Where did Nana Toki go?

She’d bolted the moment her body felt wrong, like a swallow fleeing a brewing storm.

“Host… Host! Are you okay…” The System’s voice flickered like cold neon, watching her chalk-white cheeks and lips bruised violet.

“You tell me—do I look okay?” Her temper snapped like a bowstring.

She wanted to curse; this System popped a healing aura yet couldn’t heal her, trash glitter dressed as gold.

“Uh… our healing aura’s still basic,” the System droned, like rain on tin. “It only fixes surface wounds, not things like drug intake…”

“Enough.” Her words fell like a knife. “Don’t say another word.”

Trash System, name fits like a cracked mask.

For no reason, heat flared in her chest like a brushfire, anger rising like smoke.

At the same time, her body swung between ice and steam, cold sweat beading like dew on stone.

Her limbs turned to wet rope, soft and useless.

Her face ran with tears and snot, a rain of salt and grief.

Textbook—someone force-fed her drugs, and now withdrawal clawed like winter wolves.

Lucky the original owner was dosed only once, like a single thorn embedded shallow.

No hallucinations, but plenty of damage, a garden blighted after frost.

Right now, even walking was beyond her, like a puppet with its strings cut.

Her whole body felt like a swarm of ants crawling under skin, biting flesh, gnawing bone.

The pain was a tide, relentless and black.

Seriously, could I get a body that works, like a blade kept oiled?

Let me go full-on unbeatable, like a river breaking its banks.

Nana Toki dragged a hand across her face, trying to clear her vision like wiping fog off glass.

It did nothing; the blur clung like mist at dawn.

System: “…”

“Stop whining,” the System warned, voice cold as sleet. “Keep this up and your body will collapse.”

“All thanks to you being trash,” she hissed, a snake in grass.

She gritted her teeth and leaned on a broken wall, like a fawn learning to stand.

Step by shaking step, she moved, a reed bending in wind.

“Maybe try being like other Systems,” she muttered, humor sharp as pepper. “Fully loaded, with newbie gift packs.”

System: “…”

Why’s she so obsessed with newbie packs, like a magpie with shiny things?

Rustle… rustle…

Footsteps brushed the air behind her, like leaves skittering.

But she had no room to care; even wall-walking sucked all her light like a draining moon.

No mind left for anything else, just breath and grit.

“Host, where are we going?” The System sounded uneasy, like thunder far off.

“Find a place to rest,” she breathed, voice thin as thread.

But…

No plan came; only a grim spark lit her eyes like flint.

She trembled and fumbled inside her black jacket, pulling a sharp knife, the blade cold as winter water.

She flipped her grip and aimed at her thigh, teeth clenched like a trapped wolf.

“Host, what are you doing?!” The System jolted, panic crackling like static.

She drove the blade down at her own leg, steel a streak of rain.

Ever seen someone fight withdrawal like this?

Her knife hand shook hard, like a Parkinson tremor, wild and erratic.

Tears and snot smeared her face, a wet mask; from afar she looked like a girl who wanted to die but couldn’t jump.

I’ve seen it, sure—but this method’s hardcore, iron on bone.

How crazy is she, to carve herself just to stay lucid, like a captain steering through storm?

“Hiss… huff… gulp… gulp…” Breath tore ragged, like saw teeth.

She stared at the knife slicing only air; her face darkened like a cloud bank.

She readied to try again, will set like stone.

Suddenly—

A petite figure stumbled up behind her, hands flustered like sparrows.

The girl jabbed something like a stun baton into Nana’s nape, quick as lightning.

Crackle crackle.

“Ah!”

Electricity bit; Yuzuki watched Nana seize like a struck fish, muscles knotting, mouth pouring broken moans.

Nana teetered on the edge of blackout, vision snowing like static.

Yuzuki just stood there, blank as an empty page.

What the hell—why did the fairy-tale princess from that hidden quest end up making me tase her? Trash System, explain this mess!

But… there was no time.

Nana folded like a boneless thing, collapsing with a dull thump.

Silence seeped back in, thick as dusk.

…

When Nana Toki woke again, dawn had already washed the world pale.

“Damn, my head hurts…” Her skull throbbed like drums under water.

The room spun, a carousel in fog; she clutched her heavy head and wondered, Where am I?

Mm… my eyes won’t open… can’t someone pull the curtains, like drawing night over noon?

She threw up a hand to block the spear-bright sun, light stabbing like needles.

Right now, that sunshine felt like a rack of blades, pricking every optic nerve.

She couldn’t get up; her limbs were noodles, soft and slipping.

She even doubted this was her body, like wearing a stranger’s coat.

Forget it.

Just keep lying here; she pressed on through the unpleasant light like a lizard under a lamp.

Wait till strength returns; then move, like a cat after sleep.

Tap tap.

Footsteps ticked by her ear, beads on a wire.

Who’s so tactless, disturbing a beautiful girl’s rest at this hour, like a crow calling at dawn?

Creak.

The door opened; the steps came closer, slow as tide.

Nana weighed how to flatten the intruder, plans snapping into place like trap teeth.

Swish.

Curtains drew; the harsh light faded, a storm cloud blotting sun.

Then a warm towel settled on her forehead, heat soft as bread fresh from oven.

That gentle warmth soothed her like spring rain; her body loosened, knots untying.

In her heart, she gave the unseen helper a five-star review, little stars like lanterns.

Fine—because of the towel, I’ll forgive you for waking me at sunrise.

System: “Host, could you have some shame?” The voice clucked like a scolding sparrow.

“Oh? You little brat dare show your face? Want a one-star review?” Her temper flared, sparks like flint.

Thinking of last night soured her mood, bitter as over-steeped tea; she geared up to spar with the System, tongue sharp as a blade.

Suddenly, a soft voice drifted in, light as early spring wind.

“Rest under it a bit before getting up. It’ll help.”

That girl’s tone brushed her ears like silk; goodwill bloomed like plum blossoms.

It was the first time anyone had woken her like this, gentleness poured like warm milk.

And then—her pain-rusted brain flooded with last night’s scenes, memories rising like a tide.