Chapter 38: Vanished

The Shop interface expanded before Ishiki’s eyes like a merchant’s display case.

The platinum window reorganized itself, splitting into distinct sections that pulsed with faint luminescence. Three primary options dominated the display.

[Explore]

[Sell]

[Trade]

Ishiki selected Explore with the mental equivalent of holding his breath. The window shifted again, revealing subcategories that made his pulse quicken with anticipation:

Weapons | Armors | Artifacts

He dove into Weapons first, eyes scanning the seemingly endless catalog of instruments. Swords, spears, bows.

Each entry displayed with rotating three-dimensional models and descriptions that read like poetry written by psychopaths.

His eyes caught on the price tags.

And his enthusiasm died screaming.

[Blazing Edge (Rare)]

Price: 45,000 NC

[Storm Avenger (Rare)]

Price: 89,000 NC

[Broken stone (Epic)]

Price: 250,000 NC

The numbers climbed higher the further he scrolled—weapons priced at hundreds of thousands, some reaching into millions of NC.

Ishiki’s eyes twitched. “What… Do I need to sell my soul to the devil for buying these?”

’Unreasonably expensive doesn’t even begin to cover this robbery.’

He scrolled down, searching desperately for anything approaching affordable, until he found the bottom tier.

[Iron Dagger (Common)]

Price: 3,000 NC

Three thousand NC. For a common rank weapon with no abilities whatsoever. A glorified kitchen knife probably.

At the top right corner of the interface, a small golden coin symbol glittered mockingly. Beside it, numbers glowed in steady light:

22,700 NC

Ishiki stared at those numbers with mixed feelings. By any reasonable standard, he was wealthy.

’Damn… I am quite rich, aren’t I?’

But in the Shop’s economy, he was practically destitute. He could afford the iron dagger with change to spare, or maybe two if he felt particularly wasteful.

He cursed the dagger specifically, as if the inanimate object had personally offended him, and moved forward.

Armors weren’t much better. Basic leather padding for 5,000 NC. Actual protective equipment started at 20,000 and climbed exponentially from there.

The truly impressive pieces, cost more Neural Coins than Ishiki would probably earn in his entire lifetime.

Artifacts were equally disappointing. Utility items like storage rings, healing crystals, and perception-enhancing talismans all carried price tags that suggested the system’s idea of “fair market value” was heavily biased toward making Players suffer.

Then he found the Skills section.

His eyes lit up immediately.

He opened the screen with enthusiasm bordering on desperation.

And found garbage.

The Skills catalog was dominated by Common rank abilities that did things like “Slightly increase grip strength” or “See 10% better in dim light” or “Reduce water consumption by small margin.” Marginal improvements that might matter in very specific situations.

’And these shity things are not even permanent.’

There was a time limit against all the skills in the shop. Of course, there was— why would something like skills be obtained so easily.

The Rare rank skills were not any better and their prices made Ishiki want to cry.

Fifty thousand. For a single skill that you will get for just 2 hours.

’Screw you system!’

The bitter taste of disappointment settled in Ishiki’s mouth.

He closed the Skills section, mentally slamming the window shut, and navigated away from Explore entirely. The whole thing felt like a cruel joke.

The Sell option was straightforward, at least.

Simple as it could get. List your Vestiges, receive Neural Coins in exchange based on rank and power. Convenient for liquidating assets you didn’t need.

Except Ishiki only had two Vestiges—[Black Tether] and [Aether Blade]—and none of them were for selling. Doing so would only be suicidal stupidity.

The Trade section was more intriguing. A marketplace where Players could exchange Vestiges directly, bartering weapon for weapon or armor for skill without Neural Coins as middleman.

But to trade, you needed something someone else wanted. And Ishiki’s equipment, were more valuable than he first thought they were.

He dismissed the Shop entirely with a mental command, the platinum window vanishing like smoke, leaving him alone with thoughts that spiraled toward anxiety.

Nine days until the Scenario.

Nothing in the Shop would help him prepare. His body ached and his mind felt tired. His emotions were a tangled mess of fear, grief and anxiety he had been suppressing for weeks.

What he needed wasn’t equipment but rest.

Ishiki collapsed onto the sofa, not bothering to remove his oversized clothes. Sleep claimed him almost immediately—dragging him down into darkness that, for once, didn’t contain monsters or memories of guilt.

Just blessed unconsciousness.

***

Nine days later.

The room felt smaller than it actually was.

Nine people sat in uncomfortable silence, each lost in private terror, counting heartbeats like condemned prisoners awaiting execution. The tension was so thick it felt physical.

Ishiki thought his heart might burst. The stress and fear he was experiencing felt almost lethal, like his cardiovascular system was staging a protest against being subjected to this level of sustained panic.

’Screw this.’ He gritted his teeth and stared at his hands. They trembled slightly despite his attempts at control. ’Screw all of this.’

The past nine days had been harder than anything except the trial itself.

Relentless training under Kaori’s brutal instruction. Hunting parties during daylight hours—stalking Xenons through ruins, learning to fight as a team, accumulating kills. Supply runs that turned into combat operations more often than not.

And last night…god, last night—he joined the night hunting party.

That had been an entirely different experience. Terrifying in ways daylight combat couldn’t match. The darkness had been absolute in the deeper ruins, broken only by moonlight that seemed to make shadows deeper rather than illuminating anything.

Xenons had been everywhere, crawling from collapsed buildings, emerging from sewers.

He barely survived and came back covered in blood and ichor. He understood that the people who go out there daily and spend hours there were more than deserving of the fact that they were the strongest.

But it had been worth it.

[Ghost Blade] had reached Level 1.

And his Synth Reactor had finally reached Level 8, granting him another small boost to physical stats that might mean the difference between life and death.

Behind him, the door clicked open and then shut, that sounded like a coffin lid closing.

Kenji walked slowly into the room, face pale. He just said goodbye to Akari. They both knew he might not come back. That promise of marriage after the Scenario might be a lie they told each other because lies were sometimes kinder than truth.

He sat beside Ishiki without speaking. Just collapsed onto the bench like his strings had been cut. His breathing was ragged, nervous, the sound of someone trying very hard not to break down.

Ishiki looked up and studied the other faces sharing this condemned cell.

Kaori sat with eyes fixed on empty air, probably reviewing her status screen, checking equipment, doing last-minute preparations, trying not to think about mortality.

The Princess sat with eyes closed, hands folded in her lap, picture of serene composure that was, the best acting performance Ishiki had ever witnessed. Her pink hair was tied back.

The large, muscular man who fought beside Shen—sat opposite Ishiki, seemingly lost in thought, fingers drumming against his thigh in nervous rhythm.

Then there were five others. Players Ishiki recognized from camp but didn’t really know. Faces that had become familiar through proximity rather than friendship. One of them—a young woman maybe nineteen, with short black hair and eyes red from crying.

Nobody told her to stop. Because they all understood that crying was the only reasonable response to knowing you were about to be thrown into hell again.

Ishiki took a deep breath, trying to center himself, trying to find calm that kept slipping away like water through cupped hands.

He was ready. As ready as nine days of preparation could make him. He had done everything possible—trained, hunted, killed, leveled up, studied his abilities, memorized strategies.

But doubt remained.

Sharp and persistent.

Because their entire strategy relied on one critical assumption: that they’d all be sent to the same Scenario.

But nobody could guarantee that.

The hundred Players who’d vanished a month ago had gone together—all shared the same timer, all disappeared simultaneously. But had they stayed together after the system took them? Or had they been scattered across different… realms, forced to survive alone, dying separately while believing they would face challenges united?

That was the variable. The unknown factor. The fear of unknown… was far greater than Ishiki had assumed. He always heard about it, but now that his life depended on that unknown, it was… too fearsome.

If they were wrong, if the system separated them—then all their preparation meant nothing.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, needing to ground himself in mundane reality, to check the time.

Before he could even look at the screen—

They were gone.

Not with dramatic visual effects, system notifications or any courtesy that would have let them prepare mentally.

All the ten people in the room, vanished.

The phone slipped from Ishiki’s nerveless fingers and hit the floor with a sharp crack that echoed through the suddenly empty room.

The sound echoed and then there was… complete silence.

The Players had vanished into the Scenario.

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