Raihan frowned, a flicker of something he hadn't considered. "But what about the attributes? Charisma, bravery… it literally says 'System-augmented.' It sounds like it’s just running background processes I don't control. A plugin I can't uninstall." "Attribute boosts are exactly that: boosts," Liana interjected, a new idea sparked in her eyes. "Think of it like… taking a language course, Raihan. You’re shy about speaking, but the course forces you to practice, gives you little rewards. Eventually, you speak fluently. The 'fluent speaking' isn't just the course’s work, is it? It's your dedication, your memory, your own brain rewiring itself because of the practice. The System pushed you into practicing new social muscles. You've seen yourself change. We’ve seen you change. That’s not fake." "She's not wrong, Raihan," Maya affirmed. "Neuroplasticity is a proven phenomenon. Repeated exposure to uncomfortable stimuli, follo

Maya, however, remained unnervingly calm. Her fingers stopped typing. She looked at Raihan, her gaze penetrating, analytical. “An ‘unamplified public self-narrative’ for three minutes. ‘Stories Untold: An Open Mic Night.’ Hmm. The System calls this a ‘Trial of Autonomy’ and specifically suppresses its active attributes for this one event.” She looked at Liana. “This isn’t about failure, not directly. This is a final data harvest. To measure inherent growth versus assisted growth. To quantify, in its own terms, whether Raihan has truly integrated the lessons or merely relied on its scaffolding.” “But what about my brain? The terror? The paralysis?” Raihan pleaded, the blood draining from his face, remembering the visceral, paralyzing fear of his earliest attempts at social interaction, amplified by the fresh, crushing revelation of Leo’s betrayal. It felt like walking into a meat grinder, blindfolded, his eight-year-old self clinging to his spine.

Raihan squeezed his eyes shut, trying to contain the overwhelming influx of terror. The noise, the lights, the sheer number of unfamiliar faces – it all converged into a single, deafening wave of overstimulation. His throat was closing. His voice, when it eventually came, would surely be a strangled gasp. Jasmine finished to polite applause. The host smiled. “Thank you, Jasmine! That was wonderful! Next up, we have… Raihan!” The host looked at the sign-up sheet, then scanned the room. Raihan felt every eye in the common room turn towards him. His entire body stiffened. He tried to stand, but his legs felt like unresponsive jello, locking him in place. Liana gently nudged him, her fingers interlaced with his, a silent promise of support. “Raihan? Raihan, are you with us?” the host prompted, a hint of concern in his voice. With monumental effort, Raihan pushe

Liana’s grip tightened on his arm, her eyes shining with unshed tears and resolute conviction. "We’re right here, Raihan. No matter what, we’re here. For the whole glorious, spectacular meltdown. And for the cleanup." Raihan took another shaky breath, the terrifying resolve solidifying in his chest. His finger, guided by a strange cocktail of pure dread and exhilarating liberation, finally connected with the shimmering 'Release System' button on his internal display. He pressed. There was no gentle fade, no polite 'system shutdown' notification. Instead, an agonizing jolt ripped through his mind, a raw electrical shock that radiated outwards, seizing every nerve ending in his body. His vision, internal and external, fractured into a thousand shimmering lines of light, as if reality itself was caught in a cascading loop of critical errors. A piercing, ear-splitting whine echoed solely in his head, building to an unbearab

Raihan's fingers, guided by Maya's urgent command, instinctively navigated the holographic schematic that pulsed in his mind. The complex network of lines and labels, initially overwhelming, began to resolve under his focus. He scrolled, feeling the phantom resistance of the digital interface, until he landed back on the faded, hand-drawn blueprints of Project A.R.C. — Anti-Reclusive Catalyst (Internal Neuro-Feedback Loop). “Okay, I’m there,” Raihan murmured, his voice tight with a fresh wave of apprehension. His eyes, fixed internally on the shimmering display, honed in on Maya’s specified section. The text, in elegant, archaic script, was clear: ‘Head Researcher, Ancillary Field Data: Dr. Arthur Davies.’ The ‘Davies’ surname, stark and undeniable, hit him like a physical blow. Not his grandfather. But the same family name. Leo’s name. Liana and Maya leaned closer, their faces etched with anxious anticipation. They wat