The Weight of a Zero
The protein bar tasted like chalk and broken dreams.
I chewed slowly, leaning against the cold, carbon-fiber wall at the back of the Grand Hall. In front of me, two thousand of the “brightest minds of the generation” were sitting in rows so straight you could align a laser to them. They were all wearing the Zenith Institute blazer—a deep, arrogant navy that cost more than my life back in the Outer Districts.
On my left wrist, my Link—the thin, metallic band every student was shackled with—chirped softly.
[CURRENT STATUS]
User: Kaito (Rank 1,998)
SCS: 12.5
Status: Critical Danger (Purge Zone)
Twelve points. If I didn’t find a way to scam or stumble into some Social Credit by the end of the month, I’d be “deleted.” The school would scrub my records, the gates would lock, and I’d be dumped back in the dust with nothing but the clothes on my back.
“And that,” a smooth, melodic voice echoed through the hall, “is why merit is the only objective truth.”
I looked up. On the raised obsidian stage stood Renzo.
He was Rank 1. He had a Social Credit Score of 99,999—the system’s cap. He was handsome, his hair was perfect, and he spoke like he was reciting poetry written by a god. To the rest of the school, he was the King. To me, he was just a guy who looked like he’d never had to punch his way out of a grocery store.
“The Purge isn’t a punishment,” Renzo continued, smiling at the crowd. “It’s a cleaning process. It ensures that Zenith remains a sanctuary for those who—”
Suddenly, Renzo stopped.
He didn’t just stop talking. He froze. His mouth stayed open, a half-formed syllable hanging in the air.
I frowned, stopping mid-chew. Most people wouldn’t have noticed it yet, but from this distance, I saw the shift. His center of gravity shifted three millimeters to the left. His pupils dilated until the blue of his eyes vanished. His pulse, visible in the vein of his neck, went from a steady rhythm to a frantic, fluttering mess.
Something is wrong.
“Uh, is this part of the speech?” someone whispered nearby.
Then, it happened. Every Link in the room chimed at once—a harsh, dissonant chord that made people wince.
[CRITICAL SYSTEM ERROR]
Source: USER_001 (RENZO)
Status: IDENTITY NOT FOUND.
Error Code: 404
A massive holographic screen behind Renzo turned blood-red. The “King” tilted forward, his knees hitting the stage with a sickening thud that echoed through the silent hall. He didn’t put his hands out to break the fall. He just face-planted into the obsidian.
The hall erupted. Two thousand geniuses scrambled, their chairs screeching against the floor.
“Get a medic!”
“Check his Link! Someone check his score!”
“Is this a hack? Is the exam starting early?”
I didn’t move. I watched Renzo’s body. It was limp, like a puppet with its strings cut. But then I looked at the red screen again. The text started to flicker, melting into a mess of corrupted code before resetting into something new.
[SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT]
The Zenith Social System has encountered a Fatal Exception.
New Directive: THE KING IS DEAD.
New Rule: THE PURGE IS NOW PERMANENTLY ACTIVE.
Current Multiplier: x10 Point Loss for all Social Infractions.
“Wait,” a girl in the front row screamed, staring at her wrist. “My points! They’re dropping! I didn’t even do anything!”
The panic turned into a riot. Students began pushing, shove-ranking each other out of the way to get to the exits. In the Zenith Institute, if you weren’t moving forward, you were dying.
I swallowed the last of my chalky protein bar. My physical instinct—the one that kept me alive in the slums—was screaming at me. It wasn’t telling me to run. It was telling me to look at the shadows.
In the chaos, no one noticed a girl standing near the stage. It was Hana, the Rank 2 student. She wasn’t running. She was staring at Renzo’s catatonic body with an expression of pure, unadulterated terror. She looked at her Link, then looked at me—the only person in the room not moving.
Our eyes met. I could see her heart rate spiking just by the way her collarbone was vibrating.
“You,” she hissed, her voice barely audible over the screaming. “The one with the Zero-Rank eyes. Why aren’t you afraid?”
I pushed off the wall, my knuckles popping as I closed my hands into fists.
“Hard to be afraid of a system error,” I said, my voice flat. “When the system never liked you in the first place.”
Above us, the lights flickered and died, leaving only the ominous, pulsing red glow of the Error 404 screen. The game had changed. The geniuses were losing their minds, which meant it was finally time for the “dumb” guy to take charge.
