The ghosts had retreated to the periphery of the room like nervous children pretending not to eavesdrop.
The Northern Ghost lingered nearest the fireplace, broad spectral shoulders rigid beneath flickering armor. Near the bookshelf floated Dr. Chloe, her long white coat untouched by gravity, while silver-rimmed glasses rested low against her nose. Wisps of pale blue spectral light drifted lazily around her like spilled alchemical smoke, giving her the appearance of a scholar-mage despite the clinical sharpness in her eyes.
By the window lounged the Murim warrior spirit, his arms folded into wide sleeves, long black hair tied neatly behind him, while a phantom sword rested across his lap.
All three of them kept staring at him.
Not with hunger.
Not with caution.
But with curiosity.
Kael leaned back carefully against the headboard.
And paused.
No migraine.
The realization struck him again with quiet, devastating force. There was no screaming pressure behind his eyes. No violent need to count the stitching in the blankets. No overwhelming avalanche of sound and texture trying to claw through his skull simultaneously. The world still existed around him in intricate detail, but now it arrived in orderly pieces rather than in catastrophic floods.
The crackling fireplace remained only a fireplace.
The fabric against his skin remained only fabric.
The ghosts remained merely… ghosts.
Not knives driven through his nervous system.
Gods.
People lived like this every day?
A blue window flickered suddenly across his vision with a new, authoritative pulse. The text did not scroll this time. It appeared in crisp blocks, perfectly aligned.
Kael narrowed his eyes slightly.
“What... what are you? Where's Gemma?” he murmured.
The System remained silent for exactly one second. Long enough to feel intentional.
A pause.
Then another line appeared.
Kael blinked.
"So... Gemma is..."
“It talks like Sect Leader,” the Murim warrior observed closely. “I dislike how familiar that feels.”
"Yeah, yeah, move out of the way." Dr. Chloe adjusted her glasses while studying Kael carefully.
“No tremors,” she murmured softly. “Pupil focus stabilized. Breathing normalized.” Her expression shifted subtly toward disbelief. “Good Lord… whatever the floating window thingy did actually worked.”
Kael glanced toward the breakfast tray resting beside the bed.
Bread.
A massive rustic loaf still steaming faintly from the kitchens.
Before the synchronization, the uneven cuts in the crust alone would have trapped him in compulsive analysis for an hour. He would have noticed every asymmetrical crack, every inconsistent patch of flour, every irregularity in the baking process until eating itself became impossible.
Now—
Now he simply felt hungry.
The realization almost hurt.
The System chimed again.
Kael stared at the notification.
Then at the bread.
Then back at the notification.
“…Do you normally issue directives regarding bread?” he asked carefully.
The Northern Ghost laughed again.
The Murim warrior nodded once. “Reasonable.”
Dr. Chloe adjusted her glasses delicately. “You once dehydrated yourself because the water pitcher made an ‘unpleasant sound,’” she reminded him.
Kael looked mildly offended.
“It was a deeply irritating sound.”
“…and the carrots were uneven.”
The Northern Ghost laughed harder. Even the Murim warrior looked disappointed in him.
Kael decided this conversation had become hostile. So, with as much dignity as possible, he tore off a piece of bread slowly.
And froze.
The texture remained merely texture. The rough crust crackled softly beneath his fingers. Steam curled upward, carrying the scent of butter and warm grain. Nothing screamed. Nothing clawed at him.
It was just bread.
Gods.
His throat tightened unexpectedly.
He had never realized how exhausting eating had always been.
Kael took a slow bite.
Warm.
Soft.
Simple.
He almost wanted to cry again.