Part I
The sunset was perfect. It always was. Golden light spilled across the horizon of Hikari-jo, washing the city in honey and amber. Clouds drifted lazily above glass towers, their edges painted with molten orange. Somewhere in the distance, digital birds wheeled through a sky that no longer existed.
Kaito adjusted a slider on his console, and the sun brightened by three percent.
CLIENT MOOD RESPONSE: +12% SEROTONIN COMPATIBILITY: OPTIMAL SUNSET PACKAGE SUCCESSFULLY CALIBRATED
The city sighed in contentment. Millions of people watched the same sunset, and millions believed it was real. But Kaito only stared at the glowing horizon through the maintenance glass and felt nothing. Twelve years as a
Kaito snorted. “Beautiful.”
The system interpreted the statement as positive engagement, and a small bonus was deposited into his account.
The tunnel around him hummed softly, rows of server conduits disappearing into darkness. Most citizens imagined the
His wrist display blinked.
SHIFT STATUS: 03:17 MAINICHI SAISEI: 08:43 REMAINING AKARI MEDICAL DEBT: 1,884,772 Credits
Kaito closed the notification before it could finish rendering. There was no point looking at it; the number never went down. He rubbed the scar at the base of his neck. The skin there felt like melted plastic—the old black-market tether surgery. The gift that kept on taking.
A memory surfaced. Akari laughing, twelve years old, holding up a rusted music box she’d found in a junk heap. “Listen, Kaito.” The tiny melody wobbling through broken gears. Their mother smiling. The last summer before the Flicker. Before the bridge. Before the fall.
Kaito shoved the memory away. The city didn’t pay people to remember. The city paid people to work.
A warning icon flashed across his vision.
CLIENT ENVIRONMENT DESYNC
He sighed. “Of course.”
Kaito opened the diagnostics feed. A luxury penthouse appeared in his vision: artificial cherry blossoms, digital koi ponds, and a simulated mountain range floating beyond panoramic windows. The client had purchased a premium package called FOREVER SUNSET™. Three million credits annually. Unlimited emotional optimization. Guaranteed happiness metrics.
Kaito ran a scan. The system flagged an error: neural synchronization instability. Probably a loose connection. Routine maintenance. He leaned forward, the tunnel lights reflecting off his visor. One tap. Two taps. Three.
The tether port behind his ear burned. A sharp pain stabbed through the base of his skull. Kaito winced.
The world flickered. For a fraction of a second, the sunset stuttered. Orange became grey. Light became static. The digital birds froze in midair. Something inside his tether crackled.
Then—the world vanished.
Not dimmed. Vanished.
The tunnel was dark. Not aesthetically dark. Not cinematic dark. Dead dark. The walls were covered in rust. Water dripped from exposed pipes. Mold crawled along concrete. The air smelled of wet metal and industrial decay.
The maintenance glass beside him became transparent. Not virtually transparent. Actually transparent. And beyond it—the client.
The man inside the luxury penthouse wasn’t standing beside a koi pond. He wasn’t drinking wine beneath cherry blossoms. He was lying inside a filthy medical pod, his skin hanging loosely from his bones. Feeding tubes disappeared into his neck. A machine breathed for him. The room around him was tiny, cold, and grey, the walls stained with moisture. No mountain range. No sunset. No beauty. Just machinery keeping a corpse alive.
The client smiled weakly—not at the room, but at something only he could see. He lifted a trembling hand, reaching toward nothing.
Three seconds. That was all he got. Three terrible seconds.
Then the world exploded back into color. The sunset returned. The birds returned. The cherry blossoms returned. The noise returned. Thousands of advertisements whispered simultaneously through his neural feed. Kaito grabbed the console, his breathing ragged.
No. No, no, no. That wasn’t real. Couldn’t be. The tether was malfunctioning. That’s all. Just a malfunction. The system wouldn’t lie. The Cage couldn’t—
A notification interrupted him.
Incoming Priority Communication: AKARI
He accepted immediately. No hologram appeared. Only audio. Static crackled through the connection, then her voice. Weak. Shaking.
“Kaito?”
“Akari.”
More static. A painful cough. Silence.
“Akari?”
“I’m here.” Her voice sounded wrong, like someone speaking through broken glass. “Kaito...” She hesitated. “I think something’s wrong.”
“How wrong?”
A long pause. “The flowers are back.”
Kaito closed his eyes.
“What color?” he asked quietly.
Another pause. “They’re growing through the floor.”
His grip tightened around the console. “Akari.”
“They’re beautiful.” Her voice cracked. “Kaito... I’m scared.”
Kaito said nothing for a long moment. Outside, the digital sunset continued its perfect arc.
“Okay,” he finally said. “I’m coming.”
A warning alert appeared in the corner of his vision.
MEDICAL STATUS UPDATE PATIENT: AKARI DĒTA-FUHAI PROGRESSION: CRITICAL ESTIMATED SURVIVAL WINDOW: 05 HOURS 12 MINUTES
The perfect sunset continued shining above the city. Kaito looked at it and, for the first time in his life, saw a cage. Then he looked toward the maintenance corridor leading deeper into the server complex. Toward the vault. Toward the
The countdown to
And somewhere beneath the endless glow of the Cage of Light, Kaito made a decision. He was going to steal from God. Even if God was a corporation.
