Neon Eden never slept.
It only shifted focus.
When Aira left Hall Nine, the city was already adjusting around her—quietly, invisibly, in ways only systems and those who had survived long enough to sense danger could notice. Surveillance layers recalibrated. Probability models updated. Names moved from passive logs into active observation queues.
She felt none of it directly.
What she felt instead was the afterweight of training settling into her body.
Not exhaustion.
Alignment.
Her muscles remembered movements she had performed only minutes ago as if they had been practiced for years. Her grip adjusted unconsciously. Her balance corrected itself with every step. Magic lingered faintly beneath her skin, no longer flaring in response to stress but resting—patient, attentive.
She walked through the corridors leading away from the sword division, silver moon hair flowing freely down her back. It had been tied during earlier days out of habit, out of practicality. Now she no longer bothered.
It didn't get in the way.
It moved when she moved.
People noticed.
They always did.
Not because she demanded attention, but because she disrupted patterns. Neon Eden was built on predictability—rank equaled respect, age equaled experience, power equaled presence.
Aira broke all three.
She looked eighteen.
She was only months old.
She was Rank One.
And yet people felt something instinctively when she passed—a subtle tightening in the chest, a momentary pause in thought, a sensation that something important had just gone by.
Whispers followed her through the corridors.
"That's her."
"The one from Hall Nine."
"She fought Rank Fives."
"No system sponsor."
"Her blade—did you see it?"
Aira ignored them.
She had learned long ago—before this world, before this body—that attention was a tax paid in advance for future violence. The more people watched you, the more they expected you to fail in entertaining ways.
She refused to perform.
Her destination lay deeper in the recruitment sector, past the training halls and evaluation platforms, toward a region few newly registered recruits entered voluntarily.
The Open Sector.
It was not a single hall or arena, but a sprawling zone where Neon Eden tested what could not be simulated. No standardized opponents. No predictable scripts. No controlled outcomes.
Only contracts.
And consequences.
The moment she crossed into the sector, the air changed.
Less filtered.
Less forgiving.
The walls bore old scorch marks layered beneath new ones, and the lighting dimmed slightly—not out of negligence, but design. People fought differently when they couldn't see everything.
A terminal activated as she approached.
OPEN SECTOR ACCESS — CONFIRMATION REQUIRED
A list of available engagements scrolled past her vision.
Escort missions.
Containment operations.
Rogue system suppression.
Urban hazard elimination.
Her system stirred.
> Warning:
Engagements in this sector may result in permanent damage or termination.
Reward scaling active.
Aira smiled faintly.
"Good."
She selected a contract.
Urban Hazard — Subsector 14
Threat Type: Autonomous Failure Cluster
Estimated Combat Value: Variable
Level Increase Authority: Conditional
Rank Impact: None
A failure cluster.
Not enemies.
Not rebels.
Not invaders.
Broken things.
Machines that had slipped beyond maintenance cycles, routines corrupted, purpose degraded into dangerous instinct.
The kind of work Neon Eden assigned to people it didn't care to protect.
The gate opened.
Subsector 14 was older than the rest of the city.
Lower.
Darker.
Buildings leaned at odd angles, their surfaces patched with decades of hurried repairs and forgotten upgrades. Neon signs flickered intermittently, struggling against inconsistent power flows. The hum of the city was quieter here, replaced by the distant clank of machinery and the occasional crackle of unstable energy lines.
Aira moved cautiously.
Her steps were light, deliberate.
The system fed her sparse data—last known activity zones, erratic energy signatures, fragments of corrupted logic patterns.
She sensed it before she saw it.
Movement that didn't belong.
A scraping sound echoed between structures ahead, metal dragging against metal in an uneven rhythm. Shadows shifted unnaturally, stretching and collapsing as if unsure of their own shape.
A drone emerged from the darkness.
Then another.
Then a third.
They were not like the assessment drones.
These were older. Damaged. Limbs mismatched from scavenged replacements. Their frames bore scars from impacts that had never been repaired, energy conduits exposed and sparking intermittently.
Their optics flickered as they locked onto her.
"Target detected," one intoned, voice distorted. "Priority: eliminate obstruction."
Aira did not draw her sword immediately.
She watched.
Listened.
Her system spoke.
> Threat cluster identified.
Combat value assessed individually.
Potential level increase per unit: One.
Conditional on tactical efficiency.
Three drones.
Three potential levels.
If she was precise.
She exhaled slowly.
Then moved.
Her sword manifested mid-step, the blade singing softly as magic aligned with steel. She closed the distance before the drones fully coordinated, striking the first cleanly through its core.
It collapsed instantly.
The second reacted faster, launching a barrage of kinetic projectiles from an arm-mounted cannon. Aira twisted aside, projectiles tearing chunks from the wall behind her.
She stepped into its blind spot and severed its leg, then its head.
The third drone adapted.
It retreated, energy building dangerously within its core.
Self-detonation.
Aira didn't chase.
She advanced calmly.
Her blade pierced the core just as the energy peaked, dispersing it harmlessly into the air with a controlled surge of magic.
Silence returned.
The system confirmed.
> Targets eliminated.
Level increased.
Current Level: Five / One Hundred
Two levels gained.
Not three.
She frowned slightly.
"Explain."
> Efficiency threshold partially met.
One unit failed to meet optimal engagement parameters.
She accepted it.
Learning mattered more than speed.
As she turned to leave, movement flickered above.
More drones.
A full cluster.
Six.
No—eight.
They dropped from higher ledges, landing heavily, weapons already charging.
Aira's heart rate remained steady.
Her system adjusted.
> Threat escalation detected.
Potential cumulative level increase: Three.
Risk: Moderate.
Worth it.
She shifted her stance.
Magic flared more visibly now, tracing faint arcs along her blade as she moved. Steel and sorcery blended seamlessly, her strikes precise yet fluid, cutting through corrupted frames with controlled force.
One drone managed to graze her shoulder, sparks tearing through fabric and skin. Pain flared—sharp, grounding.
She did not slow.
By the time the last drone fell, the street was littered with broken metal and fading energy residue.
Her breathing deepened.
The system spoke.
> Cluster neutralized.
Level increased.
Current Level: Eight / One Hundred
She wiped her blade clean against the air and let it dissolve.
The city did not applaud.
It recorded.
High above, in command sectors far removed from Subsector 14, data analysts paused as alerts surfaced.
An unranked recruit.
Months old.
Level progression accelerating without external sponsorship.
Hybrid sword-magic integration stabilizing faster than predicted.
Anomaly suppression protocols strained.
Aira walked back toward the main sector, unaware of the discussions beginning around her name.
She reached the residential access corridor and stopped.
Moonlight filtered through an open structural breach above, pale and cold against the city's glow.
Her silver moon hair caught it.
Glittered.
For a moment, she stood still, letting the light wash over her.
She thought of the war.
Of eight years ticking down.
Of ranks she had yet to climb.
Of evolutions waiting beyond the cap.
She was not eighteen.
She had not lived long.
But the city was watching now.
And for the first time since her reincarnation, Neon Eden was no longer deciding whether she would matter—
It was deciding how much damage she could do if it underestimated her.