BECOMING MID(NIGHT)-Chapter 61: Phase 48 - Wanna Join Me, Darling?

The heavy, metallic thud of the deadbolt sliding into place was the loudest sound in the world.

My thumb slipped off the lock twice before the tumbler finally rotated. I leaned my forehead against the cold, composite material of the door, letting my eyes slide shut. The hallway, the fluorescent purgatory, the ’Liquidated Gold’ neighbor, the F-NET broadcast—they were all locked on the other side.

Sanctuary. Or at least, the simulation of one.

The room was pitch black save for the ambient, low-frequency blue glow of the monitors idling on the desk. The air in here was different. It was cold. A stark, aggressive thermal drop from the ionizing heat of the corridor. The cooling fans of the server racks hummed in the background, a steady, white-noise rhythm that usually centered my pulse.

Right now, it just sounded like a countdown.

I opened my eyes and pushed off the door. My legs immediately threatened to buckle.

The Lead Shroud.

It wasn’t just a metaphor anymore; it was a physical weight localized in my bones. My calves were gorged with lactic acid—a systemic lag that turned every micro-movement into a buffering nightmare. I limped toward the center of the room, my boots leaving heavy, wet footprints on the cable-strewn floor.

And for the first time in my life, I actually needed the shower.

I needed to burn the evidence of the F-NET broadcast away off my skin.

But first, I had to take off the meat-suit.

The damp denim of my jeans was a localized torture device. T

he fabric, crusted with the salt of my own sweat and the heavy, biological reality of the ’Session’ we’d just survived, had essentially fused to my skin. With every step, the coarse, wet material grated against the raw, hypersensitive friction burns on my inner thighs.

I stopped near the edge of the bed and reached for the metal button at my waist. My fingers were trembling. The fine motor skills were completely gone, overridden by the adrenaline crash. I fumbled with the wet denim, my nails scraping against the stiff fabric.

It was pathetic. I was a high-tier programmer. I could decrypt a military-grade firewall in my sleep. But right now, I was failing a basic physical CAPTCHA.

Beside me, Kyouya was already peeling off his jacket. He looked like a drowned rat, his hair matted against his forehead, but he still had that annoyingly graceful "Starlet" posture. He caught me staring at his struggle with a zipper and a smirk ghosted across his face—the kind of expression that usually preceded a system error.

"What is it, wanna join me, darling~?"

The voice was pure VelvetVice—sultry, melodic, and completely full of shit.

It grated against the silence of the room like sandpaper.

I scoffed, finally popping the metal stud of my jeans with a sharp clack.

Huh, since when you are being so whorish?

"Channeling your feminine side, femboy? Or is the avatar finally draining your remaining brain cells?"

Kyouya’s eyes narrowed, the "Starlet" mask flickering for a second to reveal the jagged, tired detective underneath. 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

"It’s called ’LARP-ing,’ Mayo. You should try it. Might help you walk without looking like a constantly glitching NPC."

"No, thanks,"

This is so pointless.

I muttered, sliding the zipper down. The sound of wet teeth unclenching was nauseating.

"Don’t be an idiot. Just get in the shower before your ’feminine side’ catches pneumonia and I have to drag your corpse for the next round."

"After you," he said, stepping back and gesturing toward the bathroom with a mock-regal bow. "Ladies first. Even the ones who smell like a server room fire."

"Fuck you. Kill yourself." I rasped, though there was no heat in it.

I turned toward the bathroom, but I didn’t make it two steps.

A sharp, high-frequency feedback loop pierced the room.

It was so sudden, so violently loud, that I actually flinched, my hands flying to my ears. The sound tore through the quiet sanctuary like a physical blade.

And then came the deafening sound of a gunshot.

I dropped to my knees instinctively, the wet denim screaming against my skin as my joints hit the floor. My heart rate spiked from a dead crawl to 180 beats per minute in a single millisecond.

[TEST... TESTING? IS THIS TRASH AUDIO INTERFACE WORKING?!]

The voice booming from the hidden speakers in the ceiling wasn’t a pre-recorded system prompt. It was Aku No Kuma. And she was screaming.

Another gunshot, followed by the sound of shattering glass and a muffled scream in the background.

[I TOLD YOU TO CALIBRATE THE LATENCY, YOU USELESS SCUMBAG! UGH, HOW AMATEUR... ANYWAY, HELLO SURVIVORS! CONGRATULATIONS ON NOT DYING IN THE FIRST TRIAL! MOSTLY! SOME OF YOU ARE INCREDIBLY BORING TO WATCH, BUT WHATEVER.]

I stayed on the floor, my hands still covering my ears. The volume was set to a punitive level. The acoustic layer of the room was entirely compromised. It was a digital assault.

[OH, YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD JUST SLEEP? YOU THOUGHT THE HARD PART WAS OVER?]

Akuma’s voice dripped with manic, rage-baiting venom.

[WE HAVE FOUR MORE TRIALS OF PURE, RAW PLEASURE TO GO! PLUS—BECAUSE I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH—TWO EXTRA FUN GAMES! AND BY ’FUN,’ I MEAN THE KIND THAT MAKES YOUR PULSE HIT 200 BEFORE YOU POP! BAHAHA!]

Kyouya hadn’t dropped to the floor. He was standing near the desk, his hands gripping the edge of the wood so tightly his knuckles were white. He was staring at the main terminal, which had suddenly flared to life, washing his face in a harsh, neon-blue glare.

[ANYWAY, CHECK YOUR SCREENS, YOU LAZY ASS MOTHERFUCKER! THE UI IS UPDATING! I TOLD THE DEVS TO MAKE IT PRETTY, BUT THEY ARE SO GODDAMN TRASH TODAY, HOLY SHIT! ANYWAY, CHECK YOUR F-PP. YES, THAT STANDS FOR MONEY. COLD. HARD. DIGITAL. CASH. ON YOUR BEAUTIFUL SCREN. BECAUSE CLEARLY, YOUR DIGNITY WAS CHEAP, SO WE HAD TO GIVE YOU A RAISE!]

The speakers cut out with a harsh burst of static, plunging the room back into the hum of the cooling fans.

My ears were ringing. A high-pitched, sustained note of tinnitus that made my skull ache. I forced myself to stand, my wet jeans sagging against my hips. Every muscle fiber in my body screamed in protest, but the hacker instinct overrode the physical pain.

I limped over to the desk, standing beside Kyouya. The thermal heat radiating off him was intense. He didn’t even look at me. He just pointed at the screen.

"Look at this shit," he muttered, his voice dropping back into his natural, frigid tone.

"They’re just monetizing our heartbeats."

Well, are they though?