They did not introduce themselves.
Not yet.
Minh Truong followed her into the convenience store, where fluorescent lights hummed softly overhead. The place was nearly empty—just a cashier scrolling on his phone, a couple of shelves half-stocked.
Normal.
Too normal.
She picked up a bottled drink and set it on the counter. Minh Truong did the same, standing just far enough to not seem threatening.
"You don't show up for it either," she said quietly.
Minh Truong stiffened. "For what?"
She glanced toward the cashier, then lowered her voice.
"For whatever it is that tries to count people."
Minh Truong paid without looking away from her.
Outside, they stood beneath a streetlight. Numbers floated above every passerby's head like silent ghosts.
Except above them.
Nothing.
Minh Truong finally spoke. "How long has it been like this for you?"
She considered the question. "Since I noticed it."
"That's not an answer."
"It is," she said. "The moment I realized something was watching… it stopped seeing me."
Minh Truong felt a chill.
Awareness as immunity.
He tested the interface again—briefly. The system responded everywhere except the space she occupied. As if reality itself refused to supply data.
"And you?" she asked. "You're different. It can still see you."
"Not cleanly," Minh Truong replied. "I leave… noise."
She studied him more closely now. "So you broke something."
"I pushed," he corrected. "It adjusted."
Her lips curved slightly. "That explains the pressure."
"What pressure?"
"The one that feels like a question," she said. "Asking whether you're worth fixing."
Minh Truong looked away.
That was exactly how it felt.
A bus roared past, briefly drowning out the city sounds. When the noise faded, she spoke again.
"It's not just you and me," she said. "There are others. Rare. Scattered. Most don't notice. Some do—and disappear."
Minh Truong's jaw tightened. "Disappear how?"
She shook her head. "Socially. Digitally. Accidentally. The world forgets them very efficiently."
Containment.
Not deletion.
The system's favorite method.
Minh Truong took a slow breath. "Then why are you still here?"
She met his gaze directly. "Because it doesn't know what to do with people who don't fit its questions."
The streetlight flickered once.
Just once.
Minh Truong felt it immediately—a soft tightening around his thoughts, a recalibration attempt.
She felt it too.
Her expression hardened. "It noticed us talking."
Minh Truong shut the interface down completely.
"Then we shouldn't stay," he said.
She nodded. "Agreed."
They started walking in opposite directions—then stopped.
Without looking back, she spoke.
"If you want answers," she said, "don't look for the system."
"Then where?"
"Look for the places it avoids."
She walked away, blending into the crowd.
Minh Truong remained under the streetlight, numbers floating obediently above everyone else.
The system resumed normal operation.
But something fundamental had changed.
For the first time since Vol 2 began, Minh Truong was no longer the only anomaly in the city.
And that meant the system had a problem it could not solve alone.