I am just an NPC ,but I rewrite the story-Chapter 74: [73] Maintenance Mode

"Let’s see if you know how to use it," the shadow said, gesturing with its own notched, rusted blade.

I didn’t move. My heart was still hammering against my ribs from the forced wish, and my legs felt like they were made of cooling lead. The silver line on my knife was pulsing with a rhythmic, angry heat that made my palm sweat.

"Ren," Kaelen’s voice was low, vibrating with that ’Dark Wolf’ edge that usually meant someone was about to lose a limb. "Is that thing you? Because if it is, I’m going to have a hard time not stabbing it."

"It’s not me, Kaelen," I panted, blinking to clear the grit from my eyes. "Well, not the ’me’ that’s standing here. It’s a reflection. The Fox said we broke the glass."

"You did more than break it, kid," the Fox chirped, though he was currently cowering behind a bookshelf, his white fur standing on end. "You bypassed the security protocols of a multiversal intersection! You forced a localized reality-warp! Do you have any idea how much paperwork that is for the Superintendent? He’s going to have to manually reboot the entire tenth floor!"

The shadow-me took a step forward. It moved with a weird, frame-skipping motion, its grey cloak fluttering even though there was no wind in the hub. "The Fox talks too much. But he’s right about one thing. You’re cheating, Ren. You’re using the end-game tools to clear the tutorial. It’s boring."

"It’s not a tutorial when people are actually dying," Red snapped. She was standing next to me, her daggers held in a reverse grip. She looked at the shadow, then at the teenage boy sitting in the middle of our rug, then at the group of penguins currently huddling near the fireplace. "And can we please address the penguins? Why are there penguins in our house?"

The teenage boy—the one who had been Zero ten minutes ago—looked up. He adjusted his thick glasses, his lip trembling. "They’re... they’re my tactical division. Or they were. You turned my cruiser into butterflies, man. Butterflies! Do you know how much that ship cost? My world’s Central Committee is going to execute me."

"At least you’re not a penguin," Tybalt muttered, poking one of the birds with his rolling pin. The penguin let out a sharp honk and tried to nip at his apron. "Ren, what do we do with him? The boy, I mean. He’s just sitting there. He looks like he’s about to cry."

"I’m not going to cry," the boy whispered, though his eyes were definitely watering. "I’m Theo. And I’m Level 21... or I was. My system is totally dead. It just says ’Updating’ in a loop."

I looked from the shadow at the door to the boy on the floor. The "System" was indeed quiet. Usually, there was a constant hum, a background noise of stats and notifications, but now it was a flat, hollow silence.

"Ren," Lysandra said, stepping up to my other side, her shield held ready. "The shadow. It’s not attacking. It’s just... standing there."

"I’m waiting," the Shadow-Ren said, his voice a hollow echo of my own. "Maintenance takes time. The Tower has to decide what to do with a ’Guild’ that breaks its logic. While it thinks, I get to watch. I want to see if the ’variable’ is actually worth the trouble he’s causing."

"We aren’t a variable," I said, finally finding my voice. I stood up straight, ignoring the sharp pain in my side from the crash-landing. "We’re a party. And we’re tired. Tybalt, go to the kitchen. Make something that doesn’t come out of a plastic triangle. Kaelen, watch the door. If that shadow tries to cross the threshold, cut it."

"With pleasure," Kaelen grunted.

"Red, help Tybalt. Lysandra, watch the kid... Theo. Cian, Mia, get to the books. If the System is rebooting, there might be a gap in the records. See if you can find anything about a ’Tower of Regrets.’"

The team moved. It was muscle memory now. We’d been through too many near-death experiences to let a "Maintenance" screen freeze us.

Tybalt scrambled toward the stove, Red trailing behind him while complaining about the smell of penguin. Lysandra stood over Theo, her posture less like a jailer and more like a concerned older sister, which was her default mode anyway.

I walked over to the fireplace, sitting on the stone hearth. Cerberus trotted over, his three heads (he’d shrunk back down to his hound shape) all resting on my knees. I scratched the floppy ear of the middle head.

"Hey, Ren," Theo said, his voice small. He was still sitting on the rug, looking around the hub. "This place... it’s so... physical. My world is all data-streams and neon. We don’t have fireplaces. We don’t have... dogs."

"It’s a hub, Theo," I said. "It’s supposed to feel like home. Or a version of it."

"Your ’home’ is a bakery?" Theo asked, a hint of his old Zero-arrogance returning. "My home was a Tier-1 Citadel. I was the Apex. I was designed to win this Tower in under three months."

"And look where that got you," Red called out from the kitchen. "You’re a kid in a t-shirt sitting on a rug while a baker makes you dinner. Real ’Apex’ behavior, kid."

Theo went red. "I would have won! My spear was a Level 20 relic! I had the calculations!"

"Calculations don’t account for muffins, Theo," I said. "Trust me, I tried to play by the rules for a long time. They don’t work here. The Tower isn’t a machine. It’s a story."

"I don’t understand that," Theo whispered. "Logic is the only thing that’s real."

"Then explain the penguins," I said, gesturing to the huddle of birds.

Theo looked at the penguins and sighed. "I think they’re hungry."

"Dinner’s coming!" Tybalt yelled. "And if anyone complains about the lack of ’sea-protein triangles,’ I’m throwing them out the window!"

The next hour was surprisingly normal. Tybalt managed to whip up a massive pot of stew using the ingredients from the dream-fridge. It wasn’t as good as the stuff he made back at 42 Whispering Lane, but it smelled like heaven. We sat around the large oak table—including Theo, who ate his stew with a look of pure, bewildered shock.

"Is this... beef?" Theo asked, staring at a chunk of meat.

"It’s whatever the Tower thinks a cow tastes like," Tybalt said, taking a huge bite of bread. "But I seasoned it. That’s the secret."

"It’s... good," Theo admitted.

The Shadow-Ren remained at the door, leaning against the frame. He didn’t eat. He didn’t speak. He just watched us with those empty white slits for eyes. It was like having a very judgmental ghost at a dinner party.

"So," Red said, tearing off a piece of crust and tossing it to Cerberus. "What happens when the ’Maintenance’ ends? Do we just go to Floor 11? Or does the Tower kick us out for cheating?"

"The Superintendent won’t kick you out," the Fox said, emerging from the bookshelves now that there was food on the table. He hopped onto a chair, his bushy tail twitching. "He can’t. You’ve become part of the ’Anchor’ now. But the difficulty... oh, the difficulty is going to spike. The Tower of Wishes was designed for individuals. The Tower of Regrets? That’s designed for ’Variables.’"

"What’s the difference?" Lysandra asked.

"Wishes are about the future," the Fox said, sniffing a bowl of stew. "Regrets are about the past. Up until now, the floors were tests of skill. From Floor 11 on... they’ll be tests of consequence."

I looked at the shadow at the door. "Tests of consequence. Like the reflection I saw in the bone-forest?"

"Worse," the Fox said, looking at me with his large, intelligent eyes. "The Tower is going to start pulling people from your history. Not just Echoes. Real people. Or versions of them. It’s going to force you to live the moments you tried to skip."

The room went cold. Kaelen’s hand tightened on his spoon until the wood snapped. Lysandra looked down at her shield.

"My father," she whispered.

"My sisters," Kaelen rumbled.

"The guy who fired me because I wouldn’t cook the books," I added, trying to lighten the mood, though it fell flat.

"It’s not just your world, either," the Fox warned, glancing at Theo. "The Tower is merging the ’Regrets’ of all ninety-nine participants who survived the Clash. You won’t just be fighting your own ghosts. You’ll be fighting theirs."

"Merged instances," Cian muttered, scribbling frantically. "That’s why the rankings were broadcast. The Tower is creating a ’Competitive Narrative.’ It wants us to clash, not just with swords, but with our pasts."

"Wait," Theo said, putting his bowl down. "If the floors are merged, does that mean I’m part of your group now? Because I don’t have a team. I don’t even have a spear."

"You have a t-shirt," Red noted. "And you’re Rank 1. Even without your gear, the Tower probably thinks you’re the final boss."

"I’m Level 1 again," Theo said, tapping his empty air where his screen should be. "The wish stripped me. I’m... I’m a Level 1 ’Coder.’ That’s my new class."

"A Coder?" Cian asked, interested. "Can you write runes?"

"I write script," Theo said. "It’s like... the logic of the world. But I need a terminal. Or at least a keyboard."

"We’ll find you one," I said, looking at the boy. He was arrogant, he was annoying, and he had tried to kill us. But he was also a kid who had just had his entire world-view shattered. "For now, you stay with us. We’re Rank 2. We can’t have the Rank 1 guy wandering around alone."

"Really?" Theo asked, his eyes wide. "You’d... let me join?"

"Don’t make us regret it," Kaelen said, his voice like grinding stone.

[Maintenance Complete.]

[System Online.]

The blue screens flickered back into life simultaneously. The white light of the hub turned a deep, somber purple.

[Tower Level 20 Status: Confirmed.]

[New Phase: The Ascent of Regret.]

[Floor 11: The City of Glass Walls.]

[Mission: Face the First Consequence.]

[Warning: Instance Merged with Sector-1, Sector-4, and Sector-12.]

"Sector-12," I said. "That’s Garra. The wolf-men."

"Sector-1 is Theo’s world," Red added. "The penguins’ people."

"And Sector-4 is the Bone-Reapers," Lysandra said, standing up and grabbing her shield. "The ones who served the ’True Emperor.’"

The Shadow-Ren at the door finally moved. He pushed himself off the frame and stood in the center of the hallway. He pointed his rusty knife toward the front door.

"The first page is turning, Ren," the shadow said. "Try not to get erased."

He turned and walked through the door, vanishing into a swirl of black ink.

I stood up, checking the "Edge of Reality" on my belt. It was vibrating with a new intensity. My stats were back—Level 20 Strength and Agility felt like a surge of lightning through my veins.

"Alright, Eclipse," I said, looking at my mismatched, battered, and beautiful team. "And Theo. And... penguins."

"The penguins stay here!" Tybalt yelled. "They’re guard-penguins now!"

"Fine," I laughed. "Let’s go. We have a tower to climb. And some ghosts to put to bed."

We walked toward the front door.

As I stepped onto the porch, I didn’t see the harbor of Silver-Port. I didn’t see the golden sea of clouds.

I saw a city.

But it wasn’t a city of stone. Every building, every street, and every lamp-post was made of perfectly clear, transparent glass. You could see through the walls of every house, through the floors of every skyscraper. There were no secrets here. No privacy.

And in the center of the street, standing in the middle of a group of transparent people who were all staring at us, was a man.

He wore a tailored suit and a gold watch. He was holding a clipboard and looking at his watch with an annoyed expression.

"Ren," the man said, looking up. "You’re late for the performance review. Again."

I froze.

"Mr. Henderson?" I whispered.

"Who’s that?" Red asked, her daggers out. "A mage? A knight?"

"No," I said, a cold sweat breaking out on my neck. "That’s my old boss. The one who fired me."

The man checked a box on his clipboard. "The ’Guild’ thing was a nice distraction, Ren. But the figures don’t add up. We’re going to have to let you go. Permanently."

He snapped his fingers.

The glass buildings around us began to vibrate. The transparent people—thousands of them—turned toward us, their eyes glowing with a cold, corporate blue.

[Floor 11: The City of Glass Walls.]

[Mission: Survive the Audit.]

"Survive the audit?" Tybalt asked, clutching his bag. "Ren, what does that mean?"

"It means," I said, drawing my knife, "that the Tower found my biggest regret. And it’s hiring."

"Red, Kaelen—get ready," I ordered. "This isn’t a physical fight. It’s a bureaucracy."

"I hate bureaucracy," Red muttered.

"Me too, Red," I said. "Me too."

We stepped into the glass city.

The fourth arc was truly underway. And the "System" was checking the books.