My Charity System made me too OP

It was supposed to be a routine scan.

Aris stood near the southern edge of Floor 307, baton held loose at her side. She'd gone out alone with a tempo reader strapped to her wrist. A weak anomaly had been reported, maybe just leftover pulse noise from the last skirmish.

But now, she wasn't so sure.

The air felt wrong.

Still.

Not quiet—but heavy. Like sound itself had taken a step back.

She tapped the reader. "Anything?"

The screen blinked once, then went blank.

That had never happened before.

Her instincts kicked in.

Aris slowly crouched, placed her palm on the ground, and tried to feel for the second beat—the rhythm she'd discovered inside herself.

Nothing.

Like the floor was holding its breath.

Then she heard it.

A faint scraping sound. One step.

She stood, turned, and saw it.

A tall, thin figure in dark robes, standing between two broken stone spires.

Its face was covered in a smooth white mask stitched with red lines. It didn't breathe. Didn't move.

It just watched.

Aris raised her baton. "Who are you?"

It didn't answer.

But when it lifted its arm, her baton went cold.

Her entire body felt heavier. Slower.

Her beat was gone.

She could barely feel her heartbeat.

"I said—who are you?"

Still nothing.

Then it moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

Aris jumped aside, barely dodging a black wave of pressure that cracked the ground where she'd been standing.

Her pulse guard activated just in time. A thin shimmer of energy blocked the second wave—but it was clear. This thing wasn't like anything she'd fought before.

It didn't use rhythm.

It erased it.

She needed to move. Fast.

She rolled behind a low wall and caught her breath.

Okay. Rhythm's gone. Baton's barely responding. She'd trained for this. Kael had warned her.

She peeked over the wall.

The figure was walking slowly now. No rush. It knew the longer it stayed, the weaker her connection to the Tower would be.

Fine.

If she couldn't use rhythm, she'd use something else.

She ran toward it.

No flow. No buildup. Just clean movement.

It raised its hand again. Another black wave.

She ducked under it and slammed her baton into its arm. The hit landed, solid—but the thing barely reacted. Just turned to face her again.

"You're not unbeatable," she muttered, backing off.

The thing paused.

It tilted its head.

And then, for the first time, it spoke.

"You… are new."

The voice was dry. Hollow. Like dust falling off old pages.

Aris gritted her teeth. "I'm Aris. Tempo Writer."

The figure lifted its head slightly.

"Writer… yes. You are early."

"Early for what?"

It didn't answer.

It just attacked again.

This time, she didn't block.

She redirected.

She twisted to the side, used the angle, and struck the back of its leg. A small spark of energy burst out. It staggered.

Not much. But enough.

Her instincts flared.

The second beat.

It was faint—but back.

She grabbed it.

Not fully. Not perfectly.

But enough to push one rhythm out.

She struck again—baton glowing weakly.

This time, the creature stepped back.

She didn't let up.

Three more hits—fast, raw, uncontrolled—but real.

The silence around her cracked slightly.

And the figure hissed.

A sound like ripping cloth.

Then it faded—vanishing into a cloud of dark mist.

Gone.

Aris stood there, breathing hard.

The baton dimmed.

Her hands were shaking.

But she was still standing.

She touched the ground.

The beat returned—slow and steady.

She whispered to herself, "I survived."

Her wrist device blinked back to life.

[Anomaly Resolved – Enemy Retreated]

[Pulse Sync Stabilizing – Writer Beat Holding]

Kael's voice buzzed through the comm.

"Aris, your signal disappeared. Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she said. "But I just met one of them."

Kael was silent for a moment.

Then: "You fought it and lived?"

"Yes."

Another pause.

Then his voice, quiet.

"That wasn't a scout, Aris. That was a Voice."

Aris looked at the place where the figure had vanished.

"I know."

She turned back toward the base.

"I think next time, it won't run."

The chamber at the heart of the Obliette darkened as Voice Three knelt silently before the Dissonant King.

Its cloak was torn. Small cracks ran through its mask, faint but visible.

The King stood still.

Silent.

Waiting.

The room shifted around them—walls bending, floor folding in subtle, unnatural angles. The Tower here did not obey time or design. It bent with his will, responding to his thoughts.

Voice Three finally spoke.

"She resisted."

The words came out warped, like two voices speaking at once—one from the present, the other from a memory.

"She wrote a rhythm in the null zone," Voice Three continued. "It was unstable, but effective."

The Dissonant King stepped forward, each footstep echoing with no sound. He looked down at the kneeling Voice.

"Did she hear the silence?"

Voice Three tilted its head. "Yes."

The King raised a hand.

He tapped two fingers against the air.

A faint sound, like a hollow drum, rang out once.

A memory appeared between them—Aris standing with her baton glowing faintly, her stance weak but determined, her beat returning.

The King stared at it for a long time.

"She is learning," he said.

Voice Three did not reply.

"She should have broken," the King added. "The first test was enough to erase a Sovereign. Yet she adapted. She listened."

His fingers twitched.

The memory replayed.

Her rhythm again. Unrefined. Raw. But there.

"She created," the King whispered. "And creation cannot be allowed."

He turned and walked slowly toward the memory wall where his long-forgotten Sovereign records were kept. Dozens of names carved in rhythm sigils. Dozens more scratched out.

He stared at the one he hadn't erased.

Aris Vale.

Beneath it, a faint glow had started to pulse.

Uninvited.

A response.

"She's not just a Writer," he said. "She's a beginning."

He turned back to Voice Three.

"No more tests."

Voice Three rose, bowing slightly. "Orders?"

The King's mask glowed dimly.

"Send the next Voice. No silence this time."

"And if she resists again?"

"She won't," the King said calmly. "Because she will not face one of you…"

His hand waved slowly through the air.

A deeper glyph shimmered into view. It pulsed red and black—a mark of something ancient and sealed.

He placed his palm over it.

The glyph cracked.

"...She'll face something we used to keep locked away."

Far above, on Floor 307, Aris sat on a medical bench while Roselia scanned her injuries.

"You're lucky," Roselia said. "That tempo shockwave could have shut down your nervous system."

"It almost did," Aris replied quietly. "I felt like my whole body was... unplugged."

Leon entered, folding his arms.

"I reviewed the footage. You didn't just survive. You turned the beat back on. That's not luck."

Aris looked at him.

"Then what is it?"

Leon was silent for a moment.

Then he said, "It's proof that they see you as real."

He stepped closer.

"And when the Choir sees something as real… they stop testing."

Aris frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It means," Leon said quietly, "next time, they'll send something meant to finish what the first one started."

Aris sat still.

Then nodded.

"Let them come."