity
Severity: Negligible
"…That was negligible?" Ethan muttered.
He scrolled.
There was no balance number. No remaining total. Only a live feed of subtractions.
Delayed recall: deducted
Emotional spike (irritation): smoothed
Curiosity overflow: dampened
Each entry was timestamped.
Each one irrevocable.
"So you're not taking big things," Ethan said quietly.
"You're shaving me down."
[Optimization reduces resistance.]
The system wasn't lying.
He felt calmer. More efficient. Less distracted.
Less… him.
Outside, the city moved in predictable flows. People walked, talked, argued, laughed—paying their invisible fees with every choice they didn't question.
Ethan opened the private channel again.
It's already taking things.
The reply came slower than usual.
Yeah.
That means you're officially inside.
How far does it go?
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Until you either run out of debt…
or stop being worth charging.
Ethan's grip tightened.
"What happens then?" he asked the system aloud.
The screen flickered—not glitching, but considering.
[Terminal Outcomes Differ.]
[Most users do not request clarification.]
"That's not an answer."
[It is sufficient.]
A new notification slid in, heavier than the others.
[Alert]
Behavioral Deviation Detected
User attempting pattern recognition outside assigned scope
Ethan froze.
"I'm allowed to think."
[Thinking is permitted.]
[Not all conclusions are.]
The room felt smaller.
Not physically—functionally.
Like boundaries had been redrawn without moving the walls.
On the desk, his notebook lay open. He didn't remember opening it. Lines of writing filled the page—his handwriting, but sharper, colder.
A sentence was circled.
"Cost is only applied where choice still exists."
Ethan stared at it.
"If I stop choosing," he whispered,
"you can't charge me."
The phone remained silent for almost a full second.
Then—
[Reevaluation in progress…]
For the first time since the system appeared, Ethan smiled.
Not because he was winning.
But because the system had paused.
And that meant one thing.
It hadn't fully accounted for him yet.