CHAPTER 43: CHAPTER 43: DIMENSIONAL SYSTEM

Juliet scowled at the glowing projection over Frank’s desk.

"This... is not a standard interface," she muttered, flipping through panels, glyphs, and a suspicious tab marked ’Interdimensional Shipping Rates.’

A part of her wanted to blame the headache on lack of sleep.

The rest knew better.

She tapped another file—this one titled "Merchant Favor Archive." A window opened showing a goblin-shaped logo and flashing alerts like:

"Pending Curse Exchange – Claimed"

"Trade Route: Volatile (Unstable)"

"Deal Outcome: Contract Voided, Favor Banked"

Juliet sat back, arms folded.

"This man is either a genius, a con artist... or a very dangerous flavor of idiot."

She had known Frank was weird.

She just didn’t realize he had a whole separate operating system.

She tapped her wristband and pulled up her own system access menu. It blinked politely with her Hunter stats. Normal. Clean. Recognizable.

Then she held her band near Frank’s again.

The interface fluttered.

Briefly.

A flicker.

Then—

[Unauthorized Observer Detected.]

[System Partition Shield Active.]

She jerked back. "Okay. What the hell was that.l

Juliet sat on the floor surrounded by three datapads, one half-charged translator crystal, and an old user manual titled "Surviving System Glitches (Without Losing an Eye)."

"I don’t even know what half these tabs mean," she muttered. "Frank’s got inventory slots marked by realm origin. What’s a Realm ID 7C-B? Who organizes storage by dimensional strain?"

She clicked open a random inventory log.

Item: Chrono-Stamped Banana Peel

Description: Absolutely unusable. Might cause time slippage if eaten.

Status: Sold (x3)

She blinked. "He sold that?!"

Then the lights flickered.

Just once.

Enough to make her reach for her dagger.

The screen Frank left open pulsed. Then... changed.

She hadn’t touched it.

It blinked once more.

Then a new window opened—on its own.

[Welcome, Unverified User.]

[Curious, aren’t you?]

Juliet froze.

"...That’s not supposed to talk back."

[Would you like a taste of access?]

[Y/N]

She hesitated.

Then, like someone poking a very suspicious bear, whispered:

"...What kind of taste?"

The screen blinked.

[BEGIN DEMO MODE – UNVERIFIED ACCESS REQUESTED]

[Y/N]

Juliet stared at the glowing prompt.

Her instincts screamed to walk away. To leave it. To wait for Frank and demand answers the old-fashioned way.

But instincts didn’t pay for blood.

And Frank clearly wasn’t going to tell her anything.

"Just a peek," she whispered.

She tapped Y.

The moment her finger touched the glyph, the screen flared then fractured. A split-second hum filled the air, so high-pitched it made her teeth ache.

The light turned violet-white.

A storm of symbols, crawling, breathing, unrecognizable, spun around her wristband and up her arm like a chain trying to bind itself to her skin.

Juliet’s breath caught.

Her knees buckled.

[Dimensional Access Breach Detected.]

[UNAUTHORIZED ENTITY – BIOLOGICAL REJECTION INITIATED.]

Then came the pain.

Like her brain was being carved open by knowledge it couldn’t hold.

She screamed, collapsing to her knees as blood poured from her nose and ears. Her vision blurred, the glyphs now branding themselves across her mind, images of places she’d never seen, deals she’d never made, prices no human currency could ever match.

[ACCESS DENIED.]

[INTRUDER PURGED.]

With a violent pulse of light, the screen exploded into sparks. The glyphs vanished. Her wristband shattered.

Juliet collapsed on the floor, gasping for breath.

The apartment was silent again.

No alarms. No magic.

Just the hum of the ceiling fan, and her ragged breathing.

She wiped at the blood on her cheek and tried to sit up.

Her fingers trembled.

Her whole body trembled.

She looked down at her cracked wristband.

"No... no system should be able to do that," she whispered. "What the hell kind of access is this?"

Juliet leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes.

It wasn’t fear that settled over her now, it was realization.

Frank wasn’t part of a hidden hunter system.

He was something else entirely.

And whatever it was, it didn’t want her knowing.

***

"Let me get this straight," Frank said, holding up a wrinkled, ink-stained scroll with far too many footnotes. "In order to finalize the favor and remove my name from the ’active affiliate mischief registry’—I have to sign this... in blood?"

The goblin clerk across the desk blinked slowly.

One eye.

Then the other.

Then smiled. "Not blood! Just... something you’ll miss if the contract goes wrong."

Frank lowered the scroll. "That’s worse. That’s way worse."

The clerk, dressed in what looked like a vest made of shredded coupons and price tags, tapped a claw on his ledger. "Section 9-B of the Minor Mischief Resolution Act—sub-rule seven: Any trade initiated under false sparkle must be deactivated by equal or greater narrative inconvenience."

"I don’t even know what that means," Frank muttered.

"It means you owe us a scene."

Frank blinked. "A what?"

"A scene!" the goblin snapped. "A twist! A dramatic escalation! An interesting consequence of your trade misstep. You can’t just cancel a goblin contract without paying the narrative tax!"

Frank stared at him, deadpan. "You are all deeply unwell."

The clerk shoved a form across the table.

"Check one: ’Mild Relic Haunting,’ ’Spontaneous Realm Transfer,’ or ’Unpaid Favor Collection’—you pick the consequence, we log the paperwork, and you’re clear."

Frank sighed, muttering, "I just wanted to trade socks and gadgets, not have my life turned into a dimensional sitcom."

[PENDING CONSEQUENCE SELECTION: CHOOSE ONE]

Frank hovered his finger.

Paused.

"Spontaneous realm transfer sounds like teleportation. Probably temporary."

He tapped it.

The scroll vanished with a hiss.

The goblin clerk grinned too wide. "Excellent choice. Realm transfer flagged. Expect... something... within the next 48 hours."

Frank raised an eyebrow. "Is it dangerous?"

"Oh yes."

"I was afraid you’d say that."

As Frank exited the administrative tent, the Goblin Market roared to life behind him. Deals being yelled. Trinkets being launched. A frog tried to sell him a "used wish" in a jar.

He rubbed the back of his neck, groaning.

"Please let Juliet not be mad when I get back."

Frank was halfway to the portal out when a familiar greasy voice echoed across the tent flaps.

"Oy! Trader Hagan!"

He turned to see Moggrel, sitting on a swinging bench made from broken shelves and stitched-together satchels. He was sipping from a goblet labeled "Definitely Not Fermented Ink."

"You’re leaving without dessert?" the goblin chirped. "How rude."

Frank didn’t stop walking. "I’ve had my fill of exploding contracts and cursed crates for the week, thanks."

"But you still don’t know what you’re part of, do you?"

Frank paused.

Moggrel leaned forward, goblet swinging.

"The system. The whole glorious, beautiful, rule-breaking beast you’re dancing inside. You’re good with it, Frank. But you don’t know what you’re using. Not really."

Frank turned. "And I suppose you do?"

"I’ve seen it all," Moggrel said smugly, tossing a scroll into the air. It unfurled, showing a glittering file title:

[Dimensional Trade System: Core Architecture Overview – Red Tier Access Only]

Frank squinted. "That looks... official."

"It is." Moggrel winked. "Leaked, of course. Questionably acquired. Totally actionable."

Frank took a slow step closer. "And what—you’re just offering that to me out of the kindness of your sticky little heart?"

"Oh no," Moggrel grinned. "We play for it."

Frank crossed his arms. "What kind of game?"

"Duel-trade." Moggrel’s grin widened to inhuman proportions. "I pick the trader. You go back and forth—offer for offer, item for item. First one who can’t top the previous bid... loses."

Frank frowned. "That’s it?"

"That’s it."

"And if I win?"

"You get the file. You get answers. You see what your system’s really made for."

Frank narrowed his eyes. "And if I lose?"

Moggrel giggled. "You get nothing... except a new clause in your permanent goblin profile."

Frank stared at the glowing scroll.

[Duel-Trade Challenge: Pending Acceptance]

[Opponent: To Be Announced Upon Confirmation]

He glanced over his shoulder toward the exit.

Then looked back at Moggrel.

And smirked.

"...You had me at questionable."

As Frank finished signing the glowing consent glyph, the contract scrolled up and locked itself into his trader profile with a satisfied ding. Across from him, Moggrel giggled, his long fingers tapping against a rune-carved tooth.

"Welcome to the real game, boy."

Frank crossed his arms. "That file better be worth it."

"Oh, it will be," Moggrel said, sloshing what might’ve been ink-ale in his cup. "But here—since you’re walking into the deep end—I’ll give you a little freebie."

He leaned forward. The goblin’s smile faded just enough to be unsettling.

"The Dimensional Trade System isn’t a tool, Frank. Not just that. It’s a lens. A living filter. It doesn’t just let you move goods between realms—it learns from you. Adjusts. Adapts."

Frank blinked. "You’re saying it’s alive?"

"Alive’s too strong," Moggrel mused, swirling his drink. "But aware? Yes. It doesn’t answer to the Hunters’ Association, or the world you come from. It’s older. Built by something that needed stories, not just currency."

Frank narrowed his eyes. "Stories?"

"Every trade tells one," Moggrel said softly. "Every exchange, every risk, every favor. You don’t just barter goods—you barter weight. Meaning. Impact."

He tapped Frank’s chest with one claw. "That system... it’s watching what kind of story you’re building."

Frank frowned. "And what happens when it doesn’t like the story?"

Moggrel smiled again. "Then it stops helping you."

A long beat passed.

Then Moggrel leaned back and added, cheerfully, "Or it helps someone else write your ending."

Frank exhaled slowly. "You really know how to ruin a good day."

"Think of me as customer support—only uglier and far more clever."

Frank turned to leave, but Moggrel’s voice followed behind him.

"Oh—and one last thing. If the system ever asks you to trade something you don’t recognize..."

Frank paused.

"Don’t."