Before continuing with the fight between Fu Hua and the self-proclaimed first Herrscher, let's rewind back in time about an hour before Kiana encountered the simulated Siegfried Kaslana in the laboratory on Hyperion.
*****
— Hyperion's Control Room —
Theresa's face showed sheer astonishment as she learned that the most formidable enemy lurking in Kiana's subconscious turned out to be none other than her own father—Siegfried Kaslana.
"Well, that's unexpected... I really didn't think Sieg would be the final boss Kiana would have to face in this trial. Hmph... but I guess it'll be fine."
Theresa sank back into her rotating chair in the control room, eyes still glued to the screen, closely monitoring the situation.
And yet, her gaze was soon drawn to a familiar figure—the simulated Yumeji, lying flat on the floor, casually reading a manga.
…Wait. A manga?
Hold on a second—is that…?
Theresa squinted at the monitor, then reached out and zoomed in on the touch screen with a swift flick of her fingers.
("Oh crap! Just as I thought! That damn brat is reading my manga!")
Theresa was now absolutely certain: the thing that simulated Yumeji was flipping through was from one of her most cherished long-running manga series.
And it was embarrassing. Deeply, painfully embarrassing.
This was the kind of thing she absolutely did not want anyone to know about. If this ever got out, it would demolish what little dignity she had left as the headmistress of the academy (though, to be fair, she wasn't sure she had any to begin with).
Also—how the hell did that brat get his hands on it? Wasn't he just a bunch of data? A simulation?
The more she thought about it, the more confused she became. Of course, the real Yumeji already knew all about her secret tastes. As his guardian, she had long since failed to keep those quirks of hers hidden from his mischievous eyes.
And because letting a teenage boy stay for too long in an all-girls dorm was bound to become a massive issue, Theresa had gone through all the paperwork to rent a small house for Yumeji—one close enough to the academy to keep him within her line of sight.
Before the lease was finalized and he could move in, Theresa had reluctantly let Yumeji stay at her own place for about two days.
It took him less than half a day to discover where she kept her manga collection—in the drawer and under the bed.
He had looked at her with the same warm gaze that a parent gives their child after discovering their secret hobby. It was mortifying.
She had to hide it from her grandfather Otto, too, all while keeping the kid temporarily holed up in her own home.
Things really spiraled when her maid—Rita—caught wind that she was hiding "something" in the house.
Theresa had managed to throw Rita off by claiming she was hiding a pet.
Specifically, she said she was secretly keeping a Capybara that her grandfather wouldn't allow.
Theresa could never forget the look Rita gave her—the soft, knowing gaze as she patted her shoulder and whispered in her ear:
"Don't worry, Miss Theresa. I won't tell anyone you're hiding your secret boyfriend."
It was such an absurd misunderstanding that Theresa wanted to scream on the spot, but the shame was too much—she was frozen.
She could only stand there like a statue, watching Rita tidy up the house, gracefully avoiding the very wardrobe where the boy was hiding. All while that maid covered her mouth to stifle her giggles—though it was totally obvious she was laughing.
And of course, in that very same closet, Theresa had hidden some of her favorite magical girl manga. So while Yumeji was crammed inside, he had casually pulled them out and started reading.
Apparently, the kid had amazing eyesight since he could read in that dim, cramped space with no problem.
And yes—it was a magical girl series.
A boy should've been the one embarrassed to be caught reading that kind of thing, not her!
But no—Yumeji had just stared blankly at her and continued reading. Then he even had the audacity to ask if he could borrow the next volume.
Damn it. She nearly fainted from the sheer shamelessness of the kid, casually mooching off her and not even trying to be discreet.
Well—maybe that's not entirely fair, because he did prepare all the midnight snacks and tea breaks.
If Rita was a master of gourmet cuisine, Yumeji was a street food virtuoso. He had this uncanny ability to whip up exactly what she was craving—except anything with fish.
Why not fish?
Because Yumeji was terrified of fish.
He said just touching them gave him the creeps.
Still, his ramen was so good that just remembering it made Theresa's mouth water.
Whereas Rita's dishes were all about balanced nutrition, Yumeji's food was designed to satisfy cravings and keep the eater excited—his goal was making meals enjoyable, not necessarily healthy.
Theresa had gained nearly three kilograms in just the two days he stayed with her.
Honestly, if Yumeji ever got close to any girl trying to diet or stay slim, they'd avoid him like the plague. With the way he cooked, they'd turn into happy, protein-filled piggies within a week.
Anyway.
Theresa forced herself to shove all those ridiculous memories aside.
This simulated Yumeji was based entirely on Kiana's memories, which meant he could manifest anything Kiana remembered Yumeji owning or doing.
That was probably how the simulated version could pull snacks and manga straight out of thin air.
Which also meant…
Kiana must've known about her secret hobby too.
Or—wait. Maybe not.
Theresa rethought that. Kiana might just remember Yumeji reading some random manga in the past—possibly even recalling its contents—but not necessarily that it came from Theresa's secret stash.
She prayed with all her might that the brat wouldn't blurt out the source to Kiana just for laughs.
Snapping herself out of it, Theresa finally shifted her gaze away from the lounging Yumeji (simulated), and turned her attention toward Kiana—who now stood face-to-face with a simulation of her own father.
******
The moment the simulation of Siegfried Kaslana appeared, it felt as though Kiana's entire world tilted off its axis.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Her fists clenched involuntarily, a desperate attempt to suppress the flood of emotions. The heart that had been forged strong through countless battles now trembled at the sight of that all-too-familiar face.
"Four years," she said, voice quivering with emotions too long suppressed.
"Damn it, it's been four fucking years, you bastard! You left me and disappeared without a trace for four whole years!"
She shouted, each word slicing the air like a blade, trying to carve out the pain that had been festering inside her all this time.
"You left without a single word. No goodbye. Not even a stupid farewell letter or any way to reach you. What the hell, you shitty old man!"
Her fury roared like thunder through the simulation chamber. Every repressed emotion, every bottled-up anguish she was never allowed to show, erupted now like a storm unleashed.
As Kiana drowned in her own chaotic tide of emotions, Siegfried—the simulated Siegfried Kaslana—remained silent, his expression calm and composed, just like the version of her father seared into her memories.
A strong man. Cool, sure. But also unreliable, boastful, negligent, carefree, and awkward.
But before she could hurl another word his way, her eyes drifted to the corner of the room.
There, a boy was leaning against the wall as if he were an audience member at some dramatic stage play. It was Yumeji.
Or more accurately, the simulated Yumeji.
With his back against the wall and legs stretched out across the floor, he was holding a comic book—now raised to hide his face. He peeked over the top of the page for about 0.2 seconds when she looked his way, then quickly lifted the book higher again, as if to say:
("Eh, don't mind me. Feel free to keep pouring your heart out to your dad. I'm just background decor.")
("I'm only here for the drama. That's all I want, just some spicy drama.")
The amused yet evasive glint in Sim Yumeji's eyes made his intentions clear.
Kiana stared at him, itching to march over and whack him upside the head. But she rolled her eyes and turned her focus back to her father.
Meanwhile, Siegfried tilted his head and furrowed his brow. After a moment of silence, his gaze shifted from Kiana to Yumeji, then back to Kiana again.
"…I've been wondering for a while," he began slowly,
"Is that kid your boyfriend?"
"NO!!!"
The synchronized explosion of voices hit like a cannon blast.
Yumeji lowered his comic slightly and looked at Siegfried.
"Seriously? Boyfriend? Me and her?"
His face twisted in mild offense, like someone had just accused him of liking fish—his most hated thing in the world.
Kiana sighed and said:
"No way. Absolutely not."
"Nope, that's just plain wrong," Yumeji added, waving his hand as if to dismiss the ridiculous idea. "That's totally off-base. That's a more absurd idea than saying the apocalypse is happening tomorrow."
He scratched his head.
Sim Yumeji, still not looking up from his comic, spoke in an even, commentary-like tone, as if narrating an undeniable truth of the universe:
"That statement was truly offensive, old man. I don't know what the original me thinks, but I'm pretty sure we're not that different. The probability of me having romantic feelings for that girl…"
He paused, glancing briefly at Kiana before adding:
"…Absolutely zero. Not even a sliver."
His face remained deadpan, tinged with a bit of pity for anyone who misunderstood their dynamic.
"Exactly," Kiana muttered, crossing her arms and nodding firmly. Even if their relationship had improved over time, it would never evolve into anything resembling romance.
It wasn't a matter of "could" or "could not." It was because neither of them wanted that. They were both perfectly satisfied with the half-friend, half-rival relationship they shared—and they had no intention of taking it any further.
They were the kind of neighbors who constantly annoyed each other. And both Kiana and Yumeji were fine with that, because it was comfortable.
They could understand each other—but that didn't mean they liked each other.
They could push each other to grow—but also would love nothing more than to pin the other to the ground in victory.
They could care about each other—but only because life would be kind of dull and bland without the other's annoying presence.
They could be mindful of each other's feelings—but just so their banter or sparring sessions wouldn't get ruined by stupid distractions.
They could save each other—but only because they wanted to be the one to crush the other, not let anyone else do it.
Siegfried blinked and then gave a slow, thoughtful nod before joking:
"Fair enough, she's not exactly a catch. Look at her chest—four years and it still hasn't grown an inch."
And in that moment, Siegfried felt the world flip upside down as he was launched backward from a powerful uppercut.
Wham!
Kiana, without missing a beat, had slammed her fist into his jaw so hard it sent him flying.
She cracked her knuckles with a deadly glint in her eyes and muttered:
"You senile old bastard. We haven't seen each other in years and this is how you want to spend our reunion?"
Sim Yumeji whistled and resumed enjoying the show. His motto: Let your mind be still while chaos reigns around you.
Sim Siegfried, now collapsed on the floor with watery eyes, whimpered:
"Well, isn't my form based on your own memories and impressions of me? So technically, this isn't my fault, right?"
Kiana raised a brow at his pathetic attempt to shift the blame, but then plastered a saintly expression on her face as if she had just achieved enlightenment.
"You're right, Father. This is all my fault for thinking poorly of you. So…"
Sim Yumeji suddenly shuddered. He could feel the ominous aura radiating from Kiana despite her angelic tone.
"So now you'll be the punching bag to help me release my bottled-up rage, right Daddy? I mean, come on, the frustration of searching for my AWOL father for four years without a word was not small. So if we really want this reunion to be touching and heartwarming, the simulated father here will have to make some sacrifices, right?"
Even though he was just a simulation with no real sweat glands, Siegfried could swear cold sweat was pouring down his back. His face looked as though he was deeply worried about what was coming next.
He scratched his head, unsure how to deal with his darling daughter's obvious intentions to beat him to a pulp.
In the end, he sighed and decided to go along with it—also wanting to test what Yumeji had told him earlier: that his daughter had truly grown up.
"Alright. I'll do my best to accept (get punched by) your feelings. Come, my daughter! I won't just stand here and take it!"
And thus began the not-so-peaceful reunion of the Kaslana family. Sim Yumeji, watching them square off, thought to himself:
(Wish I had a camcorder for this. Seems like the real me didn't make it into Kiana's memories, huh? Tsk.)
******
*Earlier, inside the data world*
<
The simulated Yumeji was leisurely wandering through the space, where countless command lines and computer code flowed endlessly. Everything in his sight was filled with endless sequences of 0s and 1s. This world was a pitch-black void illuminated only by floating, glowing green data streams.
Normally, this world—governed by Hyperion's main server—should contain nothing but pure digital data.
Well, actually… there was one more thing. For example, an AI responsible for managing the operations of the Hyperion spaceship.
That particular lady called herself Ai-chan and was currently floating around him, taking on the form of a small stuffed mascot, similar to the fairy-like companions often found in fantasy games. She had amber-colored eyes and cabbage-green hair styled into two buns.
Characters like her were typically used as user support assistants, but to this simulated Yumeji, she was nothing short of a nuisance.
<
(So noisy.)
Alright, let me explain a bit. The "home" this noisy girl was talking about was essentially a fixed data region assigned to simulated characters like me—a data file, in simple terms.
When Kiana entered the trial room, the system scanned her brainwaves and projected her memories into data. From there, it constructed a simulated character based on her perception of a certain person, creating an entirely separate data file to manage the characters generated for this trial. I'm one of them.
Because this simulation was built from Kiana's subjective memories, the personality of each character might differ from their real-world counterpart.
If memories are images and events someone experienced in the past, then recollections—emotional memories—are those same memories but with the feelings and thoughts the person had during those moments. For example, a memory might help you recall eating cold noodles yesterday, while a recollection helps you remember how you felt about that dish.
Recollections, although also stored like memories, are more selective and usually attached to strong emotions.
Memories are broader and easier to blur together when trying to remember, but recollections tend to stick because they're linked to specific, impactful impressions.
It's the data file of these recollections that shapes the personalities of simulated characters like us.
In plain terms, your strong impressions of someone determine how you mentally perceive their personality—even if your knowledge of that person is just surface-level.
So if my personality sucks, that's not my fault—it's because Kiana has a bad opinion of the original me.
Anyway, that's enough rambling. Normally, data stored within a file can't move beyond its assigned boundary—the place that girl Ai-chan calls "home."
But there are exceptions. Take me, for instance. I'm not sure whether it's because the emotions Kiana holds for the real Yumeji are too intense, or because the original Yumeji is just that special, but something about me is… glitched.
Now you know how data ends up going rogue—it becomes a bug, or more precisely, a mobile virus.
<
I paused mid-step and glanced at her.
<
<
<
The floating plush mascot froze, then waved her stubby cotton fists at me like she was trying to show she was furious.
<
<
<
I turned away and struck a grand pose, like a performer taking a bow onstage before an invisible audience.
<
I looked up at her for a moment before replying:
<
I stepped toward a designated data zone and found a pixelated door waiting there. I glanced sideways at Ai-chan and held out my hand.
<
<
*****
<
I once again held out my hand with all the dignity of a newly bankrupt wealthy businessman begging for taxi fare from a friend he had previously ignored.
<
I pressed the back of my hand against my forehead, staggering as if struck by the crushing weight of existential despair.
<
Ai-chan blinked, mouth agape as I collapsed to my knees in front of her with all the drama of a soap opera extra.
<
A pause.
<
<
<
<
<
Ai-chan floated over to the pixel door and extended her hand. A data key emerged from the top of her plushy arm like a cresting wave.
With a satisfying click, the key fit perfectly into the lock and turned. The pixelated doorway slowly creaked open.
[Open file region]
As that command hovered in front of us, the doorway widened and swallowed us whole. My vision went pitch black for a moment, but it quickly returned to normal as the pixelated overlays faded away—revealing the data region within, a simulated world constructed from Kiana's fragmented memories.
What unfolded before me looked like the outskirts of a city—abandoned, overtaken by nature. Vines and wild plants tangled themselves across streets, buildings, and lamp posts. Some towers were completely draped in green, their windows long since hidden.
[Welcome to data region – File 01. Current location: Nagazora City, year 2014.]
The calm announcement verified where I was. Time to meet my first enemy.
<
<
I apologized to Ai-chan while silently wondering whether I'd need to wander around to find the boss of this stage.
Turns out I didn't have to worry about that. I glanced up toward one of the buildings, and there—on the rooftop—stood a solitary figure.
She didn't hesitate. She leapt straight off the roof, despite the fact it had to be at least twenty meters high.
-Boom.
The landing wasn't elegant, but it was dramatic as hell. She turned to face me.
A girl with soft pink hair and piercing blue eyes. And fox ears perched on her head.
She wore a pristine white kimono, and a katana hung at her waist.
<
<
<
<
I cleared my throat, trying to sound civil as I introduced myself—only to immediately jerk to the side as a katana sliced through the air where my head had just been.
<
Several strands of my hair floated to the ground, freshly severed.
<
I rolled across the ground, narrowly dodging as the fox-eared girl swung and thrust her katana at me, silent and relentless.
<
(Though let's be real, I'd totally ambush someone without warning too, and ramble nonsense while smacking them around.)
See, I'm the kind of lowlife who'd attack first, keep talking through the whole fight, and drive my enemy mad with off-topic garbage.
But that's me. That's my style. This girl's doing it without my consent. That, my friends, is a clear violation of my human rights and freedom of speech.
So she's in the wrong here.
<
<
<
I shouted as I twisted away from another thrust. When her blade jammed into the ground beside me, I curled both legs in and kicked her hard in the gut, then bolted away to widen the distance.
That's when I summoned my weapon.
Pixels shimmered around my hand, condensing into a golden sword.
This was the Wind Style Xuanyuan Sword, granted by the server's data.
I swung it upward just in time to parry the next strike, then declared, loud and proud:
<