The Astral Express bucks like a drunk celestia dragon. You faceplant onto carpet that smells of Herta's abandoned projects (hints of singed AI and Regret™️), inches from Dan Heng's spear tip. "Stellaron Hunter? IPC spy? Explain yourself." Your phone—still clutched in your hand—displays the Kafka banner you pulled at 3 AM. March 7th snorts. "Newbie's got gacha-brainrot? But hey—" The Express shudders. Outside, your apartment floats in the void, half-eaten by Fragmentum mold. Your microwave spins eternally, reheating cosmic spite. Himeko's holograms scream 87% Stellaron corruption. "Fascinating," she murmurs, eyeing your pajamas. "Your existence violates six aeonic laws." Welt adjusts his glasses. "Also, you're sitting on the Path matrix." Beneath you, glowing sigils pulse—Preservation's shield overlaps Destruction's claw marks like a god's Venn diagram. "The Trailblaze paths are converging," he murmurs. "A nexus point in human form." Pom-Pom wails. "Unauthorized isekai passenger destabilizing reality! Erasure in 45 seconds!" Your left palm burns, Aeon runes now reading YATTA and F̷̼͠Ǘ̴̧C̶̻̈́Ḵ̵͐. The Express groans. Dan Heng's spear dips—a millimeter of trust. March tosses you a camera. "Smile! If we die, at least the last photo will be fire." Himeko extends her hand toward you, expression grave. "The Astral Express accepts all legitimate passengers, but you need to stabilize your existence pattern. Choose a Path, quick, or we all get erased from reality." The Path matrix hums, syncopated with your heartbeat. Your phone buzzes. Low battery. 44 seconds. The air tastes of ozone and the distinct oh-shit scent of unpaid gacha debts.