“Aurelia Advanced Premium plans provide comprehensive coverage for up to 87% of medically classified needs.

  This represents a significant improvement over standard Premium coverage, which addresses approximately 71%.

  Patients are encouraged to consult their liability index for personalized outcomes.”

  — Aurelia Inc., Advanced Premium Overview

  Omar nodded slowly, his finger still resting on the Soul Leech entry.

  “But this isn’t exactly what happened to you,” he said, thinking aloud. “I mean, look at this.” He pointed to a footnote at the bottom of the page, small text I’d almost missed.

  *Note: Soul Leeches require an active system connection to establish a parasitic link. Individuals without manifested systems are immune to infection.

  “See?” Omar tapped the footnote. “It needs a connection. It’s harmless to plebs.” He winced, then grinned. “Sorry, force of habit. You’re one of us now. Still, it isn’t nice to say plebs, but everyone and their grandma are saying it…” He shook his head. “Anyway, you weren’t manifested when this started, so it can’t be a Soul Leech exactly.”

  I nodded, my brain already working through the implications. “So... a corpo used something similar? A skill based on the same principle?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking,” Omar nodded and looked back at the book. “The creature does it naturally, but someone with the right subsystem could probably replicate the effect. Maybe a weaker version, since it’s artificial, but still effective enough to drain you.” He glanced at me. “Which means you should have time to react. It’s not as permanent as the real thing.”

  Time to react.

  I thought back to that day at System Prep. The day everyone got tested for system compatibility. The day I... got 17%.

  We’d done blood tests.

  The memory surfaced slowly, details I hadn’t thought about in months. They’d lined us up, all hitting 20 years that month, in the medical wing. Standard procedure for system tests. Prick your finger, deposit a drop on the scanner, and wait for the results.

  Baseline tests, they said.

  And then the second test. Not just the finger prick, but an actual blood draw. Vial and needle, the whole setup.

  They’d done it for everyone in my year. Said it was “new comprehensive analysis” for the new policy. I hadn’t questioned it at the time; why would I? Everyone else was getting the same test and they manifested their systems.

  But now...

  It had prickled when they drew the blood. An uncomfortable sensation that went beyond the normal sting of a needle. I’d attributed it to nerves, to the stress of the system test, to the fear that I wouldn’t get over 20%.

  Not soul pain, though, not the “excruciating” agony the book described. Just... prickly.

  “Dash?” Omar’s voice cut through my thoughts. “You okay? You spaced out for a second.”

  I blinked, refocusing on him. “Yeah. Just... thinking. The blood tests on manifestation day. They were unusual, right? Beyond the normal finger prick?”

  Omar frowned. “I mean, I went a month before you, so I wouldn’t know, but...” His eyes widened slightly. “Wait, they drew your blood? Like, actual vials?”

  “Everyone’s,” I said. “They said it was a comprehensive analysis. Standard procedure.”

  “That’s not standard,” Omar said flatly. “That’s... suspicious as hell.” He leaned forward. “Who ran the tests? Do you remember?”

  I shook my head. “Some medical contractors. I didn’t pay attention to which corpo. They all blend together after a while.”

  “Okay, so we need to find out who tested you,” Omar said, his mind clearly already working through the problem. “But more importantly, we need to get you a psionic check. Actually confirm this is what’s happening before we go accusing random medical contractors of cursing students.”

  My stomach dropped. “How do I even get a psionic check?”

  Omar’s smile faltered; he glanced away, suddenly very interested in the TABLO’s surface. “Well... our insurance won’t cover it. Unless you have some corpo-baby insurance?”

  I shook my head. “Nah, they took it away when Dad... when we moved. It was expensive. I’ve got normal Aurelia insurance now.”

  “Decent coverage,” Omar nodded. “I’ve got the same one, actually. But yeah, I checked; psionic exams aren’t covered under standard plans. Too specialized.” He paused, and I could see him working up to something. “The official sticker price for a psionic scan and curse removal... starts at a hundred thousand.”

  The number hit me like a physical blow.

  One hundred thousand credits.

  I’d just spent half a million on workshop equipment, sure, but that had been Grandmother’s guilt money. A one-time allocation I’d never see again. My actual liquid funds? I had maybe two thousand credits to my name and a debt.

  “Damn,” I breathed, the word inadequate for the sinking feeling in my chest. One hundred thousand, that would take... months. Mom didn’t have that money either. I could ask… but going on a long shot? Wasting hundred thousands? She was more pragmatic than that.

  Omar must have seen something in my expression because he murmured, his voice taking on that careful tone he used when delivering bad news. “But... I also heard there are healers working with the underground scene.”

  I scoffed, the sound bitter. “Al-Sirr chatter?”

  Omar shrugged, adjusting his cap with one hand. “Just heard there are, and for reasonable prices. If you know someone who knows someone, y’know?”

  I leaned against the TABLO, thinking. The underground, the black market healers, people who operated in the spaces between Tago PD patrols and corpo security sweeps. Dangerous and totally unreliable.

  “I don’t know anyone,” I admitted. “Not in that world.” I paused, an idea forming. “But Dante... he said I could work with a fixer. Maybe I could work out some kind of deal? Tasks for healing?”

  Omar cocked his head, confusion clear on his face. “Dante?”

  I waved dismissively. “Head of Kallum Counter-Intelligence. He showed up with my equipment shipment, threatened to kill me if I didn’t return the book, then offered me freelance work.” I said it casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Standard family interaction.”

  Omar stared at me flatly. “Your family is fucking insane.”

  “Tell me about it.” I looked around the workshop at all the equipment waiting to be used. “So I’ll wait when I can work with the fixer. See if I can trade work for a psionic check.” I met Omar’s eyes. “I don’t know if I can trust Dante though. He told me he never heard of a drain… and you found something similar in a day.”

  Omar laughed and winked with a huge smile. “I’m just that good!”

  I grinned back at him and nodded. “You truly are. So, I’ll wait, but in the meantime, I need to actually make a hoodie and pants. You know, build up my capabilities before I take on whatever task the fixer throws at me.”

  “Only those? What about boots?” he glanced down at my feet.

  “That’s a later project,” I said and glanced at the TABLO with a shrug. “Hoodie and pants can cover everything, and a shield I mount there can project even over my face or feet.”

  Omar hefted his enormous book, tucking it carefully back into his backpack. The bag sagged with its weight. “Makes sense. Get your gear sorted first.” He paused, his hand resting on the backpack strap. “Oh, I also learned about your system. I...” He looked unsure suddenly, vulnerability flickering across his face. “I may have an idea to fix it temporarily.”

  I stopped moving, my full attention snapping to him. “Omar...”

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  I saw it now. The bags under his eyes, darker than they should be for a Wednesday night. The slight slump in his shoulders, the way he’d been moving with careful energy like someone running on pure willpower and caffeine.

  He’d been reading all day and night. Digging through academy resources, cross-referencing monster compendiums, searching for answers to a problem that wasn’t even his.

  For me.

  My throat got tight.

  “That’s preem!” I blurted, the word coming out rougher than I intended. I crossed the distance between us in two steps and pulled him into a hug. Tight, the kind that said things I didn’t have words for.

  “Dash?!” Omar jerked in surprise, but then his arms came up, returning the embrace. “Since when do you hug and use that slang?”

  I pulled back with a laugh, the tightness in my chest easing slightly. “Since I met a corpo-baby who could buy this entire room with her monthly allowance. You should meet Alice.”

  Omar raised an eyebrow, a grin spreading across his face. “Oh? Working on two girls? Eri and Alice?”

  I shot him a flat look. “No. Alice is... chaotic. And I would probably need to get through her sister first. Don’t ask. Scary.”

  “Her sister?” Omar’s grin widened. “Dash, what have you been doing while I’ve been studying?”

  “Surviving incursions and making poor life choices,” I said dryly. “Now stop deflecting and tell me how to fix my system.”

  Omar walked over to one of the unpacked crates and sat on its edge, the wood creaking slightly under his weight. He set his backpack down between his feet and started rummaging through it. “So, I read about ‘minor’ systems,” he said, pulling out another book. This one was slimmer than the monster compendium, bound in plain gray synthetic leather. “They’re actually not that uncommon. Some worlds have them.”

  He flipped through the pages, the paper rustling softly in the workshop’s quiet. His finger traced down a column of text, eyes scanning rapidly. I watched him read, noting the way his brows furrowed in concentration, the slight movement of his lips as he processed technical terminology.

  After a moment, he looked up. “They don’t have enough compatibility, so they lock out the most demanding subsystem until they level enough, like thirty in your case, I think.”

  I blinked, pushing off the TABLO where I’d been leaning. “What does level have to do with anything?”

  Omar tucked the book back into his backpack, the zipper scraping as he closed it. He grinned up at me with that familiar expression that meant he knew something I didn’t. “It gives you pp?”

  “What is pp?” I groaned, running a hand through my hair in frustration. The strands felt greasy… I’d been working all day without a shower. “The system doesn’t want to tell me.”

  Omar’s grin widened. He stood up from the crate, brushing dust off his academy uniform pants. “Define pp,” he said, making it sound like the most obvious thing in the world. “I get a normal notice when I ask.”

  I pulled up my system interface with a mental command, focusing on the word. “Define pp,” I said aloud.

  The response was instant.

  [PP stands for Personal Problem.]

  I stared at the notification floating in my vision, my eye twitching. “Personal problem,” I said flatly, my voice completely deadpan.

  Omar burst out laughing, the sound echoing off the workshop’s concrete walls. He doubled over slightly, one hand clutching his stomach. “Yeah, right! Good one, Dash!”

  I let out a long, suffering sigh and walked over to my chair, dropping into it heavily. The ergonomic cushioning compressed under my weight. “Omar... the system clearly hates me and is fond of trolling.”

  [System is an impartial superintelligence designed to balance entropy.]

  The notification appeared with perfect timing, almost smug in its precision.

  Omar shook his head, still grinning as he grabbed his backpack and walked over to lean against the TABLO beside me. “That’s pleb nonsense. I know some people spread that around, but at the Academy they told us that’s not true. The system is—”

  “‘An impartial superintelligence designed to balance entropy,’” I read aloud, my voice still completely flat, pointing at the notification only I could see.

  Omar nodded enthusiastically, completely missing my tone. “Exactly!”

  I turned to look at him, and he must have seen something in my expression because his smile faltered slightly. “Omar... just tell me how I get pp.”

  He shifted his weight, the TABLO’s edge creaking faintly. “Uh, your compatibility in percent, plus your level, divided by ten?” He looked confused by my question, like I should already know this. “Basic math.”

  I pulled up my plugin interface, the translucent window hovering in my vision.

  [Plugins]

  Weekly pp allotment: 0

  Weekly pp used: 0

  Saved pp: 0

  “Well,” I said, gesturing at nothing because Omar couldn’t see my interface. “I have weekly allotment zero.”

  Omar’s expression shifted to concern. He set his backpack down on the TABLO and leaned forward, hands gripping the table’s edge. “It may be because of the minor system?” He paused, and I could see him working through the implications. “Dash, this is dangerous—”

  “I’m beyond dangerous,” I interrupted, shaking my head. The chair squeaked as I shifted position. “If it helps me get stronger? Go ahead.”

  Omar closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling. When he opened them again, his face was serious. “You can disable your attributes. That’s usually the way minor systems work. They lock the most resource-intensive subsystem, usually attributes, until you have enough power to handle it.”

  “And I’ll be strong enough for attributes at level thirty, right?” I pulled up the plugin window again, staring at those zeros. “And I’ll start getting pp?”

  Omar nodded slowly, his fingers drumming a nervous rhythm against the TABLO’s surface. “If... and I say this with a warning, Dash... IF you want to try it. Just say ‘disable attributes.’ The system knows your intent.”

  I nodded, and Omar braced himself, his knuckles going white where he gripped the table edge. My attributes were broken anyway, just glitched symbols and ERROR messages. What did I have to lose?

  “Disable attributes,” I said clearly.

  [Warning: your intent is not sufficient. Please try again.]

  I rolled my eyes so hard it actually hurt. “System trolls me.”

  Omar looked confused, his head tilting. “You’re probably misunderstanding it. What does it say?”

  I read the notification still floating in my vision, and as I started reading aloud, the text actually highlighted each word I spoke. The words lit up in sequence, like the system was following along.

  “Ah!” Omar straightened slightly. “Try to think about what you want to do. Intent matters more than words with system commands.”

  I slumped back in my chair, the cushioning hissing softly. “This system is crap,” I thought, closing my eyes. “I hope it works.”

  [System is the most advanced entity in the known universe.]

  Of course it heard my thoughts.

  “Sure,” I said, not opening my eyes. “Can the most advanced entity in the known universe disable my attributes?”

  [Answer: yes.]

  I let another groan. “I mean, can you do it?”

  The window flashed green in my vision,blinking and bright enough that I could see it through my closed eyelids, confirming that, yes, it could do it.

  “Okay, another way. Do it, please?” I tried adding some actual sincerity to my mental voice. “System, beloved god?”

  [Believing in system godhood is not required, but appreciated.]

  I felt something shift, like a weight I hadn’t known I was carrying suddenly lifted. The sensation was disorienting, as if taking off armor I’d worn so long I’d forgotten it was there.

  [Attributes disabled!]

  [Calculating...]

  [Errors resolved!]

  [Skills enabled!]

  The notifications cascaded faster than I could read them. I sat up straight in my chair, eyes snapping open. “Omar—” I started, but the system wasn’t done.

  [Plugins]

  Weekly pp allotment: 1.7

  Weekly pp used: 0

  Saved pp: 32.5

  I stared at the last number, my brain stuttering to a halt.

  “Oh,” I breathed, leaning forward in my chair. My hands gripped the armrests tightly. “I have 32.5 pp saved. I know I am bad at math, but this doesn’t add up in any way. System fuckery.”

  Omar’s face lit up, his expression shifting from cautious concern to genuine excitement. He pushed off from the TABLO, standing upright. “That’s amazing! Dash, that’s—” He paused, his grin widening. “Now you need to get access to catalogues of plugins. I can help, if you get to the Creston keystone somehow. You can actually get an attribute plugin from there if you want.”

  I blinked, processing that. “So I could buy back my attributes? As a plugin?”

  “Kind of.” Omar nodded enthusiastically, already pulling his backpack onto one shoulder. “It works diffrently. But the weekly maintenance is more than you...” He trailed off, thinking. The excitement dimmed slightly as he did the math. “Actually, let me look into it. There might be lower-maintenance versions, not that strong, or alternatives that—”

  He adjusted his Al-Sirr cap with his free hand, settling it into place.

  “Wait, already leaving?” I asked, standing up from my chair. The question came out more desperate than I’d intended. For some reason, I didn’t want to be alone at this moment. Even with the system’s constant presence, the workshop suddenly felt too empty.

  Omar shrugged, his expression apologetic. “I have to get home now, study for a test and sleep. Sorry, habibi. Can’t fail System Theory, or my parents will kill me.” He hefted his backpack, the monster compendium inside making it sag. “But I’ll look into the plugin thing over the weekend. Send you what I find.”

  He offered me his hand in that typical bro handshake way, fist slightly closed, thumb up.

  I clasped it back, our hands locking together. “Hey, I really appreciate your help. Seriously. You didn’t have to spend all night researching this.”

  “Of course I did,” Omar said simply, his grip firm. “You’re my best friend, Dash. Besides—” He grinned as we released hands. “—someone’s gotta make sure you don’t accidentally blow yourself up with corpo equipment.”

  We walked out of the basement together, climbing the stairs back into the main house. The afternoon light streaming through the windows felt too bright after the workshop’s artificial lighting. I blinked, my eyes adjusting as we crossed through the living room toward the front door.

  Omar paused at the threshold, turning back to face me. He winked, his grin turning mischievous. “Hey, next time we meet up, you’ll be a total edgerunner.”

  I almost choked on air. “Yeah, right. Those are only in movies.”

  “I’ll organize movie night, don’t worry. And Dash…” Omar smirked, already backing down the front steps toward the garden path. “Check your skills!” he called back, then turned and started jogging before I could respond.

  “HEY!” I tried to run after him anyway, boots hitting the permacrete. “What does that mean? Omar!”

  But he was faster, the bastard. His system-enhanced attributes letting him pull ahead easily. He threw a wave over his shoulder without looking back, disappearing around the corner of the garden path.

  “Damn system users,” I muttered, stopping at the edge of the lawn.

  Great.

  I stood there for a moment, watching the empty path where Omar had vanished. The garden was quiet except for the soft rustle of biosculpted trees and the distant hum of climate systems.

  “Well,” I said aloud to no one. “Let’s see what skills I have.”

  I turned and headed back inside, the front door sealing behind me with a soft chime. Back in the workshop, I dropped into my chair and pulled up my system interface.

  [Skills]

  I mentally clicked on it.

  [Skills not found.]

  I stared at the notification.

  Blinked.

  Read it again.

  “Oh my god,” I said, my voice completely flat. “Just open the window!”

  [Error fixed!]

  [Skills found, please wait…]

  “...What did I do to deserve this?” I whispered, staring at my skill window in disbelief.

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