The apartment walls dissolved into ink washes and speed lines. The ceiling became a grid of panels.

"Ready for the latest chapter?" Andy asked, pulling her into the white void of the gutter between pages.

A massive, tattooed hand reached out from the monitor, the skin smoking as it crossed into the third dimension. Fuuko didn't pull away. She reached out, her fingers trembling. The moment her skin brushed his, the "Unluck" sparked—not as a disaster, but as a bridge.

Fuuko gripped the edges of her desk. Around her, the real world felt strangely thin. Outside her Tokyo apartment, the neon signs of Shinjuku buzzed with an electric hum that sounded suspiciously like the "Artifact" noises described in the manga.

She scrolled. The artwork in this chapter was raw—literally. Rough pencils, frantic ink splatters that hadn't been cleaned by an assistant's hand. It felt urgent, like the mangaka was screaming through the pen.