The transition was not a glitch; it was a surgical rewrite of his reality. One moment, Raihan was drifting through the abstract neon architecture of the Infranet, a ghost woven from sapphire code and desperation. The next, the violet abyss curdled and solidified. The scent of sterile vanilla and ozone vanished, replaced by the earthy, damp smell of Northwood University after a light October rain. Raihan gasped, but the air felt too real, too thick. He wasn’t a lattice of light anymore. He felt the weight of his old, thrift-store jacket. He felt the familiar, annoying itch of his cheap socks against his ankles. He was standing in the center of the Quad. "No," Raihan whispered, his voice cracking. "Not here. Not this." Around him, the world was rendered in a resolution that surpassed human sight. Every blade of grass on the lawn stood with hyper-real clarity, swaying in a breeze that felt cold enough to nip at his ears. But it was the people that made his stomach do a slow, naus