Entry
The city moved with the speed of a living thing.
Niko didn’t understand why. She only knew that nothing was allowed to stop; everything was being pushed forward, or cast aside.
When Ivy, a resident of this city, first spotted Niko, Niko did not yet belong to its frequency. Her attire was monochrome, drained of all color. A void-like black that absorbed light and a stark white that repelled it. That contrast alone made her drift like a ghost through the chaotic neon streets.
The third time Ivy saw her, she didn’t hesitate. “Want to get a drink?”
Over a glass, Ivy extracted Niko’s story. She had only just arrived. She was a professional makeup artist, but she had brought no tools with her. She had a peculiar habit of hopping between luxury hotels and dirt-cheap hostels, just to savor the “altitude sickness” of shifting environments.
A few days later, they met again in a different place. A dim massage parlor, partitioned into narrow stalls by heavy curtains.
“I thought you’d come.” Ivy appeared from the back.
“This is one of the shops I run. Stay here. If you do, your wavelength will eventually start to match the city.”
Ivy led her upstairs. The room wasn’t small, but it wasn’t generous either. “It’s yours to use.”
From then on, Niko lived there and began assisting with Ivy’s work.
One day, Ivy spoke abruptly. “We’re going to buy your tools. All of them.”
It was sudden, but that was “normal” for Ivy. Her decisions were like lightning—instantaneous. If she judged something necessary, it was put into action on the spot.
Since coming here, Niko had realized what she lacked. She had the skill. Her instincts were sharp. But she lacked her own “armament”—the dedicated gear required to reproduce her vision reliably, every single time.
Ivy didn’t take her to a glamorous boutique for ordinary customers. She took her to a place that looked like a windowless warehouse, stacked high with professional-grade machinery.
Rows of the same items were lined up in countless variations. The pigment payoff was different. The texture was different. The fineness of the particles was different.
Niko picked them up one by one. The weight. The sensation against the skin. The way they glided. She chose brushes, selected palettes, and scrutinized base products. She even picked out a full professional lighting setup. Everything was chosen on the cold assumption of “actual combat.”
“Can you tell just by touching them?” Ivy asked from the side.
“A little,” Niko answered honestly.
“You’ll know soon enough. Whether you want to or not.”
The full set was assembled. In that moment, the air changed. Until then, she had been “borrowing” to get by. From now on, she would fight with her own tools, on her own responsibility. That realization fundamentally reconfigured Niko’s consciousness.
The professional work began in earnest. At first, there was hesitation. Touch a face. Apply color. Draw a line. In every moment, her thoughts would snag. (Is this right?) That microscopic pause manifested as “latency” on the set.
She looked around. No one else was stopping. Touch. Adjust. Finish. Their judgment was faster than a heartbeat.
Niko realized: in this city, “time spent thinking” was a fatal disadvantage.
She moved her hands again. Touch the face. Change it. Slowly, she began to feel the response. It was still soft, but it was taking shape.
“Next!” A voice barked. There was no time to breathe. Another face. Another set of conditions. The “correct answer” from a moment ago was now the “wrong answer.” With every new face, she had to override herself.
Through repetition, she began to grasp the mechanics. What to touch to trigger change. What to leave alone. Unnecessary movements were shaved away; hesitation evaporated.
Once she crossed a certain threshold, the order reversed. She was no longer “moving after thinking.” Thinking was now “completed through the act of touching.”
Then, she went further. Before her skin even met theirs, her hands were already in motion. She looked at a face, and in that instant, the “blueprint for change” was already crystallized.
The speed increased.
The atmosphere on set was brutal. Competition was blatant. There was no hierarchy, no waiting in line, and no restraint. Whoever produced the best result was chosen on the spot. That was all. If someone was better, the work gravitated toward them with total gravity; those who lagged behind simply fell away. “Take it, or disappear.” There were no other options.
At first, this speed and the coldness of the judgment unsettled Niko. But she saw that this method was the most rational. There were no vague evaluations, no emotional bias. Results came back exactly as they were—in numbers and reactions. If you did the work, you won. If you won, you stayed. If you stayed, the next stage appeared. A simple, crystalline structure.
With her sharpened skill and Ivy’s connections, Niko sprinted to the top. She launched her own brand, NONERVE_NOIR, and released her original products to the world.
Before she knew it, Niko had made an irreversible transition from “the one being used” to “the one being chosen.” Wealth surged in like a flood.
She stripped off her old monochrome and dressed herself in the vivid, aggressive colors of high-end brands. She turned herself into a symbol, a brand.
Not to be overwritten by the city, but to override the city herself. Niko had become strong, sharp, and brilliantly distorted.
