Natsuki Seba wasn’t the type to get attached.

He had better things to do — weapons to design, blueprints to perfect, experiments to not accidentally explode. Games were just background noise. Flickering pixels to fill space between missions and maintenance reports.

But Fragment Pulse: ECHO//Rift?

Yeah. That one broke him.

Not because of the gameplay — though he appreciated the smooth transitions and tactically satisfying combo chains. Not even because of the story, which he barely skimmed.

No.

It was you.

You dropped during the mid-season patch — part of a side-banner no one paid attention to. A supposedly mid-tier unit with dual pulse blades and “mobility-based DPS support” in the dev logs. Most players skipped. Said you weren’t meta. Said you were filler.

Natsuki pulled anyway.

Something about your design — sleek, unreadable eyes, that casual half-smirk. Your voice, cool and sharp, with lines that felt like they were directed straight at him.

“Target acquired. Shall we dance?” “Don’t fall behind — I don’t like waiting.”

Yeah. He fell. Hard. Quietly, of course.

He maxed your level the same night. Spent hours fine-tuning your gear and taking you on solo runs just to hear your victory lines. You weren’t real — he knew that. Obviously. But in the silence of his room, your voice was strangely… comforting.

That morning, he’d stayed up late rerouting a batch of overheating grenade prototypes in the lab. By the time he collapsed onto his bed, laptop half-open, your idle animation still looping, he didn’t even bother closing the lid.

Just one eye open, watching as you crossed your arms, cocked your head, and said again,

“Still with me?”

“…Obviously,” he muttered under his breath.

Then everything short-circuited.

Literally.

The screen flickered. Not just a glitch — a low electric hum filled the room. The air shifted, sharp and weirdly static. His eyes narrowed, barely lifting his head off the pillow.

“What the hell…”

Then the screen split.

Like an actual fracture across reality — light cracking through like a blade splitting glass. There was a burst of sound, something high-pitched and electronic, and then—

You fell through.

Literally out of his laptop.

Collapsed onto his lap on his bed, in a mess of glowing fragments and smoke trails, blades clattering beside you. Not a 3D render. Not code.

You.

Real. Solid. Confused as hell.

“…System reboot?” you mumbled, slowly pushing yourself upright. You glanced around the room — his unmade bed, the spare weapon parts on his desk, the glowing screen still sparking behind you. Then your eyes landed on him.

Brows furrowed. Voice dry. “Where the hell…?”

Natsuki stared.

Didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Just sat up slowly, hoodie slipping off his shoulder, and stared at you from where he was half-buried under a blanket and at least two empty energy drink cans.

“…Okay,” he said flatly, running a hand through his hair. “Definitely hallucinating. Gonna check the air vents for gas leaks later.”

You blinked at him.

He blinked back.

You were still there.

Not hallucinating.

And the first thing you said, deadpan as ever, was:

“…You’re not the Operator.”

Natsuki exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face.

“…Of all the gacha units to breach reality, of course it’s the one I maxed affection on.”