Blood dripped onto the floor with a faint rustling hiss.

Kuriyama Mirai's face, once focused and serious, instantly twisted into panic and heartbreak.

"My floor! The landlord's gonna make me pay for that!"

The poor girl's cry echoed through the tiny apartment.

Youmu attacks were aimed at the human spirit—they didn't cause physical destruction.

But the same couldn't be said for her collateral damage.

"I am not happy!"

It was her familiar mantra, shouted in a mix of frustration and desperation as she gripped her blood-forged blade.

Mirai swung fiercely, the crimson weapon leaving streaks of scarlet light through the air as she slashed toward the bandaged monster.

This Youmu, however, wasn't a mindless phantom. It was smarter—an evolved one.

It didn't charge blindly. Instead, it sensed danger and reacted.

With a faint hiss, black smoke seeped into the floorboards.

The Youmu's form unraveled, its bandages scattering around the room like shredded paper caught in a breeze.

Mirai's slash only cut through a few of them.

The moment her blood touched the wrappings, they melted away—cleanly sliced and eaten through by corrosion, disintegrating into nothing.

"Don't run! Just stay still and let me kill you!"

Her demands were absurd, her swings wild, but her determination burned fiercely. She chased the flickering movements of the bandages, slashing again and again.

Outside her apartment, several Foundation agents waited in silence.

Each held a weapon crafted from mind-blocking alloy—designed to suppress the Youmu's influence.

Their orders were simple:

Do not engage unless the fight lasts more than five minutes, or if Mirai Kuriyama is in clear danger.

Technicians behind them monitored the scene with energy response radar, tracking every surge and flare inside the room.

They were on standby, ready to intervene at a moment's notice.

So far, the readouts looked stable.

Almost too stable.

"Ah! The landlord's desk! I'm sorry, landlord!"

"My chair—no, that's my only piece of furniture!"

"Stop dodging! The landlord's going to kill me!"

Mirai's voice cracked as her apartment descended into chaos.

The agents outside exchanged looks.

"…This outsider's quite… pure," one of them muttered.

"Or just naturally stupid," another sighed.

The stalemate didn't last long.

Mirai's battle wasn't truly dangerous—not for her.

The poisonous blood running through her veins, her hereditary power to shape and weaponize it, gave her overwhelming advantage.

Anything that her blood touched, Youmu or not, would wither away.

The moment she saw an opening, she took it.

Her eyes hardened, her blade gleamed, and she brought it down on the Youmu's core.

The crimson slash tore through it like silk.

The creature convulsed, black smoke billowing out as its body dissolved into nothingness.

But as the last trace of the Youmu vanished—

Mirai looked around the room, and her soul all but left her body.

Her apartment was a wreck.

Walls splattered with red.

Furniture cracked, melted, or outright sliced in half. The floor corroded with bubbling scars of blood acid.

It looked less like an apartment and more like the aftermath of a war between a human and an alien invasion.

Mirai dropped to her knees among the ruins, clutching her head in despair.

"My rent… my deposit… my poor wallet…"

The room fell silent except for her pitiful wailing.

From the ashes of the Youmu, a faint shimmer appeared—a small crystalline core dropped onto the scorched floor.

It was Youmu essence.

A rare material worth money, though not much.

Mirai picked it up, her eyes dull but hopeful.

"…Maybe this will cover lunch," she whispered.

But in reality, the value was barely enough for a meal—certainly not enough to fix the room or pay damages.

For most outsiders, finding a buyer for such items wasn't easy. Only a few hidden circles dealt in that kind of thing, and the effort it took to sell them was almost never worth it.

Her financial situation, already dire, slipped even further into deficit.

And to make matters worse—

Her ability came with a cost.

Each battle drained her of blood, leaving her weaker and needing to eat far more than average to recover.

For Kuriyama Mirai, fighting Youmu didn't just threaten her life—it threatened her budget.

"…I really am not happy," she muttered, flopping onto the remains of her bed.

Still, despite the devastation, her VR equipment was miraculously intact.

Small blessings.

With a resigned sigh, she wiped off her blade, cleaned her hand, and put the stealth helmet back on.

If she could hunt another Youmu, maybe—just maybe—her wallet could breathe again.

When Mirai reconnected, the BOB finals had already reached their first satellite scan phase.

For five minutes, every player's location was revealed on the map.

Some fled immediately. Others, bolder or hungrier for kills, chased the closest signal.

Gunfire echoed through the wasteland within moments.

Three players were eliminated during that brief window, their avatars bursting into data fragments under the roar of bullets.

Haruto was one of the first to find an opponent.

His enemy: a positional heavy machine gunner—one of the worst matchups for someone like him.

Slow, but terrifyingly strong in mid-range combat.

A walking turret.

Most would respond with hit-and-run tactics, or stay far away and try for a sniper kill.

But Haruto didn't believe in "most."

High in the canopy of the rainforest zone, the sharp whirring of alloy wires cut through the air. The friction hum of his three-dimensional movement device echoed from every direction.

The machine gunner spun wildly, trying to track him—but could only catch glimpses of a shadow moving from branch to branch.

The tension mounted with every metallic snap and whirr.

Sweat rolled down the gunner's face.

He couldn't see him.

Couldn't hear his footsteps.

Only the sound of wires sliding—closer and closer.

Finally, panic took over.

The machine gunner roared and pulled the trigger.

Flames burst from the barrel, the roar of gunfire echoing through the jungle. Trees shattered under the barrage, collapsing one after another with deafening crashes. Leaves and dust filled the air in a chaotic storm.

He kept firing, heart pounding, until the weapon overheated and the barrel glowed red.

Panting heavily, he lowered the gun.

"At least… that should stop him from getting close."

It wasn't a strategy born of logic—just fear.

But it worked, sometimes.

By clearing the nearby trees, he'd limited Haruto's anchor points for his movement gear. nIt was a basic counter-strategy players had learned after seeing him dominate in the prelims.

Simple, but effective.

Or so he thought.

As the smoke thinned, the jungle fell quiet again. The gunner reached for another belt of ammo—

Whssst!

The sound cut through the air like lightning.

His pupils shrank.

He turned—too late.

A hooked blade shot from the darkness, tearing through his thigh.

Pain flared so sharp he screamed out loud—not just in-game, but in his real body.

The hook tightened.

Then retracted.

The force yanked him clean off the ground.

A blur flashed past.

Two figures crossed paths—steel against steel.

A moment of silence.

Then the heavy machine gunner's avatar shattered into fragments of blue light.

Haruto landed lightly among the falling leaves, his blade gleaming in the dappled sunlight.

He flicked the sword with practiced grace—no blood, no trace—and sheathed it in one fluid motion before disappearing into the trees again.

The world outside the game erupted.

The livestream had broadcast the entire duel.

In the presidential palace's private viewing room, a dozen players sat frozen in silence, staring at the screen.

"…What kind of sword technique was that?"

"Isn't that movement gear broken?! That's not even fair!"

"No—it's not the gear. It's Lord Blank. He's just insane."

The match continued.

Each satellite scan reduced the number of players dramatically.

Now, only five remained.

Kuriyama Mirai, by some miracle—or perhaps cowardice—hadn't encountered anyone else since reconnecting.

Asada Shino had already eliminated three players, her sniping flawless and precise.

Haruto stopped fighting as well, observing from the map.

Meanwhile, another player was caught by the second Youmu.

They disconnected instantly.

Foundation agents outside the system moved in swiftly, neutralizing the Youmu and erasing the evidence.

Everything appeared normal again.

But Haruto felt it.

Through the game's digital haze, his senses picked up something deeper—a growing pulse of unnatural energy.

The pressure in the air was thick, heavy.

Something powerful was coming.

A stronger Youmu.

He adjusted his gear and began to move, heading toward the two remaining "ordinary" players. He needed to clear them first—before the real enemy arrived.

Yet, as he advanced, he noticed another signal moving in the same direction.

Sinon.

Within minutes, her dot on the map stopped moving.

Then—Bang!

A distant gunshot echoed through the jungle.

Another player's signal vanished.

Haruto clicked his tongue softly.

"She's gotten a lot stronger than I remember…" he murmured.

Maybe in the original timeline, her fear from the Death Gun incident had held her back.

But not here.

Bang!

Another shot rang out.

Kuriyama Mirai's signal vanished.

Haruto stared at the map, then exhaled through his nose, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

"Well… that's fine. She already did her part."

In a small apartment, Mirai Kuriyama reappeared in the logout room, blinking in confusion.

"Huh? I got eliminated already?"

Her brain caught up. Then she clenched her fists, shouting with indignation:

"I am not happy!"

Her cry echoed through the empty room.

The dream of earning another Youmu bounty—and maybe fixing her rent problem—vanished in an instant.

Her wallet, once again, was doomed.