Ephraim blinked, staring bnkly at the microphone in his sweaty hands. His throat felt raw, like he'd been screaming his lungs out. But that didn't make sense—he didn't scream into mics. Hell, he'd never even held oside of those gey middle school and high school presentatio forced into.

  Yet, here he was, standing in front of what looked like thousands of people. Cheering. Screaming. ting his name. All of them waiting—no, expeg him to say something. Or worse, if the bag track was anything to go by, sing something.

  He tensed.

  [Rachel: Earth to Ephraim~!]

  A voice chimed in his head, snapping him back to reality. Right. Rachel wasn't physically here. His system parted in his spiritual spaissioiohing he barely uood. They could unicate mentally.

  [Ephraim: Hey, uh. Problem. I 't sing. Like, at all. What's the move?]

  [Rachel: Obviously, you don't just start wailing into the mic. You don't know enough about the situatio, honey.]

  [Ephraim: Sick. Love that for me. So what do I do?]

  [Rachel: you pass out vingly?]

  [Ephraim: Oh, easy. Watch this.]

  Ephraim gasped for breath, stumbling side to side, his fingers going sck as the microphone slipped from his grip. The loud thud it made against the stage sent an ear-pierg screech through the cert hall's speakers.

  The crowd stilled.

  For a split sed, fusion hung in the air. Then came the panic.

  Murmurs rose like waves, and before he could t to three, staff members were already rushing toward him. Not that they got there in time. He was already hitting the ground, exhaling o shaky breath before letting his eyes flutter shut. A perfect, grandiose dispy of passing out.

  [Rachel: Absolute ema, hon. Truly inspiring.]

  [Ephraim: Appreciate it. Now, uh… how long do I have to keep this up?]

  [Rachel: Any moment now, they'll whisk you off to the hospital, check your vitals, and fuss over your dition.]

  [Ephraim: So I just stay down till then.]

  [Rachel: That's right, doll. Ohey get a professional to check you over, I'll trahe data about your current body to you. Sihe body's physical dition fluctuates a lot during data trahe medical tech of these small worlds won't be able to track it properly. They'll probably chalk it up to severe stress or some vague illness, and boom—instant excuse for passing out on stage.]

  [Ephraim: Wow. The brain power at work here. Love that for you. And me. But I guess that's expected of a B-grade system like you, huh.]

  When Rachel had dumped all that data into his head earlier in the tral space, Ephraim had learhat system partners and missioioners were ranked across six grades based on skill and experience. D-grade was basically rookie level. A-grade meant you were a pro. And then there was S-grade—the crème de crème. tral spaobility. The ones you barely ever saw.

  Of course, with rank came privilege. Higher grades got better living ditions, and from what he'd gathered, S-grades lived like royalty. Not that he had the mental capacity to worry about that right now.

  Ephraim, obviously, was E-grade. Rachel, oher hand, was B-grade.

  Oform, the noticeboards were categorized by grade. The information of the person to be saved wasn't listed uheir personal grade, but rather the grade of the mission they had beeing befetting trapped.

  Members of the Savior System Department could only select missions from boards that matched their team's bined grade. For Ephraim and Rachel, their bieam grade was C, D, and E—meaning they had access to missions from those boards. Rachel had advised him to pi E rade mission for his first attempt. So, after sing both boards, Ephraim had eventually chosen a mission from the E-grade noticeboard.

  Now, here he was. And holy? He was struggling real hard to keep his mouth shut.

  The strong arms holding him up—probably belonging to a staff member—were carrying him out in a rush. And wow. The dude had some serious strength. Ephraim really wao pliment him.

  [Ephraim: Hey, uh… What exactly are we right now?]

  [Rachel: A worker and an unscious celebrity.]

  [Ephraim: Ooh, love that. Very ematic.]

  Unfortunately, his fun was cut short when they id him on the ground and—oh. CPR.

  It took every ounce of self-trol not to cough or even twitch a muscle. The more he resisted, the redder his face became. This was so much harder than it looked.

  "Oh no, his plexion… It's getting worse! Where the hell is the ambunce?!"

  "Hongjie Dazhang, calm down! They'll be here any sed."

  "How am I supposed to calm down?! I'm telling you, check every siaff member who worked with Xiāoyù today! He erfectly fihis m—how the hell did this happen?!"

  "Hongjie Dazhang, Hongjie Dazhang, breathe—oh! Look, the paramedics are here! See? We'll be fine. He will be fiaff is handling the crowd. Xiaoyu will wake up any sed now, just you watch."

  [Ephraim: …I'm Xiaoyu?]

  [Rachel: Seems like it. Now then, Xiaoyu, I'm transferring half the data to you. Deep breaths, babe.]

  [Ephraim: And the other half?]

  [Rachel: Once you're in the hospital. 't have you looking too healthy after all that, right? Gotta keep up the drama.]

  Before Ephraim could respond, the paramedics reached him and started their examinatiht as Rachel dumped half the information into his brain.

  Insta.

  A wave of nausea hit him like a truck. His body screamed for air, but the only thing he could inhale was the overwhelming stench of sweat, which just made him want to hurl even more. His temples throbbed, his head spun, and keeping a vingly unscious expression was now a full-time job. His face grew paler by the sed.

  And so, there he y—an intruder in someone else's life, barely holding it together, while a frantic group of staff hovered around him, looking just as ghostly.

  After all, what was the absolute worst sario for a medical team?

  Not knowing what was wrong with their patient.

  The chatter around him opped. The man everyone called Hongjie Dazhang iraling—snapping at anyone who so much as breathed wrong.

  The paramedics kept trying to reassure him, repeating the same line over and over:

  "We've got this. He'll be fine."

  Again and again.

  And again.

  By the time they reached the ambuhe phrase had bee a full-blown mantra. It followed him all the way to the hospital, eg through every hallway, like some kind of desperate prayer.

  Then came the actual medical professionals. Uheir expert—and slightly anxious—scrutiny, Rachel oh-so-graciously dumped the rest of the data into his brain.

  Little by little.

  In tiny, excruciating bursts.

  Ephraim didn't know what he looked like from the outside, but judging by the way the doctors kept gng at each other in barely cealed panic, it was not good. His fluctuating dition had them doubting their entire medical careers. Probably their life choices, too.

  Eventually, after way too much bad forth, he was admitted to a private room. An IV was stu his hand, his body finally stable, and his very unscious face bore the lingering traces of a battle hard-fought—one of effort, pain, and possibly some deep, deep regret.

  [Ephraim: Should've just sung on stage. I feel so much worse now.]

  [Rachel: And have your tragic performance recorded and spread like wildfire? The i is a scary pce, babe.]

  [Ephraim: Okay, but seriously—if data transfers are this horrifying, to the point where trained doctors are g over it, shouldn't tral space, I don't know… fix it?]

  [Rachel: Sweetheart, tral space is run by humans. Not gods. They're literally transferring fn information straight into your sciousness without even toug you. A little temporary disfort is very reasonable.]

  The moment the st lingering nurse finally left the room, Ephraim cracked his eyes open and inhaled deeply.

  "Ahhh. Medie."

  It was infinitely better than the god-awful stench of sweat from earlier.

  After taking a sed to s the room, he immediately perked up, excitement flickering in his eyes as he searched for a reflective surface. His gaze nded on the unbelievably shiny and IV pole nearby.

  Rising to a sitting position in bed, Ephraim listened carefully for any sounds outside the room. He o gauge whether someone was about to walk in and catch him looking suspiciously healthy—the kind of healthy that would make the try's frail nobility collectively clutch their pearls in shame.

  And holy? He wao milk this weak, delicate patient act for a little while longer. It was kinda fun.

  Squinting his eyes to magically magnify his vision if possible, he tilted his head from side to side, taking in his new refle. His features were delicate, almost unreal in their beauty. But the real showstopper? His eyes.

  Hazel? Maybe.

  But holy, they shimmered mold than any green ht brown.

  [Ephraim: This is my first time seeing a celebrity's face up close. Omg. He's so pretty. 't believe I'm in the body of such a hottie. Dude looks super photogenic.]

  [Rachel: Right? No wonder he's so vain about his looks. Holy? Uandable.]

  Ephraim nodded in deep, solemn agreement.

  This was the face of an ahe kind of face that made people want to write poetry, paint portraits, and cry ihetic appreciation.

  Not at all the face of a jealous, selfish vilin.

  But well… that was the role he had just stepped into.