The last thing Aldrin remembered from his world was the ancient library's musty smell and the weight of a particularly challenging spell translation.

Then came the pull—violent, inexorable, like being yanked backward through reality itself.

Colors he'd never seen before streaked past his vision, sounds that shouldn't exist assaulted his ears, and for one terrifying moment, he felt his very essence being unraveled and rewoven.

When the sensation finally stopped, Aldrin found himself standing on something hard and smooth, unlike any stone he'd ever encountered.

The air tasted wrong—metallic, chemical, nothing like the clean mountain air of his tower.

Around him stretched a vast underground chamber, illuminated not by torches or magical lights, but by strips of cold, white brilliance running along the ceiling.

The walls were covered in mysterious symbols and images, some moving, others flashing with incomprehensible messages.

A young woman stood before him, breathing heavily, her hand still raised from what must have been the final gesture of a summoning ritual.

But she held no staff, wore no robes, and the circle beneath Aldrin's feet wasn't drawn in salt or silver—it appeared to be made of white tape stuck to the ground.

Her clothes were strange: a tight black skirt, a wrinkled white shirt, and a jacket that hung loosely from her thin shoulders.

"It worked," she whispered in a language that should have been foreign to him but somehow wasn't.

The summoning spell included translation magic, at least.

"It actually worked."

Before Aldrin could demand an explanation, a mechanical roar filled the chamber.

He spun around to see a massive metal serpent rushing toward them through a dark tunnel, its many glowing eyes piercing the darkness.

The creature screamed—a high-pitched wail that made his teeth ache—as it approached.

"Watch out!" The woman grabbed his arm and pulled him back just as the metal beast thundered past, so close that Aldrin felt the wind of its passage.

But it didn't attack.

Instead, it simply... stopped.

Doors along its side slid open with a hiss, and people began pouring out—dozens, hundreds of them, all dressed in similar strange garments, all walking with the purposeful indifference of those accustomed to miracles.

"What manner of creature—" Aldrin began, his hand instinctively reaching for his staff, only to find it hadn't made the journey with him.

"That's a train," the woman said, her voice trembling with exhaustion and relief.

"We need to go.

I can explain everything, but not here.

Please." She looked up at him with desperate eyes, dark circles beneath them suggesting many sleepless nights.

"You have to help me.

I summoned you because I had no one else to turn to.

The book said you were the wisest wizard in your realm."

Aldrin looked around at the impossible chamber—this "station" as symbols on the wall proclaimed it—filled with people who didn't spare a glance for either the metal serpent or the wizard who'd just appeared in their midst.

In his world, such a summoning would have drawn crowds, caused panic, summoned guards.

Here, no one even looked their way.

"What book?" he asked carefully.

"And what, exactly, am I summoned to do?"

The woman's expression crumbled, tears suddenly streaming down her face.

"To save me," she said simply.

"To save all of us.

Your world isn't the only one cursed, wizard.

Mine is dying too, just more slowly.

And I think—I think they're connected."

Yuki Yamada's apartment was a tiny box suspended in the sky, reached by what she called an "elevator"—a magical room that moved vertically through the building.

Aldrin had seen levitation spells before, but never one so casual, so utilitarian, activated by simply pressing a glowing button.

"It's not much," Yuki apologized as she unlocked her door—another mystery, as it responded to a small metal object rather than a spoken password.

"I know it's small, but rent in Tokyo is expensive."

Small was an understatement.

The entire space could have fit inside Aldrin's old study with room to spare.

Yet it contained wonders that made his breath catch.

Light bloomed from the ceiling at the touch of a switch, steady and bright without flame or spell.

The walls hummed with invisible enchantments—cooling the air, he realized, despite the summer heat he'd felt outside.

"Are you hungry?" Yuki asked, opening a white cabinet that exhaled cold air.

Inside, food sat preserved by magic, showing no signs of decay despite clearly being days old.

"I'll make tea.

Please, sit down."

She gestured to a low table surrounded by cushions, then began performing a ritual with a device that heated water without fire.

Aldrin watched, fascinated, as she pulled out a small rectangular object and began touching its glowing surface with her fingers.

Symbols appeared and disappeared, responding to her touch.

"What is that?" he finally asked.

"Some kind of scrying crystal?"

Yuki looked up, surprised.

"This?

It's a smartphone.

I'm just... ordering food.

I can't really cook well, so I thought we could get something delivered."

"Delivered?

By whom?"

"A delivery person will bring it.

In about thirty minutes." She set the device down.

"I suppose everything here must seem like magic to you."

"Indeed." Aldrin examined the room more carefully.

Every surface held some enchanted object: a black mirror mounted on the wall, a box with glowing symbols that seemed to generate moving pictures and sound, a machine that Yuki explained could wash and dry clothes automatically.

"Your civilization has achieved what my greatest colleagues spent lifetimes pursuing.

Permanent enchantments, standardized spell work, magical devices that anyone can use without training or talent."

"We call it technology," Yuki said softly.

"It's not magic.

It's science."

"Semantics." Aldrin picked up a remote control, turned it over in his hands.

"Channeling power through constructed objects to achieve desired effects—that's magic, whatever name you give it.

Though I admit, your methods are unfamiliar.

No runes, no ritual components, no spoken incantations."

"The tea's ready." Yuki poured him a cup.

Her hands shook slightly.

"I need to explain why I summoned you."

"First, explain how." Aldrin accepted the tea, sniffed it cautiously.

Green tea, pleasant, ordinary.

"Summoning spells of that magnitude require immense power and knowledge.

You clearly possess neither—no offense intended."

"None taken.

It's true." Yuki pulled out a worn book from her bag.

"I found this at a used bookstore in Kanda.

'Practical Summoning for the Modern Age.' I thought it was just a fantasy novel.

But I was so desperate, and the spell seemed simple enough, so I tried it.

I never thought it would actually work."

Aldrin took the book, examined it.

The binding was machine-made, the pages uniform in a way no human scribe could achieve.

Yet the spell within was genuine, if somewhat simplified.

"Someone from my world wrote this," he said slowly.

"Someone who understood both magics—yours and mine."

A chime sounded.

Yuki jumped up.

"That's the food." She went to a small screen by the door—another type of scrying device—and her expression changed.

"Oh.

It's here already."

The delivery person handed over plastic bags filled with containers, bowed slightly, and left without showing any curiosity about the tall foreigner in unusual robes standing in Yuki's apartment.

Another impossibility in a day full of them.

"Ramen, rice bowls, and karaage," Yuki explained, opening containers that released steam and savory aromas.

"I didn't know what you'd like, so I got a variety."

Aldrin discovered that while the methods were foreign, food remained comfortingly universal.

The noodles in rich broth reminded him of meals shared in taverns across his homeland, though the flavors were more complex, layered in ways he couldn't quite identify.

Yuki showed him how to use chopsticks—"like small wands," he joked—and they ate in companionable silence for a while.

"So," Aldrin finally said, setting down his bowl.

"You summoned a wizard because your world is dying.

Explain."

Yuki's chopsticks trembled.

She set them down carefully, took a breath.

"It's going to sound crazy."

"I just arrived via summoning circle in an underground station filled with metal serpents.

My threshold for 'crazy' has been thoroughly recalibrated."

A small smile flickered across her face, then vanished.

"I work for a trading company.

Long hours, constant pressure, impossible deadlines.

It's normal here—we call it 'corporate culture.' But six months ago, things got worse.

My colleagues started getting sick.

Not physically, exactly, but... hollowed out.

Like something was eating them from the inside."

She pulled out her smartphone again, showed him photos.

Office workers slumped at desks, their faces slack, eyes vacant.

"This is Tanaka-san from accounting.

He used to tell jokes, bring omiyage from his trips.

Now he just stares at his screen for twelve hours straight.

This is Kimura-san.

She cried in the bathroom every day until she stopped crying altogether.

Stopped feeling anything."

"Possession," Aldrin said immediately.

"I've seen this before.

A spiritual parasite feeding on emotional energy."

"That's what I thought too, after I found the book." Yuki's voice cracked.

"The introduction talked about how our worlds are connected, how curses and magic can bleed between them.

It described exactly what I was seeing.

And it said that sometimes, when modern methods fail, ancient solutions are needed."

"So you performed a summoning in a train station at midnight."

"I couldn't do it at home—too small, and my neighbors would complain.

The station was the only place I could draw a large enough circle when it was empty." She laughed, a slightly hysterical sound.

"I used white tape and followed the instructions exactly.

I brought offerings: salt, water, iron, and a written plea.

I never expected it to work.

I thought I'd feel foolish, clean up, and go home.

But you appeared."

Aldrin studied her carefully.

Dark circles under her eyes, hands that wouldn't quite stop shaking, the peculiar emptiness in her expression that came from carrying too much alone.

"And you yourself?" he asked quietly.

"Are you also being consumed?"

Yuki's facade finally crumbled.

"I don't know anymore," she whispered.

"I can't remember the last time I felt happy.

Or sad.

Or anything real.

I just work, sleep, and work again.

Everyone around me is the same.

It's like we're all slowly turning into ghosts." She looked up at him with desperate hope.

"Can you help us?

The book said you were wise, powerful.

Can you break whatever curse this is?"

The morning commute was Aldrin's introduction to what Yuki called "rush hour," though it seemed to last far longer than an hour.

They stood pressed among hundreds of bodies in a train car designed for perhaps a third that number.

The metal serpent rocked and swayed, and Aldrin found himself studying the passengers' faces.

Every single person stared at a glowing rectangle—smartphones, Yuki had called them.

Their faces were illuminated by that cold light, expressions blank, fingers moving in rhythmic patterns across the screens.

No one spoke.

No one made eye contact.

They swayed together like wheat in the wind, but utterly disconnected from one another.

"This is normal?" Aldrin asked quietly.

"This is Tokyo," Yuki replied, which wasn't quite an answer.

When they finally emerged at Yuki's station, Aldrin felt the curse immediately.

It hung over the business district like a miasma, invisible to normal eyes but clear as day to his magical senses.

A vast, complex working of dark energy that pulsed with the rhythm of the city itself—strengthening during working hours, feeding on the crowds that poured into glass towers each morning.

"Your office is up there?" He pointed to a forty-story building that seemed to pierce the sky.

"Thirty-second floor." Yuki led him to the lobby.

"I told my boss I was bringing a consultant.

Foreign expert in... workplace wellness.

They bought it.

Companies here will try anything to improve productivity."

The elevator ride gave Aldrin time to extend his magical senses.

The curse was everywhere, woven into the very structure of the building.

But it wasn't a single, simple spell.

It was layered, complex, almost... organic.

As if it had grown here over time, adapting, evolving.

The office was an open floor plan—rows of desks beneath fluorescent lights, each worker hunched over a computer screen.

The air itself felt heavy, suffocating.

Aldrin could see the curse at work now: thin tendrils of shadow extending from some central source, connecting to each worker, slowly draining them.

"Aldrin-san, this is my manager, Sato-san." Yuki introduced a middle-aged man whose handshake was limp, whose smile never reached his eyes.

"Welcome, welcome," Sato said in heavily accented English.

"You will help us be more efficient, yes?

We have good workers, but always room for improvement."

Efficient.

The word stuck in Aldrin's mind.

He'd heard it dozens of times already this morning.

Yuki apologizing for the "inefficient" layout of her apartment.

Train announcements praising "efficient boarding."

Signs everywhere promoting "efficiency," "productivity," "optimization."

"May I observe?" Aldrin asked.

"To understand your current processes?"

"Of course, of course." Sato gestured broadly.

"Please, observe as much as needed."

Aldrin walked through the office, and what he saw chilled him.

Workers typing mechanically, eyes glazed.

Several had small bottles of energy drinks at their desks—potions, essentially, consumed to maintain unsustainable pace.

One young man's hands trembled as he clicked his mouse, but he didn't stop, didn't slow.

He couldn't, Aldrin realized.

The curse wouldn't let him.

And there, in the center of the floor, he found it: a decorative element that everyone probably walked past without noticing.

A modern sculpture of twisted metal and glass, abstract and meaningless to untrained eyes.

But to Aldrin, it blazed with dark power.

The anchor point.

The heart of the curse.

"Yuki," he said quietly when she came to check on him.

"When was that sculpture installed?"

She frowned, thinking.

"About three years ago?

The company did a big renovation.

Brought in feng shui experts, designers, the works.

Why?"

"Because," Aldrin said grimly, "that's not a sculpture.

That's a ritual focus.

And it's been feeding on your coworkers for three years."

Over the next three days, Aldrin and Yuki mapped the curse.

What they discovered was far worse than either had imagined.

The sculpture in Yuki's office wasn't unique.

Using a combination of Aldrin's magical sight and Yuki's knowledge of the city, they found dozens more: in corporate lobbies, government buildings, shopping centers, even schools.

Each one disguised as modern art, feng shui enhancements, or architectural features.

Each one pulsing with the same dark energy, draining the same life force from everyone nearby.

"This one's been here for five years," Yuki said, standing in the lobby of a major bank.

She'd been researching installation dates, cross-referencing them with news reports of increased workplace stress, depression rates, suicide statistics.

The correlations were damning.

"According to their annual reports, employee turnover increased by forty percent the year after installation.

Sick leave requests doubled."

Aldrin circled the focus point—a beautiful arrangement of chrome and glass that caught the light in mesmerizing patterns.

"Sophisticated work," he muttered.

"Whoever created these understands both magical theory and human psychology.

The aesthetic appeal draws the eye, makes people accept their presence without question."

"But who would do this? And why?"

"The 'why' is obvious—power.

These focuses are harvesting emotional and spiritual energy on a massive scale." Aldrin pulled out a small notebook—purchased at Yuki's suggestion from a convenience store, another minor miracle of this world—and added to his growing diagram.

"As for who... that's what we need to discover."

They visited a convenience store next, one of the thousands that dotted Tokyo's landscape.

Open twenty-four hours, staffed by workers who moved with mechanical precision.

Behind the counter, partially hidden by promotional displays, Aldrin spotted another focus—smaller, cruder, but unmistakably part of the same network.

"It's not just corporate offices," he realized.

"It's everywhere.

The entire city is covered."

Yuki pulled up a map on her smartphone, marking each location they'd confirmed.

The pattern that emerged made her gasp.

"It's a grid.

A perfect geometric grid covering all of Tokyo."

"Not just Tokyo." Aldrin enhanced the map using a simple scrying spell, his magic interfacing with the phone's technology in ways that made the device spark and flicker.

The view expanded, showing all of Japan, then further.

"Look. Every major city.

Seoul, Shanghai, Singapore, London, New York.

The pattern repeats."

The scope of it was staggering.

A global network of energy harvesting, hidden in plain sight, accepted as normal because it was dressed in the language of modernity and progress.

"But where is the energy going?" Yuki asked.

"All this power, collected from millions of people—what's it being used for?"

Before Aldrin could answer, his phone—Yuki had insisted he needed one, and taught him the basics of its use—buzzed with a message.

Unknown number.

The text made his blood run cold:

"Stop investigating.

You don't understand what you're interfering with.

The harvest is necessary.

Both worlds depend on it."

Yuki read over his shoulder, her face pale.

"How do they know what we're doing? And what do they mean, 'both worlds'?"

Aldrin's jaw tightened.

"I think it's time we consulted that book of yours more carefully.

Someone from my world is involved in this.

Someone who knows I'm here." He looked at her seriously.

"This may be more dangerous than either of us anticipated.

If you want to stop now—"

"No." Yuki's voice was firm, more certain than he'd heard since they met.

"These people are destroying lives.

My life.

My friends' lives.

I won't stop."

Aldrin nodded, feeling a swell of respect for this small, exhausted woman who'd summoned a wizard in desperation and found her courage.

"Then we continue.

But carefully.

Someone is watching."

That night, Aldrin sat cross-legged on Yuki's floor, the summoning book open before him, and finally allowed himself to think about what he'd left behind.

His world was dying too.

Not through emotional exhaustion, but through magical depletion.

For the past century, spells that once came easily now required greater effort.

Enchantments that should have lasted years faded in months.

Young wizards struggled to manifest even simple cantrips.

The Conclave had convened emergency sessions, debated theories, but found no answers.

And now, sitting in a world glutted with harvested energy hidden in plain sight, he understood.

"Yuki," he called.

She emerged from the bathroom, hair damp from a shower, wearing comfortable clothes.

"How long has your world been like this?

The overwork, the exhaustion, the emptiness?"

She thought about it.

"It's gotten worse in recent decades, but... I guess it started after World War II?

The economic miracle, they called it.

Japan rebuilt and became a powerhouse.

But somewhere along the way, we forgot how to stop working."

"Seventy years," Aldrin muttered.

"The same timeframe as our magical decline." He showed her a passage in the book he'd been studying.

"This explains the mechanism.

The focuses don't just collect energy—they transfer it.

Through a dimensional bridge."

"To your world," Yuki breathed.

"Your world has been feeding on ours."

"Not my world.

Not the common people." Aldrin's hands clenched.

"But someone there, someone powerful enough to create this network, to maintain it across decades and dimensions." He thought of the Conclave's most influential members, the ones who never seemed affected by the magical drought, who kept proposing solutions that never quite worked.

"We need to destroy the focuses."

"Won't that just restore the balance?

Give the energy back?"

"It should.

Energy flows naturally between connected dimensions.

The focuses are creating an artificial drain, a one-way flow.

Remove them, and equilibrium should restore." He paused.

"But whoever built this network won't let us destroy it without a fight."

As if summoned by his words, Yuki's apartment began to shake.

Not an earthquake—Aldrin knew the feel of those.

This was magical backlash, directed and intentional.

The lights flickered, and shadows deepened in the corners, taking on shapes that shouldn't exist in three dimensions.

"They're here," Aldrin said, standing.

Without his staff, without his prepared components, he was severely limited.

But he was still a wizard of the Seventh Circle, and he'd faced worse than shadow-spawn.

"Stay behind me."

The shadows coalesced into a figure—tall, robed, wearing a mask of polished silver.

When it spoke, its voice echoed with otherworldly resonance.

"Aldrin of the Silver Tower.

You were not supposed to interfere."

"I know that voice," Aldrin said slowly.

Recognition dawned, cold and terrible.

"Councilor Meridian.

You're behind this."

"Not just me." The figure's laugh was hollow.

"Did you think this was one person's scheme?

The entire Conclave knows.

We've been managing the harvest for three generations.

Your world's survival depends on it."

"Survival built on suffering," Yuki said, her voice shaking but defiant.

"You're killing us!"

"You're already killing yourselves," Meridian replied.

"We simply... redirected what would otherwise be wasted.

Your world's obsession with productivity, achievement, constant growth—it generates enormous amounts of spiritual energy that you don't even acknowledge exists.

We gave it purpose."

"You gave it a destination," Aldrin corrected.

"One that serves you.

How much power have you and the Conclave hoarded while telling the rest of us to accept our declining magic as natural law?"

Meridian's mask tilted.

"I'm offering you a choice.

Return home.

Forget what you've learned.

You'll be welcomed back, given access to power again.

Or continue this foolish crusade and be destroyed.

The harvest cannot stop.

Too much depends on it."

Aldrin looked at Yuki, who met his gaze with determination despite her fear.

He thought of the hollowed-out workers in that office, of Yuki's desperate loneliness, of an entire world being slowly drained dry.

"I choose the crusade," he said.

The battle in Yuki's tiny apartment was brief but devastating.

Meridian's shadow constructs lashed out, and Aldrin countered with what magic he could muster without his tools.

But fighting in a foreign world, with depleted power reserves, he was losing ground.

A shadow tendril wrapped around his throat.

Black spots danced in his vision.

Then—a brilliant flash of light, and the tendril recoiled.

Yuki stood holding her smartphone, its camera flash still activated.

"Light disrupts them!" she shouted.

Of course.

Shadow constructs hated sudden illumination.

Aldrin had spent years studying complex counter-spells when the solution was so simple.

He grabbed Yuki's laptop, opened it, set the screen to full brightness.

The shadows hissed and retreated.

"Clever," Meridian admitted, "but insufficient."

The councilor raised a hand, and reality itself began to tear—a portal forming, pulling them toward his world where he'd have unlimited power.

"Yuki! The wifi router!"

"What?"

"The device that creates your invisible communication network! Throw it into the portal!"

She didn't question, just grabbed the small box and hurled it.

The moment it passed through the dimensional boundary, there was a sound like glass shattering.

The router—a device designed to manage information flow, to create networks—couldn't process the chaotic energy of an unstable portal.

It overloaded, and the feedback was spectacular.

The portal collapsed, taking Meridian's projection with it.

His voice echoed as he vanished: "This changes nothing! The network remains!"

Silence fell.

Yuki's apartment was a disaster—furniture overturned, walls scorched, the acrid smell of ozone in the air.

But they were alive.

"We need to move," Aldrin said, helping Yuki to her feet.

"He knows where we are now.

And we need to start destroying those focuses before they can organize a proper defense."

"How?

If the Conclave is protecting them—"

"We use what they won't expect." Aldrin picked up Yuki's smartphone, an idea forming.

"They think in terms of traditional magic.

Rituals, components, preparation time.

But you've shown me another way.

Your technology is magic they don't understand."

Over the next hours, they planned.

Yuki's knowledge of the modern world combined with Aldrin's magical theory created something new—a hybrid approach that leveraged both systems.

By dawn, they stood outside the first target: Yuki's office building.

The streets were empty, the city in that brief quiet moment between night and day.

"Are you sure this will work?" Yuki asked, holding the modified smartphone—now loaded with a simple app Aldrin had helped her code, enhanced with magical algorithms that shouldn't have worked but somehow did.

"In theory," Aldrin said.

"The focus points resonate at specific frequencies.

Your phone can generate electromagnetic pulses.

Add a disruption pattern based on counter-harmonic principles..." He shrugged.

"Either it works, or we've wasted our time."

"Only one way to find out." Yuki activated the app.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then the building's windows began to vibrate.

Inside, the sculpture started to glow, brighter and brighter, its carefully balanced magical structure destabilizing.

With a sound like a bell cracking, it shattered.

Aldrin felt it immediately—a rush of energy, released and returning to its sources.

Somewhere in Tokyo, workers who'd felt hollow for years might wake up tomorrow feeling something they'd forgotten: hope.

"It worked," Yuki whispered, then louder, laughing, "It actually worked!"

"One down," Aldrin said, pulling up their map.

"Several thousand to go.

And now they know we have a weapon."

The real battle, he knew, was just beginning.

But for the first time since arriving in this strange world, he felt something he hadn't expected to feel: optimism.

Word spread faster than either of them expected.

Workers who suddenly felt the fog lift from their minds, who remembered what it was like to feel alive, wanted to know what had changed.

Yuki created a blog, carefully worded, explaining just enough.

"Workplace wellness through environmental adjustment," she called it, posting instructions for identifying and "removing negative feng shui elements."

Within a week, they had fifty volunteers.

Within two weeks, two hundred.

People who'd accepted their exhaustion as normal suddenly recognized it as unnatural.

They formed teams, identified focuses in their own workplaces, used Yuki's app to disrupt them.

"It's spreading beyond Tokyo," Yuki reported, showing Aldrin social media posts from Osaka, Nagoya, Fukuoka.

"People are sharing the information.

Some are even modifying your disruption pattern, making it more effective."

Aldrin watched with fascination as this modern world's communication magic—the internet, they called it—did what would have taken months in his world.

Information flowing at the speed of thought, people coordinating across vast distances without ever meeting face to face.

But the Conclave wasn't idle.

The first casualties came in the third week.

Three volunteers in Yokohama, found unconscious after attempting to disrupt a particularly large focus.

They woke with no memory of the previous day and an intense aversion to anything related to the resistance.

"Memory modification," Aldrin said grimly, examining the victims through video call—another miracle of technology.

"Sophisticated work.

They're sending enforcers."

More attacks followed.

Mysterious accidents.

Sudden illnesses.

Equipment failures at critical moments.

The Conclave was using every subtle method at their disposal, trying to stop the resistance without revealing themselves to a world that didn't believe in magic.

But they'd underestimated human stubbornness.

For every volunteer who dropped out, two more joined.

For every focus that was magically protected, someone found a way around the protection.

Engineers, programmers, teachers, salarymen—people who'd never imagined they'd be fighting a magical conspiracy worked together with increasing sophistication.

Yuki herself had changed.

The hollow-eyed woman who'd performed a desperate summoning was gone.

In her place was someone who coordinated resistance cells, who debugged magical algorithms at three in the morning, who spoke at hastily organized meetings with quiet authority.

"They're going to escalate," Aldrin warned her one evening as they reviewed reports.

"Sooner or later, they'll stop being subtle."

"Let them." Yuki's jaw was set.

"We've disrupted nearly forty percent of Tokyo's focuses.

People are waking up.

Literally—suicide rates are down, therapy appointments are down, people are calling in sick less.

We're winning."

"Winning battles," Aldrin corrected.

"But the war—"

His phone buzzed.

Then Yuki's.

Then every device in the apartment simultaneously.

The same message: "Shibuya Crossing.

Midnight.

Come alone or we start killing random civilians.

You have one chance to surrender."

Yuki met Aldrin's eyes.

"It's a trap."

"Obviously."

"We're going anyway."

"Obviously." Aldrin allowed himself a small smile.

"Though perhaps not quite as alone as they expect.

How many volunteers can we mobilize in four hours?"

Yuki was already typing.

"Let's find out."

The response was overwhelming.

Three hundred people, ordinary citizens who'd had enough, who'd tasted freedom from the exhaustion curse and refused to go back.

They couldn't all come to Shibuya—too obvious—but they could be ready, positioned throughout the city, prepared to act.

As midnight approached, Aldrin and Yuki stood at the edge of the famous crossing, that intersection where thousands crossed paths daily beneath giant screens and neon lights.

Now it was empty except for them.

And Meridian, who materialized in the center, his silver mask gleaming.

"Last chance," the councilor said.

"Stand down."

Aldrin's response was to raise his hand, not in spell-casting but holding his smartphone.

"No."

"Then you've chosen extinction." Meridian's voice echoed with power.

"Both worlds will suffer for your pride."

"Both worlds," Aldrin replied, "deserve better than you."

Meridian struck first, and the attack was nothing subtle.

He tore open a full portal, not to transport himself but to channel raw magical force from the other world.

Lightning that burned with impossible colors arced across the crossing.

The giant screens shattered.

Pavement cracked.

Aldrin countered with a shield spell, but it was weak—he was still drawing on this world's thin ambient magic.

The lightning broke through, and only Yuki's quick thinking saved them.

She triggered every car alarm in the parking structure behind them, and the cacophony disrupted Meridian's concentration just enough for his spell to miss.

"Sound as a weapon," Aldrin noted.

"Clever."

"I'm learning from the best," Yuki replied, already coordinating their volunteers via group chat.

Throughout Tokyo, people were moving into position at other major focuses, ready to execute their part of the plan.

Meridian realized too late what they intended.

"No! You can't disrupt them all at once!

The backlash will—"

"Will return all the stolen energy simultaneously," Aldrin finished.

"Yes.

It will be chaotic.

It might even damage the dimensional barrier.

But it will also break your network permanently."

"And kill us all!" Meridian's composure finally cracked.

"The two worlds exist in delicate balance!

Sudden energy reversal on this scale will cause dimensional collapse!"

Aldrin hesitated.

Was it a bluff?

Or genuine concern?

He looked at Yuki.

She pulled out the summoning book, opened to a page she'd bookmarked.

"Here.

'The natural state of connected dimensions is equilibrium.

Any artificial imbalance, if maintained too long, risks permanent damage.

Only gradual restoration can safely return to balance.'" She looked up.

"You knew this.

You knew the harvest would eventually destroy both worlds.

But you kept doing it anyway."

"We were managing it!" Meridian insisted.

"Slowly reducing the drain, preparing for eventual—"

"Lies." A new voice cut through the night.

Aldrin turned to see another figure emerging from the portal—an elderly woman in traditional wizarding robes, her staff crackling with power.

"Councilor Meridian has been increasing the harvest, not reducing it.

I'm Magistra Elorn.

I serve on the Conclave's oversight committee, and I've been investigating these irregularities for months."

Meridian spun to face her.

"You have no authority here!"

"I have the truth." Elorn's expression was granite.

"The harvest was initially meant to be temporary—a stopgap while we researched sustainable magic sources.

But power corrupts, and you and your faction became addicted to the abundance.

You've been sabotaging every alternative energy research project for forty years."

To Aldrin, she said, "Don't disrupt all focuses simultaneously.

But don't stop your resistance either.

We need gradual restoration—say, ten percent of the network per month over the next year.

Fast enough to matter, slow enough to be safe."

"And what guarantee do we have that the Conclave won't simply rebuild?" Yuki demanded.

"Me." Elorn planted her staff.

"And others like me who've finally gathered enough evidence to act.

Meridian, you are under arrest for crimes against both dimensions.

As for the rest of the Conclave's corrupt faction—your power base is crumbling.

The harvest ends now."

Meridian's mask fell away, revealing a face twisted with rage and fear.

He raised his hands for one final, desperate spell—and Aldrin felt the surge of power that would level city blocks.

"Yuki! The screens!"

She understood immediately, activating the backup power to every electronic billboard around the crossing.

They blazed to life simultaneously, their combined electromagnetic fields creating a barrier that Meridian's spell couldn't penetrate.

The energy reflected back on him, and he collapsed, unconscious.

Elorn nodded approval.

"Impressive.

Perhaps there's hope for inter-dimensional cooperation after all." She bound Meridian with glowing chains and prepared to take him back through the portal.

"I'll handle things on our end.

You continue the work here—carefully, as we discussed.

And Aldrin?"

"Yes, Magistra?"

"Your world will need you when you return.

We have a lot of rebuilding to do.

But for now, the summoning that brought you here will hold for as long as needed.

Help these people.

They've helped you understand something we'd forgotten—that magic isn't just about power.

It's about connection."

The portal closed, taking Meridian and Elorn with it.

The crossing fell silent except for the hum of electricity and the sound of Yuki's phone buzzing with messages from volunteers celebrating their victory.

"So," Yuki said after a moment.

"Ten percent per month.

That gives us a year."

"A year to heal your world," Aldrin agreed.

"And mine."

"Our worlds," she corrected.

"They're connected now.

Might as well get used to it."

Six months later, Aldrin stood on the roof of a Tokyo skyscraper, watching the sunrise paint the city in shades of gold and pink.

Behind him, Yuki emerged from the stairwell carrying two cups of coffee—a beverage he'd grown surprisingly fond of.

"The latest numbers are in," she said, handing him a cup.

"Depression rates down thirty percent.

Worker satisfaction up forty.

Overtime hours decreasing steadily.

And this is with only sixty percent of the focuses disrupted."

"Your world is healing," Aldrin observed.

"As is mine." He'd maintained contact with Magistra Elorn and the reformed Conclave.

With the harvest gradually ending, his world's ambient magic had begun recovering.

Young wizards reported easier spell-casting.

Old enchantments were stabilizing.

It would take years to fully restore, but the trend was unmistakable.

"I got a job offer," Yuki said.

"A research institute that's studying the intersection of technology and... well, they're calling it 'energetic phenomena' because they can't quite bring themselves to say magic."

"Will you take it?"

"I think so.

Someone needs to make sure we don't forget what happened.

That we don't slip back into old patterns." She sipped her coffee.

"What about you?

Will you go back eventually?"

Aldrin had been thinking about this question for weeks.

The summoning would hold as long as Yuki maintained it, but it wasn't meant to be permanent.

Eventually, he would need to return to his world, to help rebuild what the Conclave had nearly destroyed.

"Eventually," he said.

"But not yet.

There's still work to do here.

And besides..." He gestured to the city below, now stirring to life as millions of people began their day.

But unlike six months ago, there was a different quality to that awakening.

People moved with purpose instead of compulsion.

The exhaustion curse was lifting, and humanity was remembering what it meant to live, not just work.

"Besides," he continued, "I've grown rather attached to your world's particular magic.

The internet.

Convenience stores.

Trains that run on time.

Coffee." He raised his cup in a small salute.

Yuki laughed, the sound free and genuine.

"You know, when I performed that summoning, I was so desperate I didn't think beyond just getting help.

I never imagined we'd become friends."

"Friends," Aldrin repeated, testing the word.

"Yes.

I suppose we are.

Colleagues, certainly.

Partners in revolution."

"Partners in connection," Yuki corrected.

"That's what this was really about, wasn't it?

The curse worked because people were already isolated, already disconnected from each other.

We won because we reconnected them."

Below, Aldrin could see the results of that reconnection.

Community gardens had sprung up in vacant lots.

Cafes filled with people actually talking to each other instead of staring at screens.

Workers leaving offices at reasonable hours to spend time with family.

Small changes, but significant.

"Two worlds," he said, "both nearly destroyed by those who sought power through separation.

Both saved by those who chose connection instead."

"Think it'll last?" Yuki asked.

Aldrin considered the question seriously.

"If we work at it.

If we remember what we almost lost.

If we keep choosing connection over isolation, balance over exploitation." He smiled.

"Besides, we've built something new here.

A network of our own—not for harvesting energy, but for sharing knowledge, supporting each other, bridging worlds."

His phone buzzed—a message from a volunteer in Kyoto, reporting successful disruption of another focus cluster.

Yuki's phone chimed—an update from Magistra Elorn about magical education reforms in the other world.

"The work continues," Yuki said.

"The work continues," Aldrin agreed.

"But for now, let's just watch the sunrise.

We've earned that much."

They stood together in comfortable silence as Tokyo woke beneath them—a city healing, a world reconnecting, two dimensions learning to exist in harmony.

It wasn't perfect.

It wouldn't be easy.

But it was real, and it was theirs to protect.

The wizard and the office worker, the ancient and the modern, magic and technology, two worlds joined by the simple, revolutionary act of refusing to accept exhaustion as inevitable.

The sun rose higher, and somewhere in the city, someone who'd felt hollow for years took their first full breath in months and smiled.

It was a beginning.