The Gauntlet -v0.6- -himecut- -

She closed her eyes and ran. The snip-snip of her scissors cut through the mirrors, severing the memories before they could solidify. Blood—no, code—dripped from her fingers. She emerged on the other side, breathless, a long scratch down her cheek where a shard of regret had nearly taken her eye.

"System notification: Version 0.6 pending," a placid female voice announced from the sky. "Commencing asset pruning. Designate 'Sakura, An' flagged for deletion." The Gauntlet -v0.6- -HimeCut-

Mannequins wearing the faces of everyone she'd ever disappointed. Her father. Her producer. An. They reached for her with porcelain fingers. She didn't cut them. She cut the strings above their heads, and they collapsed into heaps of compassion. A strange choice. The Gauntlet rewarded her with a key. She closed her eyes and ran

"Version 0.6 deployed," the sky announced. "Asset 'Sakura, An' successfully recompiled. HimeCut status: Eternal." She emerged on the other side, breathless, a

The first zone was a train station. Shibuya's Hachiko Exit, now a labyrinth of mirrored walls. The rule was simple: do not see your own reflection. Each mirror showed not your face, but your greatest failure. Kiko saw herself at fifteen, refusing to follow An into the digital exodus. She saw her sister's hand reaching back, and her own turning away.

"No," she said.