Chapter 3: Breaking the Chains

Number 075’s voice turned clinical as she explained what the thing in my head really was.

"These so-called romance systems are actually stowaways from another dimension. They trick underage girls like you into working for them. Most don’t want to, but the systems pull them into other worlds. If you want to go home, you have to play along. But the promise is a lie—romance systems can’t send souls back to Earth."

Her words knocked the air out of me. My knees nearly gave way, and I clung to the wall for support. Everything I’d suffered, everything I’d done—was for nothing.

She pulled a strange bottle from her pocket. It looked like a mason jar, but the glass shimmered with colors I couldn’t name.

"We developed this—a space-time bottle. It can extract the system from your brain."

A quick prick at my fingertip, sharp and stinging. Then, suddenly, it felt like a parasite was being yanked from my skull, leaving blessed emptiness behind.

A glowing blue orb throbbed inside the bottle in Number 075’s hand. It pulsed like a malignant heartbeat.

The mechanical voice inside the orb was frantic:

"Who are you? How can you capture me? Emily Harrison, let me out immediately! If you don’t, I’ll lock your consciousness in the dark room again!"

My body shook. Seventeen years of terror didn’t just vanish. The "dark room"—utter, crushing silence. No light, no sound, just the weight of your own mind pressing in. I’d scratched my arms raw, desperate to feel anything.

The first time was when I refused the system’s command—to kill the girl who’d saved me. Luna, who’d given me bread when I was starving.

The system insisted, "She’ll use that life debt to manipulate you. You’re both women—you know how petty that gets."

I refused, clinging to the last shreds of myself.

Ten days in darkness broke me. When I finally snapped, the system took my body and made me kill Luna. I screamed inside my own head while my hands did it.

Hot blood—real, not movie blood—soaked my hands. My fingers wouldn’t stop shaking as the dagger clattered to the floor.

"Look at you. So soft. Next time, be faster—or I’ll kill that cat you’re raising and make soup from it…"

The system’s gloating rang in my ears. The mute girl, Luna, lay in a pool of blood. Scattered around her were the simple clothes she’d sewn for me, tiny flowers embroidered at the collar—she knew I missed color.

Before she died, she kept signing: "It’s okay, Em. I know Em didn’t mean it. It’s okay…"

...

The system’s threats bounced off the glass, powerless now. Just noise.

I laughed—a wild, broken sound—and then I sobbed, seventeen years of pain pouring out. Number 075 patted my shoulder.

"Emily Harrison, congratulations. You’re free."