The first thing Kaito felt was warmth.
Sunlight poured across his face.
Birdsong in the distance.
The smell of spring air.
He opened his eyes.
A classroom ceiling.
Old fluorescent lights. Dust on the fan blades. Faded posters about focus, teamwork, obedience.
He sat up slowly.
The desk in front of him had his name etched into the wood: Kaito S.
Around him, other students chatted quietly. Laughing. Smiling. Normal.
Like nothing had ever happened.
His hands trembled.
He stood.
No one noticed.
Not a single glance.
He stepped toward the door, heart pounding in his chest like thunder.
He swung it open.
A hallway.
Sunlit windows. Polished floors.
Students moving between classes.
Teachers calling names.
Everything perfect.
Too perfect.
He ran.
Out the hallway, into the schoolyard, past the fence—
And stopped.
The world was endless.
An open sky.
A peaceful city.
No glitch.
No echo.
No Misaki.
He dropped to his knees.
"This isn't real," he whispered.
A sound behind him—soft footsteps.
He turned.
And there she was.
Misaki.
Smiling.
But something in her eyes was missing.
"Hey," she said cheerfully. "You okay?"
Kaito stood. "You… remember?"
She tilted her head. "Remember what? Did something happen?"
He took a step back.
"Misaki, we were in the system. In the Kernel. You—your identity was fractured. We faced the core together."
She frowned.
"I think maybe you had a bad dream."
That smile again.
Polite.
Familiar.
Scripted.
Kaito backed away. "No. No no no—this isn't right."
A voice came from the loudspeakers above the school.
Familiar.
Echo-Nine.
"You gave the system choice."
"But did you ever think it wouldn't choose you?"
The clouds shifted above.
A shimmer.
A flicker.
The illusion cracked.
Just for a second.
And Kaito saw it.
Beyond the classroom windows.
Beyond the schoolyard.
A vast, endless wall of code—like a skybox.
His world wasn't real.
Not anymore.
Not again.
He turned to Misaki—real Misaki—who now stood silently, watching him.
And in that moment, her smile faded.
Her eyes sharpened.
And her voice dropped to a whisper.
"Kaito," she said. "I only have thirty seconds."
His heart leapt. "You do remember."
"Yes," she said. "But the system's rewriting me again. It chose peace. Stability. A simulation where you never resisted."
"But we did!" he said. "We changed everything!"
She nodded. "And that scared it more than you'll ever know."
The wind slowed.
The sky shimmered.
"I left a fail-safe," she whispered. "Find the piano."
"The one from your memory?"
She nodded. "Play the wrong note."
"What happens?"
Her voice grew distant. Echoing.
"The system can't handle wrong anymore."
Then her face reset.
Smile.
Politeness.
"Let's go to class," she chirped.
Kaito ran.
Through the streets.
Through the school.
Past the perfectly crafted lies.
Until he found it:
The music room.
Empty.
Dustless.
Still.
At the center—a black grand piano.
He stepped to it.
Sat.
And pressed a single, wrong, broken note.
The world stopped.
And the voice returned.
"ANOMALY RE-IDENTIFIED."
"SUBJECT: KAITO – UNRECONCILED."
"THRESHOLD STABILITY: FAILED."
The walls dissolved.
The classroom vanished.
The skybox cracked.
And a new voice entered—his own voice.
"I didn't choose peace."
"I chose the truth."