Hong-kung Kobayashi sits frozen as the overhead screen flashes his name in stark, jagged crimson.
A collective gasp ripples through the massive holding arena.
Thousands of pairs of eyes lock onto him.
Some are filled with pity.
Others show the cold detachment of spectators at an execution.
He slowly stands, adjusting the cuffs of his bright orange jumpsuit.
He does not tremble.
Min-sun watches him from three rows back, her knuckles white as she grips the metal armrests.
Her gaze follows his every step toward the stage.
She leans sideways, her voice a frantic, desperate whisper.
“Arashi, look at him. His breathing hasn’t even changed. What are the chances he actually survives this?”
Arashi does not look at her.
He sits completely rigid, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed forward with total apathy.
His expression remains a flawless, unreadable mask, entirely detached from the panic vibrating through the room.
“I cannot give you an emotional percentage, Min-sun San,” Arashi says, his tone flat, monotone, and devoid of any human warmth.
“No one has ever beaten the main monitor. However, evaluating his baseline spiritual force objectively… if his capacity is as deep as I calculated, he possesses the exact utility needed to survive.”
Min-sun shrinks back into her chair, her face turning pale.
“If Hong-kung doesn’t survive this, there is absolutely no hope for the rest of us.”
“Fear is inefficient,” Arashi responds smoothly, his voice never rising or falling in pitch.
“Watch the stage instead of predicting failure.”
Hong-kung walks up the steps of the main stage.
The platform is vast and illuminated by a single, harsh spotlight.
In the center sits a heavy metallic chair equipped with thick obsidian restraint bands.
He sits down.
The moment his back touches the cold metal, the bands snap shut around his wrists and ankles with a loud, definitive click.
He looks forward, his expression completely blank.
From the ceiling above, a massive, sleek helmet descends.
It lowers smoothly, completely shielding his forehead and eyes, plunging his vision into darkness.
A static hiss crackles through the internal speakers of the helmet.
A cold, mechanical voice echoes in his ears.
“Candidate 208, are you ready to begin the evaluation?”
Hong-kung clears his throat, his tone steady.
“Let’s get this over with.”
Inside the central control room, walls of glass look down upon the stage.
Rows of technicians sit before glowing panels, their fingers flying across holographic keyboards.
Principal Kenjiro stands in the center, his hands clasped firmly behind his back.
Beside him, his secretary, Ms. Sato, monitors the primary vitals feed.
Dr. Akane steps forward, his hand hovering over a heavy master switch. New chapters come out on g.com first.
“Vitals are stable across all parameters, Principal. Spiritual baseline is higher than the previous candidates, but within expected human limits.”
Kenjiro nods slowly.
“Initiate the sequence, Dr. Akane. Let us see what the boy is made of.”
“Understood,” Dr. Akane replies.
He pulls the master switch downward.
On the main floor, the massive central monitor hums to life, casting a deep blue glow over the silent crowd.
The screen flickers, transitioning from text data to a live psychological broadcast.
Min-sun leans forward, her voice trembling.
“It’s starting. Look at the screen.”
Arashi merely blinks, tracking the light patterns.
“He’s no longer operating in the physical room. The system is tapping directly into his mind. We are observing his subconscious architecture.”
On the monitor, a vast expanse of absolute darkness appears.
Hong-kung stands alone in the center of the void, looking around.
The ground beneath his feet feels fluid, shifting like dark sand with every step he takes.
“Is anyone there?” Hong-kung asks, his voice echoing into nothingness.
The quiet darkness begins to vibrate.
A low, rhythmic humming sound resonates through the space, growing louder by the second.
The shifting floors tilt violently.
Hong-kung stumbles, dropping his center of gravity to keep his balance.
“Vitals are spiking,” Ms. Sato announces in the control room, her eyes glued to the shifting bar graphs.
“Heart rate is climbing rapidly. Blood pressure is rising.”
Dr. Akane adjusts a dial.
“The psychological pressure is adjusting to his resistance level. Increase the output by ten percent.”
Back on the monitor, the shadows behind Hong-kung stretch and contort.
They rise from the floor, coalescing into a towering, monstrous silhouette that dwarfs his small frame.
The entity lacks distinct features, appearing only as an abyss within the darkness, radiating an intense pressure that forces Hong-kung down onto one knee.
The shadow speaks, its voice a discordant chorus of whispers that seems to bounce inside his skull.
“You are weak, Hong-kung. A failure masquerading as a savior. Look at you, trembling in the dark. You cannot protect anyone. You cannot even protect yourself.”
Hong-kung grits his teeth, forcing himself back onto both feet despite the crushing weight.
“You know nothing about me.”
“We know everything,” the shadow mocks, shifting shape to mimic the faces of people from his past.
“Every doubt. Every fear you hide behind that blank expression. You think you are special? You are just another candidate destined to break.”
From the crowd below, Min-sun covers her mouth.
“The criticisms… they’re hitting everything he tries to hide. It’s too intense.”
“He has to hold on,” Arashi says, his voice flat, completely unbothered by the dramatic tension.
“The machine feeds on the targets you try to protect. If he denies his own fear, it will crush him. It is a simple calculation of mental leverage.”
Inside the void, the shadow grows larger, its voice booming like thunder.
“Give up. Let the darkness take you. It is easier to surrender than to fail publicly.”
His jumpsuit is soaked with sweat.
He closes his eyes, taking a long, deep breath through his nose.
“I am afraid,” he whispers.
The shadow pauses, its form flickering.
“What did you say?”
“I said, I am afraid,” Hong-kung repeats, his voice growing louder as he lifts his head to look directly into the entity’s shifting face.
“I have always been afraid. Every single day since I arrived here. But fear isn’t a reason to stop.”
In the control room, Ms. Sato gasps.
“Dr. Akane, look at the energy readings! They aren’t dropping—they’re changing frequency!”
Dr. Akane leans closer to the terminal, his eyes wide.
“He isn’t fighting the simulation. He’s absorbing the stress. His spiritual aura… it’s breaking through the dampeners!”
“Keep the monitor running,” Kenjiro orders, a rare smile touching the corners of his lips.
“Do not cut the feed.”
On the massive screen, a faint purple glow begins to emanate from Hong-kung’s physical body sitting in the chair.
At first, it is a mere glimmer, tracing the contours of his shoulders and arms.
Within seconds, the glimmer erupts into a brilliant, pulsing violet aura that envelops the entire stage, casting long shadows across the audience.
Inside the mindscape, the dark void cracks open like glass.
Beams of intense purple light pierce through the shadows, shattering the giant entity into fragments of mist.
Hong-kung stands upright in the center of the brilliant light, his eyes glowing with the same vibrant violet energy.
The crushing weight disappears completely, replaced by an overwhelming wave of power that ripples outward, shaking the physical foundations of the arena.
He takes a deep breath, expands his chest, and screams into the fracturing darkness.
“ENOUGH!”
The main monitor violently flashes white before cutting to black.
The helmet on Hong-kung’s head automatically releases, rising back up into the ceiling with a hiss of pneumatic pressure.
The obsidian restraints snap open, freeing his wrists and ankles.
Hong-kung sits in the chair for a moment, the purple aura slowly fading back beneath his skin.
He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve, breathes out a long sigh, and stands up.
The arena remains completely silent.
No one moves.
No one breathes.
Min-sun slowly lowers her hands from her face, looking up at the stage in absolute awe.
“He… he actually did it.”
Arashi stands up smoothly, his expression completely blank, showing no excitement or relief despite the impossible feat they just witnessed.
He adjusts his collar with precise, calculated movements.
“A predictable baseline increase. ”
Up in the control room, Dr. Akane taps his screen, finalizing the data collection.
“Simulation concluded. Spiritual force index has exceeded the maximum measurable limit for Candidate 208.”
Principal Kenjiro turns away from the glass, walking toward the exit.
“Record the results and prepare the next phase. Hong-kung Kobayashi has passed the first trial.”