A single, piercing thought cut through the fog of sleep.
I feel… good.
It was such a foreign sensation that it jolted Samantha Kisaragi awake. For a girl whose life was a litany of aches, fatigue, and the cloying taste of medicine, the absence of pain was more alarming than its presence.
Her eyes fluttered open.
And met a pair of enormous, luminous blue orbs, floating inches from her nose. They pulsed with a gentle, hypnotic light, utterly alien in the familiar gloom of her bedroom.
Her brain took a full two seconds to process the impossibility. Then, a scream tore itself from her throat, raw and instinctual.
"WHAA—!"
"GAHH—!" a high-pitched, tinny voice shrieked right back.
The thing—whatever it was—shot backward like a startled minnow. Samantha scrambled away, crab-walking up her headboard until her back slammed against the cool wood, her fingers tangling convulsively in the thin sheets of her bed.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drum solo she hadn't had the energy for in years.
Floating in the middle of her room was a tiny, spectral creature. It was no bigger than her palm, with a round, white body like a ball of mochi dough, stubby little arms, and no discernible mouth. Its entire expression was contained within those two massive, glowing blue eyes, which were now wide with what looked like indignation.
If this were some cutesy anime mascot, maybe I'd find it adorable. But floating in my bedroom at dawn? This is prime horror movie territory.
"My contractor! You have awakened!" The little ghost puffed out its non-existent chest, its voice ringing with a misplaced sense of grandeur.
Samantha stared, her mind still catching up. The room was the same prison it had always been—the neat stack of light novels on her nightstand, the pill organizer next to it, the faint, sterile scent of antiseptic that clung to everything. But this… this was new.
"…My what, now?"
Before the ghost could elaborate, her bedroom door burst open with a crash that rattled the picture frames on her wall.
"Samantha?! Are you alright? What was that scream?"
Her mother, Elena Kisaragi, stood silhouetted in the doorway, her usual poise shattered. Even in her late forties, her mother moved with a dancer's elegance, a woman sculpted from grace and quiet worries. But right now, her face was a mask of pure, unadulterated panic—the look she always got when Samantha's breathing hitched, or her temperature spiked even a single degree.
"I—uh—" Samantha's gaze flicked to the ghost, which was now trying to hide behind a floating dust mote, and then back to her mother.
She can't see it. Of course, she can't see it. Okay, Samantha, think. A lifetime of hiding how bad you feel has trained you for this.
She forced her lips into a sheepish, placating smile. "Sorry, Mom. A book… a big one… fell off the shelf. Startled me, that's all."
Elena's sharp eyes scanned the room, lingering on the undisturbed bookshelf before settling back on her daughter. The suspicion in her gaze was a physical weight. "Are you sure? Your color… you look flushed. Are you feeling feverish? Your heart isn't racing, is it? I'm calling Dr. Aoki." Her hand was already reaching for the phone in her housecoat pocket.
"No!" Samantha said, a little too quickly. "No, really, Mom, I'm fine! Better than fine, actually. I just need to… wake up properly."
Her mother's expression softened, but the worry remained, etched into the fine lines around her eyes. It was a look Samantha knew better than her own reflection.
"Alright," she sighed, defeated. "But do not push yourself. You know the rules. Breakfast will be ready soon. I'll call you."
With one last, lingering survey of the room, she pulled the door shut, the soft click echoing like a gavel.
Samantha's shoulders slumped, the tension draining out of her in a long, shaky breath. Freedom. A few precious moments of it, at least. Her attention snapped back to the phantom intruder, and her expression hardened into a flat, unimpressed glare.
"Okay. You. Start talking. What the hell are you?"
The ghost clasped its stubby hands behind its back and wiggled, its light-orb eyes blinking owlishly. "A-Ahem. Well, I was going to make a grand entrance, but then you started screaming like a banshee…"
A single vein throbbed in Samantha's temple.
It cleared its non-existent throat. "I am a System!"
"A system." She deadpanned. "Like in the web novels."
"Precisely! But I am a far superior model to those cold, robotic text boxes you're used to. I am a bespoke, interactive, personality-driven spiritual entity! You may address me as…" It did a dramatic little loop-the-loop in the air. "…The Great Lord Phantasm!"
Samantha stared at it for a solid five seconds.
"…No."
The ghost's glow flickered. "Hey! A little respect for your benefactor!"
"Not happening. Give me another one."
"Hmph! You're no fun at all! Fine! Then you shall have the honor of naming me!"
Samantha sighed, rubbing her forehead as a headache began to brew. This was too much before her first (and usually only) cup of coffee. "You're small… you're round… you're white…" She squinted, her gaze analytical. "You look like a—"
The ghost vibrated with anticipation, its blue eyes sparkling.
"—Marshmallow."
"MARSHMALLOW?!" it shrieked, scandalized. "I am a divine being, not a confectionary treat!"
"You kind of look like a floating dumpling, though."
"DUMPLING?!"
"Or maybe a mochi," she mused, tapping her chin.
The ghost froze mid-flail. Its light softened, and a contemplative aura surrounded it. "Mochi…" it whispered, the name rolling off its spectral tongue like a forgotten prayer. "Mochi… Yes! That has a certain dignity! A refined simplicity! From this day forth, I am Mochi!"
"Great. Thrilled for you," Samantha said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Now, what was that about a 'benefactor' and a 'contract'?"
Mochi snapped to attention, clapping its tiny hands with an audible smack. "Ah, yes! The contract! A simple exchange, really. I granted your deepest, most desperate wish, and in return, you will undertake missions to provide me with the energy I need!"
Samantha's breath hitched. Her wish. There had only ever been one. "…What wish?"
"A healthy body, of course!"
The world tilted.
"Check for yourself!" Mochi prompted, floating smugly.
Her movements were stiff, hesitant, as if she expected a familiar stab of pain in her joints. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up.
Nothing.
No dizziness. No dull ache in her back. No weakness in her knees.
Heart pounding a frantic, exhilarating rhythm, she stumbled to the vanity mirror across the room. She braced herself for the usual sight: the sallow, almost translucent skin. The dark, hollowed-out circles under her eyes. The pale, bloodless lips. The face of a girl perpetually wasting away.
But the girl in the mirror was a stranger.
Her skin had a warm, peachy glow. Her lips were a natural, healthy pink. The light in her eyes wasn't just a reflection; it seemed to shine from within. She looked… alive.
"…It's real," she whispered, her voice cracking.
Without thinking, she did a small hop. She landed solidly, her legs strong beneath her. She did another, higher this time. The motion was effortless, free. A laugh, sharp and incredulous, escaped her lips. All her life, she had been a porcelain doll, beautiful but fragile, destined to sit on a shelf. Now… now she felt like she could run a marathon. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, hot and overwhelming.
This was real.
A wide, trembling grin stretched across her face. "This is… this is a miracle."
Mochi floated up beside her reflection, preening. "See? I am quite the magnanimous being. A little gratitude wouldn't go amiss, you know."
Samantha turned from the mirror, her eyes shining with a hope she hadn't felt since she was a small child. "So… what's the catch?"
The smug glow around Mochi dimmed instantly.
"Ehehe… about that…"
Samantha's newfound joy evaporated, replaced by a familiar, cold dread. She crossed her arms. "Spill it."
"W-Well," Mochi fidgeted, rubbing its stubby arms together. "To maintain this peak physical condition, you have to successfully complete missions. Think of it as… spiritual maintenance. If you fail…"
Her stomach twisted into a knot. "If I fail, what?"
Mochi waved a tiny hand, and the image in the mirror rippled.
Samantha's scream this time was a choked, horrified gasp.
The reflection staring back at her was a thing of nightmares.
It—she—was a monster. A seven-foot-tall mountain of grotesque, bulging muscle. Biceps the size of watermelons strained against skin, and her shoulders were broad enough to double as a battering ram. It was the physique of a world-class bodybuilder pushed to an absurd, inhuman extreme.
But the true horror was the skin. It retained her old, deathly pallor, stretched taut over the writhing muscle. The face was still hers, but it was set on a monstrous neck, her features small and sickly in a sea of grotesque power.
It was her weakness wearing the flesh of a titan.
Samantha staggered backward, clutching her head. "NO. NO, ABSOLUTELY NOT. WHAT IS THAT?"
Mochi floated solemnly. "That is the penalty for excessive failure. You retain all the raw physical mass granted by the contract, but your body's constitution reverts to its original, fragile state. Imagine… having the strength to punch through a brick wall but collapsing from anemia halfway through the swing."
A cold sweat slicked her skin. "That's… that's not an existence. That's a curse."
"Precisely!" Mochi chirped, its tone grimly cheerful. "So, my dear contractor, the solution is simple. Don't fail."
She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to banish the horrifying image from her mind. "Fine. Okay. What kind of missions?"
Mochi did a little shrug, its entire body wobbling. "Who knows! The System assigns them at random!"
"…You have got to be kidding me."
"Nope!" Mochi grinned, its eyes curving into happy crescents. "But don't you worry your pretty little head! They'll be tailored to your… unique situation."
That was, somehow, the least reassuring thing it could have said.
A sharp rap on the door cut through her spiraling panic.
"Samantha, honey? Breakfast is ready! I made pancakes!"
Elena's cheerful voice was a lifeline back to reality.
"Coming, Mom!" she called out, her own voice surprisingly steady.
Mochi zipped toward the door, practically vibrating with glee. "FOOD! LET US FEAST! YOUR TASTE BUDS ARE MY TASTE BUDS NOW!"
Samantha shot it a weary look. "You don't even have a mouth."
"Details, details! I experience the sensation! Now let's go! I smell syrup!"
She dragged a hand down her face, a long, tired groan escaping her lips. "I think I'm already starting to regret this."
"No time for regrets!" Mochi sang, phasing through the closed door. "Only for pancakes!"