Chapter 1: The Unseen Threshold

The blue-white glow of the mobile screen illuminated Hideaki Arai’s focused face. His thumb danced across the glass, orchestrating the movements of a thousand starships. On the screen, brilliant beams of magical energy lanced through the void, striking down enemy vessels in silent, pixelated explosions.

“Yes,” he murmured, a grin spreading across his features. “With this, I definitely have one of the largest fleets now.”

He minimized the battle view to check the global leaderboard for Magical Imperial Fleet. His eyes widened slightly. “Whoa. Rank 487. Not bad at all for a Tuesday night.”

The triumphant fanfare from his game was a stark contrast to the grim report emanating from his television, which he’d left on for background noise. A news anchor, her face a mask of professional solemnity, detailed the city’s latest horror.

“—authorities have confirmed the death toll has risen to thirty. The motive and identity of the perpetrator remain unknown, leaving a city on edge.”

Arai’s eyes flickered up from his screen to the TV. A shiver, unrelated to the evening chill, traced its way down his spine. “What is really happening to Tokyo lately?” he wondered aloud, his voice barely a whisper. “Is the killer still out there?”

The news feed cut to grainy, cautionary footage from a crime scene. As the camera zoomed in on a shape draped in white, something moved. A black, chitinous form crawled out from beneath the sheet, its shell glistening under the police lights. It was too large to be any ordinary insect, its movements unnaturally deliberate.

Arai leaned forward, his game forgotten. “What… what is that? A black cockroach?” A wave of visceral revulsion washed over him, tightening his stomach. “Ugh, I’m going to be sick…”

As if on cue, a low growl echoed from his abdomen, a stark reminder of his neglected needs. “Right. I’m hungry… I never did get dinner.” He stood, stretching his stiff limbs, and walked to the apartment window. Pushing the curtains aside, he slid the glass panel open. The neon tapestry of Tokyo sprawled out before him, a river of light and ceaseless energy. The night air was crisp, carrying the distant hum of the metropolis.

“It’s cold tonight,” he observed, leaning on the sill. “But it’s so beautiful.”

Pushing the unsettling image of the black cockroach from his mind, he retreated to his small kitchen. The solution was simple, familiar: instant ramen. The ritual of boiling water, the sound of the kettle, the savory steam that filled the air—it was a comforting anchor to normality. Bowl in hand, he returned to the living room, settling back onto the sofa to resume his command of the magical fleet.

He was so engrossed, slurping a noodle as he ordered a battleship group to flank an enemy dreadnought, that he didn't notice the intruder.

It crept in through the open window, a sliver of darkness against the city’s glow. It was identical to the creature on the news—a cockroach, but wrong. Its carapace was the color of obsidian, and it moved with a purpose that felt intelligent. It perched on the windowsill, antennae twitching, and fixed its gaze on the young man bathed in screen-light.

It let out a sound—a high-pitched, chittering scream that was utterly alien, a sound that had no place in a Tokyo apartment.

Arai flinched, the spoon freezing halfway to his mouth. “What the hell was that?”

He turned.

His eyes met the creature’s. It wasn't the faceted, simple eye of an insect; it was a complex, horrifying visage that seemed to stare into him. With a beat of iridescent wings, it launched itself from the sill, a black projectile aimed directly at his face.

Arai’s eyes widened in pure, unadulterated terror. “COCKROACH!”

His shout was not just a cry of disgust, but a raw, panicked incantation he never knew he could utter. As the word left his lips, the world dissolved.

Time stretched, molasses-thick. The flying insect hung in the air, its progress slowed to a crawl. The neon lights from the window bled into long, ethereal strands. Beneath Arai’s feet, a complex pattern of light and arcane geometry flared to life, painting his cheap rug in luminescent silver. He looked down, his mind reeling.

“Is this… a magic circle?”

There was no time for an answer. The light surged, consuming his vision, the sensation of his sofa falling away replaced by a nauseating lurch through a tunnel of swirling color and sound.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it was over.

The familiar was gone. The scent of ramen and the hum of his electronics were replaced by the sterile, filtered air and a deep, resonant thrum of massive engines. He was standing in the center of a circular room with sleek, metallic walls, softly illuminated by strips of blue light.

“Where am I?” he breathed, turning slowly.

The aesthetic was unmistakable. The clean lines, the holographic interfaces flickering to life on the walls, the distinct emblem of the Magical Imperial Fleet emblazoned on a bulkhead. His heart hammered against his ribs, a wild, hopeful thought taking root.

“Don’t tell me… this is a starship?”

A seamless door hissed open with a pneumatic sigh. A woman stepped through, and Arai’s breath caught in his throat. She was clad in the impeccable white and gold officer’s uniform of the Fleet, her hair styled in a familiar, elegant cut. Her eyes, sharp and intelligent, fixed on him with a mixture of concern and deference.

It can’t be… that’s Aoi. The flagship’s tactical commander. From my game.

“Fleet Admiral,” her voice was calm, melodic, yet carried an undercurrent of steel. “Are you alright? Your bio-signs spiked for a moment.”

“Fleet… Admiral?” Arai managed, the title feeling foreign and immense on his tongue.

Aoi’s head tilted slightly. “Yes, sir. You are the Fleet Admiral. Do you not recall authorizing the construction of this very flagship?”

The pieces clicked into place with dizzying finality. The magic circle, the teleportation—it was just like the game’s mechanics. It all ran on magic.

“Don’t tell me I’m on the Warspace,” he said, naming his flagship.

“You are aboard the Warspace, yes, Fleet Admiral,” Aoi confirmed, a faint, reassuring smile touching her lips.

I can’t believe it. This is impossible. And yet…

His initial panic began to recede, burned away by a rising, incandescent excitement. He was here. He was really here.

“Is this the transporter room?” he asked, his voice steadier.

“It is,” Aoi replied, her gaze analytical, as if assessing his state of mind. “Is there something on your mind, Admiral?”

Arai shook his head, a slow grin finally breaking through his shock. “No. It’s nothing.”

“Very well,” she said, turning gracefully. “Then, if you are feeling yourself, please follow me. Let’s proceed to the command bridge. The fleet awaits your orders.”

The command bridge. The words sent a thrill through him that was more potent than any rank or high score. He fell into step behind her, his sneakers silent on the polished deck.

I don’t know what happened, or how this is possible, he thought, his eyes taking in the majestic scale of the corridor, the crew members who snapped to attention as he passed. But this… this is so unbelievably cool.