{time unknown}
Shiro was still sitting next to her new acquaintance, who seemed to be the embodiment of fatigue. Tomoko, her face buried in the table, listlessly examined her own palms as if she could find in them the answers to all the world's mysteries.
— Hey, Tomoko,— Shiro said softly, trying to catch the girl's attention, "want to take a little walk? It seems to me that after a lecture like this, everyone needs some fresh air."
Tomoko slowly lifted her head and looked at Shiro with an expression of anxious pensiveness:
— Go for a walk...? Right now?
—Yeah, why not? — Shiro smiled, trying to appear as friendly as possible so as not to scare off her new acquaintance. — We have nothing to do anyway, and maybe we'll find someone who can explain what's going on here at all.
Tomoko froze for a moment, battling inner fear, then timidly nodded:
— All right... I suppose you're right.
They rose from their seats and slowly moved toward the exit, but after a few steps Shiro stopped and looked around in confusion:
— Wait, is there even an exit here? I don't see any doors.
Tomoko froze beside her, her eyes widening slightly in alarm:
— Maybe we're just... looking the wrong way?
Shiro shook her head:
— No, definitely. I distinctly remember that before the lecture I was in some huge plaza, and now we're in this strange hall without windows or doors.
— T-then maybe it's worth asking the system...?" Tomoko quietly suggested, clearly not confident in her idea.
Shiro sighed and addressed the ceiling:
— System, how do we get out of here?
The familiar translucent window with text appeared before the girl's eyes:
[SYSTEM]: To exit the training instance, you must complete the initialization phase. Please select your first moderator.Shiro grimaced:— Initialization… Moderator selection… Does that even have anything to do with getting us out of here?— It seems so, — Tomoko whispered, nervously tugging at the hem of her clothing. —Do you… know how to do it?
— No, but when has that ever stopped us? — Shiro said with a sarcastic smile, and began studying the interface that had appeared before her.
The interface looked like a gacha game she once spent far too much time on, trying to pull her
favorite characters. Four familiar buttons read:[Common] [Rare] [Epic] [Legendary]
Shiro let out a heavy sigh and suddenly flung her hands up, staring at the ceiling:— Seriously?! Gacha?! Of all the possible options you chose gacha?! Not only are you keeping us here, but you also want to shred our last nerves through the damn roulette?! Be honest—are you by any chance related to mobile developers?! What's next, you'll suggest a donation?!
[SYSTEM]: It is recommended that the user lower their emotional tension for a successful initialization process. Would you like to purchase a bottle of water that reduces stress and guarantees the restoration of nerve cells? Only 3000 yen.
Shiro let out a nervous chuckle and rolled her eyes:— Aha, great idea, system! And next you'll tell me there's a premium version with an infinite stress-resistant mode for half a million.
[SYSTEM]: Your sarcasm has been recorded and appreciated. But the offer still stands.Shiro grew even more indignant, looking upward as if trying to spot a hidden enemy in the ceiling:
— Seriously?! Three thousand yen for a virtual bottle of water? What's the point of money here at all?! We're in a virtual space, right?!
[SYSTEM]: The user is misinterpreting the conditions of their stay. You are not in a virtual space, but on a planet called "Interworld Interval." This is a perfectly real, physically existing world, created by the most ancient zero-rank administrators specially
For the communication and interaction of administrators from numerous worlds. The planet is equipped with advanced infrastructure, a security system, teleporters for rapid transit, as well as a legislative framework mandatory for all administrators and their subordinates to observe.
Throughout the planet and the entire multiversal space operates the commercial organization "Midas Bank." Its currency is used in all economic and exchange operations, including the purchase of necessities such as water, food, and other goods.
— Wait, wait, — Shiro interrupted her, blinking in shock, — so this was all an absolutely real place with real money, and you decided to tell me such important information only after I asked about the donation water for three thousand yen?!
[SYSTEM]: All information is provided to users as requests are processed.
— Just great! So I was also supposed to guess that I needed to ask about the damn gacha and donation water to get the key information?! — Shiro boiled over, clenching her fists.
[SYSTEM]: Would you like to take out a microloan at Midas Bank to purchase the stress-relieving water that guarantees the restoration of nerve cells? The interest rate is only 0.99% per day.
— No thanks! — Shiro snapped, beginning to slowly lose her mind. — Might as well just sell my soul on credit! Although… never mind. Don't want to give you any ideas.
Tomoko stood silently beside her, watching the theater of the absurd unfold before her. Her eyes widened in horror and amazement, and her hands unconsciously gripped the edge of her clothing so tightly it looked as if she might tear it.
«Microloan…? A real planet…? Midas Bank…? What if they've already started charging us interest for the air?! I didn't sign any papers!»
She swallowed and nervously tugged Shiro's sleeve, cautiously as if afraid of pushing her completely over the edge:— Sh-Shiro… maybe we should just… um… stop antagonizing the system…? Otherwise it might decide to charge us interest for emotional damage or something…?
Tomoko cast a timid glance upward, as though expecting the system to issue a terrifying sentence for every word spoken, and barely audibly added, almost to herself:
— Although, it's probably too late. We're doomed to eternal debt. They'll even charge us for breathing here.
She froze, eyes wide, and softly muttered to herself, unable to stem the tide of anxious thoughts:— What if this bank is already writing our names on the debtor list? Then sells us off to some interworld collector… A-a-a-a, no, no, calm down, Tomoko, breathe deeply… everything will be fine… probably.
Shiro turned to her and gave a weary smile, placing a hand on her shoulder:— Tomoko, I promise I won't let any interworld debt collectors abduct you.
Tomoko looked up at Shiro with gratitude, though still slightly terrified:— Thank you… I think… But… better not piss off the system, right?
She forced a nervous smile, desperately trying to appear even a little calm despite the panic that had reached its peak.
Shiro exhaled calmly, half-closing her eyes, and spoke to the ceiling with all the sincerity she could muster:— You know what, system? Go #@$%^yourself with your microloan and your cosmic capitalism. I hope your exchange rate crashes and all your donation bottles go unclaimed.
She turned away demonstratively and crossed her arms, deliberately ignoring whatever might happen next.
At Shiro's words, Tomoko went even paler—if that were possible. Her eyes rolled upward, her legs gave way, and she quietly, almost soundlessly collapsed to the floor, unconscious from the wave of terror and stress.
Shiro spun around, anxiety etched on her face:— T-Tomoko?! Hey, are you all right?!
But the system, ignoring the scene before it as if it hadn't heard the insults at all, continued coldly:[SYSTEM]: If the user has finished expressing emotions, please continue the moderator selection process.
Shiro knelt beside Tomoko and gently shook her shoulder:— Hey, Tomoko, wake up! Please, don't tell me you need that stupid donation water for three thousand yen…
Tomoko slowly opened her eyes, looking at Shiro helplessly as if she didn't recognize her. Then it dawned on her what had happened, and the girl's face flamed with shame:— I-I'm sorry… I… I think I passed out… from terror…?
Shiro exhaled with relief and helped Tomoko to her feet:— It's okay, really. Next time, I promise I'll be a bit more careful with my choice of words. Just a bit.
Tomoko gave a weak smile and shyly lowered her eyes again:— Thank you… I'll try to get used to your way of talking to the system…
As if waiting for that very moment, the gacha interface flared up before Shiro's eyes again, demanding her attention.
[SYSTEM]: User, please continue selecting a moderator to complete initialization.
The interface flickered faintly, clearly awaiting Shiro's next move. The four standard options were still available:[Common] [Rare] [Epic] [Legendary]
But now her gaze was immediately drawn to a small question mark, glowing with a soft, cold midnight light. Beneath it shimmered a bold label:
[Mythic]
No sooner had Shiro examined the unusual option than a new warning popped up:[Warning: The Mythic tier is unstable and not recommended for beginners. Summon consequences are unpredictable and may have long-term effects on the administrator. Are you sure you want to continue?]
Shiro froze for a second, then smiled defiantly at the translucent window:— Of course I'm sure. If this is anything like gacha, then I simply have to pull the rarest banner, right?
Her fingers hovered over the "[Mythic]" button for only a second—yet she pressed it, with the same reckless resolve she once used to spend her last Primogems on a late-night event banner. The moment her finger touched the transparent surface, everything around them seemed to hold its breath.
The interface began to dissolve into glowing particles. All around—tables, walls, even Tomoko, blurred and unfocused—vanished as though it had been an illusion, a mere phantom.
Shiro tried to speak, but she didn't have time.
The world fell away.
As if an abyss opened beneath her feet, she began to plummet through infinity, not screaming but blinking in surprised disbelief. Swirling fragments of memories, unfamiliar faces, strange landscapes spun around her. Some felt eerily familiar; others filled her with unease, as if hinting at the future.
[SYSTEM]: Deviation detected. Summon parameters unstable. Match: 0.03%
— What the… System?! — Shiro cried out, but her voice dissolved into silent emptiness.
A final message flashed before her eyes, as if etched on the inside of her lids:[Summoning procedure activated. Initiating temporal shift scenario. Moderator initialization: Mythic.]
…
She didn't hit the ground with a crash but landed softly, as if the earth itself had caught her in its arms.
Shiro stirred faintly, feeling cool grass against her cheeks and palms. A breeze—tangy, salty, with a hint of copper—brushed her skin. She opened her eyes.
Above her stretched the evening sky, deep blue, almost violet. The fading light of the setting sun glowed behind low, white-stone buildings. The city around her resembled ancient Hellas—columns, marble edifices, arches and statues, all dusted with the patina of ages.
— This is… — Shiro struggled to her feet, looking around. — I'm definitely not in a simulation.
[SYSTEM]: Confirmed. Transfer to local temporal line complete. Point: post-ritual phase of subject conversion.
— Thanks for the warning… afterward. — she snorted.
Her clothes had changed—a light Greek-style dress and cloak. The interface flickered faintly above her wrist. And at that moment, as surprise, mild panic, and inner tension coursed through her, her hair trembled—and two small, black ears with white fluff inside slid out. Cat ears, soft and real.
She didn't notice them — but the sight would surely have been amusing.
A faint noise came from behind — as if someone had stumbled over a cobblestone. Shiro tensed and turned around.
In the narrow, slightly shaded alley between the stalls, she saw a small figure. A girl of six or seven, dressed in a white, aristocratic garment of ancient Greek style, sat against the wall with her arms wrapped around her knees. Beside her lay a strangely shattered ceramic bowl; blood stained her fingers, yet her skin was so pale, almost translucent, as if she weren't breathing.
Shiro approached slowly.— Hey… are you all right? — she asked gently, trying not to sound brusque.
The girl lifted her gaze. Her eyes were unnaturally red — no glow, yet still terrifying — and filled with a foggy shock, as if she didn't fully understand where she was.— You… you don't look like you're from around here, — she whispered hoarsely.
Shiro gave a small smile, stepping closer and crouching down.— Well, you know. I was just passing by. You… alone?
The girl said nothing, clutching her knees; her lower lip trembled — not from fear, but from confusion.
Shiro extended her hand softly.— I won't hurt you. Really. Want some water? I don't have any on me, but I can try to get some… on credit, I guess.
The girl gave a faint nod, then hesitated as if gathering her courage.— My name is… — she faltered, biting her tongue for a moment as though her name were stuck in her throat — Kru...
— Kru? — Shiro repeated, warmth in her voice — that's a lovely name. I like it.
— Really? — the girl blinked, showing genuine emotion for the first time.
— Of course. It suits you — short but resonant.
A pause. Kru looked at her as though unsure if she could trust. She was frightened and pale, yet something familiar glowed in her eyes. Shiro felt it too.
— Listen, Kru, — Shiro said softly, — maybe I'll sit with you for a bit? Until you feel ready to move on?
No answer — but Kru didn't look away. And that was enough.
Shiro sat down beside her, leaning against the wall, and exhaled. The interface offered no signs of life — no notifications, no tasks, no instructions.
[SYSTEM]: Observation procedure initiated. Scenario launched. No turning back.
Shiro glanced up at the sky. A single star shone brightly against the deepening darkness. Next to it, the girl she now called Kru breathed quietly.
Shiro gently brushed a damp strand of hair from Kru's forehead and stood. In the pale moonlight, the hem of her light cloak shimmered; her new tunic barely rustled as she took a step.
— We'd better find somewhere to rest, — she said quietly. Her voice was steadier than she felt — inside, everything trembled with the rush of the new.
Kru raised her eyes: dark lashes cast shadows on her pale cheeks. She hesitated for a moment, then finally placed her cool hand in Shiro's. Kru's fingers were thin and cold, like porcelain — yet in that fragile touch, a warm resolve kindled within Shiro — a determination to protect her, no matter the cost.
They emerged from the cluttered alley onto a broad street polished to a mirror-like sheen. The market wrapped them in a warm, anxious hum: above the colorful stall awnings drifted the scent of honeyed flatbreads and roasted figs, and somewhere deeper in the quarter a lyre tinkled. Now and then the breeze carried the salty freshness of the sea; it seemed that at the far end of the street waves were splashing against the marble paving.
Kru pressed herself against the wall — torchlight stung her eyes, and her skin trembled in fine ripples. Shiro noticed her instinctively seeking shade under a protruding entablature.— Is the light too bright? — she asked, leaning in.
Kru managed:— Too bright… like it's hot (⋟﹏⋞) .
Shiro drew the corner of her own cloak over the girl, cutting off the pulsating yellow brightness.— Better?
A nod. Shiro almost smiled: absurd—but in all this chaos, caring for a child seemed the only thing that made sense.
At the stall with painted jugs Shiro reached for water. Vrist. A translucent window exploded before her eyes:[SYSTEM]: Initial fund for a grade IV administrator — 5000 Midas Bank coins.
0.4 coins = 50 drachmaeUnused package will be annulled after 72 hours; funds transfer to the System Reserve Fund.
The silvery coins literally materialized in her palm, heavy, cold. Shiro rolled them between her fingers and snorted:— Oh, is that how it is? So you decided to stay silent until I die of thirst, only to scrape together an advance? What kind of $#...
—She stopped herself, glancing at Kru. The girl looked at her anxiously, not understanding whom Shiro was addressing.— Sorry. I sometimes… argue with the air...
Shiro placed six drachmae on the stall—generously, defiantly—and instructed the vendor to pour the best spring water. He didn't ask extra questions: port folk were used to all kinds of eccentrics.— Stick close, okay? It's noisy here.
The girl nodded.
The jug was wet, tiny droplets running down its rim. Shiro took the first sip—fresh, cool; her throat immediately relaxed. She handed the vessel to Kru. The girl hesitated but still took a tiny sip.
Her face distorted instantly—not from pain, but from incomprehension. Her shoulders trembled; she covered her mouth with her palm.— Ash… — she murmured.
— Ash? The water? — Shiro tried to smile, but it came out crooked. A suspicion tightened her chest: "plain food won't suit her anymore."
She bought a soft bun from the nearest vendor, tore it in half, and offered it to Kru. The girl timidly bit it—and immediately set it aside, as if chewing paper.— Sorry… I can't, — she whispered, flushing not from blood, but from shame.
Shiro stroked her hair:— It's okay. We'll find what you need.
— Grade IV? — Shiro kept her eyes on the invisible window while the vendor packed the remaining flatbreads. — What does that even mean?
Shiro frowned as a ghostly header flared above the basket of flatbreads. The letters formed smoothly from pearly light—as if written by a quill across the night air.[SYSTEM]Current hierarchy of administrators:V — candidate: novice, in introductory course, no own group.IV — trainee: intern-administrator with basic tools and a starting account.III — administrator: owner of a chat group with one to three moderators.II — curator: oversees multiple groups, authorized to issue quests.I — supreme: strategic manager of an interworld sector.0 — archival entity: status information hidden.
— "Trainee," — Shiro muttered with softened sarcasm. — I didn't even make junior manager.
The text blurred, giving way to a new line:Each administrator is entitled to• a personalized ID card from Midas Bank;• a savings account (for a trainee — starting fund of 5000 Mids).
The starting fund expires if not used within seventy-two hours.
At chest level a tiny spark flared. From the air floated an elegant plate—as if the System itself was demonstrating a "sample."
Candidate card (example of grade V)Holographic parchment of warm beige—seemingly cut from layers of pearlescent sand. It's almost weightless, with a slight grain: turn it, and the haze on its surface scatters into a quiet rainbow. In the center —A delicate watermark Σ, visible upon touch. The frame is encircled by bronze filigree, illuminated from within by soft amber, and on the reverse gleams a tiny seal of Midas Bank, resembling cooled sealing wax.
[SYSTEM] monotonously announced: "Candidate Card — Basic Design."
Shiro reached out—but the "parchment" dissolved into sparks. In place of the ethereal calling card another plate settled into her palm — heavy, cool, the color of polished raven's wing. She felt its true weight and clenched her fingers around it.
Shiro's Card (unidentified rank)Material: Polished black obsidian, mirror-deep — beneath the smooth surface liquid rainbow veins slowly shift: blue-violet, emerald, and carmine, as if the northern lights dance within the stone.Edges & weight: Thicker and heavier than a normal bank card; edges cut at a 30° angle glow faintly ruby-metallic in torchlight. At the slightest movement along the rim a narrow red aura flickers — like warning neon running along its edge.On the face is engraved a spectral "∞," and beneath it in silvery script appear the lines:
SHIRO / 司朗
Clumsy
The letters are inlaid into the stone itself and glow coldly at any light. The reverse is adorned with a coal-black hexagon of Midas Bank; around its circumference runs microtext: Midas Inter-Universal Reserve.In the lower right corner a thin slit-lens—one glance and a red counter flares up:
Balance — 5000 ɱ.
When Shiro involuntarily squeezed the card harder, a slow purple pulse ran through the rainbow veins — the obsidian seemed to respond with a heartbeat, growing imperceptibly heavier.
The girl held her breath:— This is definitely not a trainee's design, — she whispered. At a slight tilt the veins trailed behind her fingers, as if a liquid star flowed beneath glass.
[SYSTEM]: ID cards are issued automatically by Midas Bank. Error excluded.
— If that's so, tell me—what rank is this black obsidian?
[SYSTEM]: The user lacks sufficient access rights to view this card's metadata.
A chill ran down Shiro's spine. She tucked the strange card into an inner pocket—the obsidian slid softly between fabric and skin and seemed to stick.
Kru, without looking away, whispered:— It's… beautiful. And alive ༼☯﹏☯༽ .
— It shines at my expense, I suppose, — Shiro answered with a crooked smile, still feeling the card's faint pulse. — We'll figure it out later. Right now, the important thing is not to lose you.
She wrapped her fingers around the girl's thin hand:— And now—hold on tight. Your safety is the main deposit that I will not let be wiped out.
The market's hum receded as they slipped into a side alley under the cold flicker of nocturnal torches.
The motley bazaar was left behind when Shiro led Kru out of the last row of stalls. Candles on the counters crackled—"Olives! Grapes!" drifted on the air—but after a couple of turns they found themselves in an entirely different world. Here covered balconies arched over the street like clasped fingers, hiding the sky; torches cast uncertain amber patches on crumbling plaster. The scent of fried fish mingled with the sour smoke of charcoal ovens.
Kru pressed herself to the wall, squinting at the flames. Shiro held her hand, sheltering her beneath her cloak.— A little patience, — she whispered. — Soon we'll reach the temple quarter; there are fewer people there.
Kru merely nodded: her breathing was slightly uneven, but her gaze was steady—only her pupils drifted, tracking the flicker of flame.
As the market faded behind them, the street noise softened. From somewhere in the shadows a metallic clang sounded dull and distant. Shiro involuntarily turned: in an arched passageway a gleaming arrowhead flashed—a man testing the tension of a crossbow's string. A bad premonition pricked her heart.
She turned into a narrower alley where the walls were streaked with green limewash. Behind them, footsteps grew more distinct: measured, insistent—not the random tread of passersby but a purposeful pursuit.
Ahead the alley narrowed to a shallow moat—a hunched arch over water, rusted railings, stones below gleaming with cold silt. There darkness closed in, as if someone had grown impatient and slammed the world's door behind them. From around the corner two figures stepped out.
The first was a stocky archer in tarnished cuirass, the bolt shooter cocked, the bowstring drawn so tight that it hummed with every breath. The second was long-legged, catlike, with a dagger nearly as long as his forearm; the blade gleamed with an even coldness, like a drop of mercury dragged across glass. Their stances betrayed training and hunger.
— Red-eyed, — the archer rasped as he inhaled sharply. — Fresh. Alive!
Shiro only had time to lunge forward. A whistle—and a gray bolt, like a lightning-fast wasp's sting, shot from its channel. The girl threw herself chest-first into the line of fire, taking the blow with her shoulder: the metal drove in under her collarbone, each millimeter stretching the sinewy bowstring of her body. The bolt quivered; hot blood instantly spattered in a narrow ribbon along the inside of her cloak.
Kru screamed—a thin, breaking note, as if the dagger had caught a harp string—but in that same instant her slight form was caught by strong arms. Shiro gritted her teeth, snagged the girl under the knees and beneath her shoulder blades—and in a dull, whirling pain managed to press her to her chest so tightly she didn't even notice the footsteps at first. In the world there remained only the heavy pulse of her wound and the deafening rush of blood in her temples.
— Hold on! — came a hoarse command, an exhale tinged with the scent of rusted metal.
She bolted forward, each step echoing as a flash of white light in her eyes. A muffled thud—and the second bolt shrieked into the stonework, scattering lime fragments across their backs. Behind them came a curse: the archer was reloading, and the dagger-wielder was already squeezing through the narrow passage, seeking to flank them via the bridge.
Shiro darted into a side tunnel where stacks of olive-oil barrels rose on both sides. Pain gnawed at her shoulder, but her arms would not yield: she grabbed a wooden support wedged in the frame and, throwing her weight against it, knocked it free with her shoulder. Barrel after barrel tumbled like dominoes, pouring out a slick green wave. The pursuer gagged on his own scream as he slid away as if on ice: his crossbow twisted in his grasp, the string lashed his face, and the bolt warped and flew into the darkness.
Shiro did not pause; blood streamed down her fingers onto Kru's pale dress, but the girl only clung tighter to the collar of her cloak. Emerging from the narrow passage, they crossed the square between the warehouses, dotted with wooden carts.
Behind a neighboring arch stood a glassblower's shop: on rough tables sat bulbous flasks of powdered boron resin. Without slowing, Shiro spun her body as she neared, kicking the edge of the nearest table. Heaps of vessels crashed down; one struck the stone floor and shattered in a crystalline salvo, unleashing a cloud of glittering powder. When the dagger-wielder rounded the corner, the torch in his hand, as if prodded into gasoline vapors, ignited the cloud in a white-golden flare. The man was blinded, cursed hoarsely, and swiped at his cloak in stunned confusion.
Shiro vaulted over the narrow pedestrian bridge linking the warehouses. Ancient and rotten, it creaked under her weight; the hunters behind her came barging through two at once. The old supports couldn't hold: the beams cracked, the bridge gave way, carrying them down into the shallow, foul-smelling canal. Splashes mixed with curses reached her back, but Shiro was already turning toward the temple quarter.
Each breath gave a hoarse groan: the bolt in her shoulder kept her cloak's left wing from unfurling and snagged on muscle like a fiery anchor. But the moment she felt Kru clench the cloak with her little fists, a new surge of strength exploded in her chest. Paradoxically, the heavier her steps grew, the tighter she held the little one in her arms.
The semi-circular apse of an old temple greeted them in silence; a massive moon-shaped rupture in the roof bathed the nave in translucent silver. Shiro stumbled over the first cracked stone, sank to her knees, and gently laid Kru on the cool floor; then she dropped down beside her—her hands trembling, her fingers numb. Warm blood trickled down her wrist; the bolt protruded like a malicious nail. Kru, pressing her lips together in fear, pressed both palms to the wound—blood seeped between her fingers, but she did not pull her hands away.
— Shiro… hold on ...