Luca’s consciousness returned slowly, like surfacing from deep water. It was a surprise—a miracle, even—to come back at all. For a moment, he had believed—

  It didn't matter. It wasn't the end.

  The endless so, so white void greeted him. A single message flickered into existence before his eyes, happy words for the end of the trip.

  And it topped a fucking will.

  Ah. No, thank you.

  He scrolled down quickly, skipping straight to what mattered the most right now: the results.

  There you are. He felt as if he could breathe after a long moment of suffocation —even if technically he wasn't even sure if he was breathing at that right moment but, meh semantics.

  The next messages under it came into view, and only made such a wonderful feeling to inflate like a balloon.

  Level 3. With this Rank 2 was so close he could almost touch it. He only needed his supervisor's confirmation. Only that.

  Would it be enough? He didn’t know for sure. But it had to be. It had to be.

  The thoughts stirred in his mind as exhaustion began to pull him under once more. Clinging to the numbers, to the letters, to the hope they represented, Luca let himself drift away, the edges of the white, white, white space blurring into darkness.

  It must be enough.

  It must.

  It could have been minutes or years before Luca opened his eyes, returning to the world of the living like he had been only sleeping until now. The faint hum of machinery was the first thing that he heard, followed by a mostly human sound –a calm breathing. He blinked, his vision blurry at first. A black lump became a person as his eyes sharpened in the light of the room.

  The capsule lid was already open, so he sat slowly, looking at his surroundings and then at the stranger.

  The man stood nearby. He was dressed in a sleek black suit that contrasted sharply with his red tie, and sat straight, with should spread on confidence. His eyes –silver, like silver coins– studied him. Luca had never felt as much under scrutiny as he did at that instant.

  And then the man smiled and the heaviness faded away as if it had been only his imagination.

  Yeah. Sure.

  “Welcome back, Mithras,” the man finally said, his voice smooth and polished like a mirror bronze, the kind of voice that belonged in boardrooms and high-stakes negotiations. Mr. Howard’s uncle could learn a thing or three from him. “I’m Tiberius. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Tiberius.

  ... That Tiberius? Luca rubbed his temples, his mind still foggy but not enough to avoid the sudden urgency to get back into the Mystery. “Thanks,” he said, his voice rough. “I guess…”

  Tiberius chuckled, a low sound that carried just the right mix of warmth and condescension. Luca bet it was practiced in front a mirror, perhaps even through holographic filming. It was the kind of shit a man like him would do. “I understand that you’re not at your best right now, but I couldn’t help myself. Escaping a 2-star Mystery—no, any Mystery after the security mechanism failed—is no small feat.” He interlaced his fingers, resting them on his knees with deliberate calm. “You and the others… well, let’s just say you defied all odds.”

  There was awe in his voice, but something else too—something Luca didn’t want to dwell on. Not now, not tomorrow.

  No.

  Forcing himself to act, Luca shrugged, leaning back against the edge of the capsule. “We got lucky. Our hunch paid off, and we triggered the hidden mission. That’s…” He smacked his lips, searching for words that weren’t ‘could you leave?’ or ‘fuck you’, “…that’s the only reason we made it out.”

  “Luck, you say?” Tiberius raised an eyebrow. “Modesty doesn’t suit you, Mithras. Are you, perhaps, familiar with the discovery rate for hidden missions in 2-star worlds? Two percent. When the mechanism failed, most of us wrote your obituaries. Logistics had already drafted your exit packages.” His delivery was matter-of-fact. Luca could picture the scene perfectly on his mind. “But you proved us wrong. That’s not luck.” He dragged out the last word like it was something dirt under his shoes.

  Luca didn’t like the intensity of his gaze one bit. Even though he understood the weight behind those piercing eyes—the story about his wife—it didn’t mean he wanted to keep talking with the guy who had whiped half of the name characters for a hunch. So, he changed the subject. “Do you know -do you know why the security mechanism failed?”

  Tiberius’s expression shifted subtly, his gaze drifting for a moment before settling into a frown. It only made him look a promising politician in the middle of his campaign. “We’re mobilizing every resource available to find the truth. I assure you is our top priority.”

  Of course it was. These systems were supposed to be failproof. Like the sun.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “Rest assured, we’ll get to the bottom of it," he finished.

  Luca nodded, too tired to press further for something he knew no one would find until later —late—, and already satisfied with the change of topic.

  “We’ll continue our conversation later,” Tiberius said then, his tone shifting back to its polished ease. “Part of the current protocol.”

  Protocol? Right. Because Pendulum definitely had contingency plans for when the impossible happened. Sure, whatever. As long as Luca could postpone this chat until he felt less like a soggy, half-crushed mushroom at the bottom of the trash can, he was fine with it.

  As if on cue, the door at the end of the room slid open, and two figures stepped inside. Michael, Luca’s supervisor and new saviour, dressed in a white leather jacket (really? he did deserve his second and third look), his dark sunglasses hiding his eyes (was there some kind of bet for how much time the noobs took to find the truth or something? could he join?) —and someone more. A woman Luca didn’t recognize at first, with dark hair and brown eyes, dressed in a professional attire. And pink sandals.

  Beach pink sandals.

  They squashed with each one of her steps.

  “Mithras,” Michael said, nodding in greeting. “Good to see you back in one piece.”

  The woman stepped forward, her eyes lighting up as she extended a hand. “Minerva. Specialist, Delta-M. I’ve been following your case.”

  Luca shook her hand, her grip firm and enthusiastic and cold like the undead's mother. “Nice to meet you,” he said. He sounded half-not-there but she only smiled even more.

  “Golden rookie looks like he just crawled outta bed after a week-long bender. Don’t sweat it, though—you’ll bounce back faster than ya think.”

  ... From where came the accent?

  “Minerva, let him breathe before giving him more work.”

  Tiberius, who had been observing the exchange without being recognized with more than a nod, stepped forward. “As I already said, we’ll continue our conversation later, Mithras. For now, rest.” With that, he gave a final curt goodbye at the others and left the room, his shoes clicking against the floor.

  Was this a chanclas competition?

  When the door closed behind him, Minerva turned to Luca, eyes shining like they had small candles in them. Only for an instant, of course. “Two hundred points on your second mission?! You kidding me? Do you even realize how long it took me to hit those numbers? Six missions! SIX! You’re making the rest of us look like amateurs, golden boy.”

  "Thanks." Luca managed a tired smile as he climbed out of the capsule.

  “You really need to rest. Don't worry. We'll let you go. But you’ll come by later at my office.” Michael pushed his sunglasses. “To discuss your promotion.”

  A bit slow but still mindful, Luca blinked, pretending to be confused. “Promotion?”

  “You’re Level 3,” Michael explained. “Everyone who reaches it becomes an Agent.”

  “Like us!” Minerva chimed in. “Though honestly, even if you’d stayed Level 2, after this kinda splash, a raise woulda been inevitable.”

  Michael sighed. “It isn’t a good moment but it’s better if you sleep in it. From onwards, you’ll getting into deeper waters. Being an Agent isn’t so good as they say.” He shared a look with his coworker.

  Forget about later. Luca felt he was listening to them from underwater right now. When would they let him go?

  “But the money is greater! Each point is worth 1.2K now. So congrats—you’ve just earned almost a quarter mil. And you didn’t die! What’s better than that? Plus, you’ll get your Agent badge, access to the Junky Box, extra meal points, and—oh!—the Inner Market. Trust me, kid, you’re gonna love it.”

  Luca nodded slowly, his mind still catching up. Plus, bonuses. “What about the health insurance? For family?”

  “… Don’t worry about that right now,” Michael said. “We’ll talk later. Get some rest first.”

  Luca wanted to push, to get answers, but his body felt like it was made of mushy, moldy bread or melted butter. He nodded again, too tired to argue, and barely stiffed a yawn against his palm. His eyes briefly swept over the other capsules.

  “What about them?” he asked, making a small gesture of his hand on their direction.

  “They’ve already left,” said Michael, to his surprise.

  “Dragged by security the instant they came out. I think Nors rescued their ducks but that other lad-” Minerva shook her head.

  Ah. So Lamia wasn’t the kind of supervisor that cared.

  “But enough about that,” Minerva declared, clapping Luca on the shoulder with enough force to nearly knock him off balance. “Let’s go, golden boy. Big things await!” Her enthusiasm was infectious—but also overwhelming.

  “Welcome to Rank 2, Mithras,” Michael said, smirking as he opened the door.

  Luca smiled at him. Please give me my fucking medical coverance and my raise.

  The way to the elevator was blissfully quiet.

  The office was quiet, save for the low buzz of the air filtration system and the occasional distant sound of open and closed doors. Nagato leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, his expression a mix of irritation and exhaustion. It made him look older, like a young adult. Siting across from him, Nadeene kept her eyes barely open, rubbing them time from time, and stiffing a yawn against the palm of her hand, about to drop there.

  “I swear,” Nagato muttered, breaking the silence, “if I never see another mud pool in my life, it’ll be too soon.”

  Nadeene raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a smirk. “You know,” she drawled, leaning back in her chair, “I don’t think it was mud.”

  He shot her a glare, though there wasn’t much bite behind it. “Very funny. Let me remind you that I wasn't the only that got no-mud on their throat.”

  “I didnt' get it on my throat." She squinted her eyes at him. "What were you doing there, mmm?"

  Nagato opened his mouth to retort, but the door slid open before he could get a word out. Nors stepped inside, balancing a tray of coffee cups and a plate of brown cookies in one hand. As always, he was impeccably dressed, his calm gaze sharp even beneath the warmth of his smile. His dark hair fell until to his shoulders, and no one, no even the other seniors, could even heard him coming. The guy was a legend.

  “Evening,” he said, setting the tray down on the desk. “Help yourselves. I figured you could use it after… these last hours.”

  That was one way to put it. But Nagato didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed a cup of coffee and a cookie, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. “You’re a lifesaver, Nors.”

  Chuckling softly, Nors took a seat behind his desk. “Glad to hear it. Now, let’s make this quick. I’ve already read the reports from control, so we don’t need to go over every detail. But I’d love to hear what you think matters most.”

  Nagato’s expression grew serious, though the effect was somewhat undermined by his round cheeks. Swallowing hastily, he asked quietly, “What does that mean?”

  “The information I received suggests something happened during the mission—even before the mechanism failed.” Nors paused, glancing between Nagato and Nadeene. Their faces were quite blank, and tension hung thick in the air. “Yes, I’m talking about Ladon’s death.”

  Both of them shared a quick look.

  “First and foremost, let me clarify: this isn’t something that falls on your shoulders. While teamwork is crucial, each individual ultimately remains responsible for themselves. However…” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “…because it may weigh heavily on your minds—and hearts—I felt obligated to address it.”

  “Yeah, about that—” Nagato began, fumbling for words.

  “What happens,” Nadeene interjected suddenly, fixing Nors with a piercing stare, “when one of us is directly responsible for the death of another? Like pushing someone aside to escape. Or switching places. Things like that.”

  Nors leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “To be honest—which, admittedly, isn’t ideal for his kind of situation—we have no tools to detect foul play within a Mystery unless you report it yourselves. Without evidence, it’s difficult to act. Even if someone comes forward, unless multiple reports corroborate the event, it typically goes unresolved.”

  “So you’re saying someone can do whatever they want, and nothing happens?!” Nagato snapped, his voice rising sharply, as Nadeene scowled.

  “I didn’t say that,” Nors replied firmly, his brow furrowing. After a moment, he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Legally speaking, holding someone accountable for their actions is complicated without concrete proof. But—as I mentioned earlier—we lack the means to determine exactly what transpired inside the Mystery.” He gave them both a pointed look. “All we can do is trust that you’ll conduct yourselves as decent human beings—or at least behave in a civilized manner.”

  A tense silence settled over the room.

  “So,” Nors continued after taking a sip of his coffee, his tone deliberately casual, “is there anything you’d like to share? What about the hidden exit?”

  Nagato and Nadeene exchanged a glance.

  “About that…”