Morning light washed over the school route, bright and merciless. The world was awake.

  Sneakers slapped against asphalt in a chaotic rhythm. Bicycle bells chimed like wind chimes. Students in crisp uniforms walked in loose groups, their laughter rising into the blue sky. It was a picture-perfect morning. The kind of scene that belonged in a slice-of-life anime.

  But to Yu, the soundscape belonged to a world he no longer recognized.…It all sounds like noise from someone else’s TV. His own footsteps felt heavy, dragging on the pavement. In his ears, a different soundtrack played on a loop. The thud-crunch of boots on stone in the dungeon. Rize’s desperate voice screaming his name across the battlefield. Naz’s roar as he swung his sword, the sound of metal cleaving air. The wet, rattling breath of Claval as she bled out.

  Those echoes clung to him like afterimages, overlaying the mundane reality. They made the peaceful morning sound painfully artificial. The students’ laughter sounded hollow. The birdsong sounded synthesized.

  He stepped through the school gate, the metal cold under his hand. He changed his shoes in the entry hall, the familiar smell of rubber and polish hitting his nose, but it triggered no sense of belonging.

  He entered the classroom. The air was thick with pre-class chatter. The scraping of chairs against linoleum. The rustle of notebooks. The bright morning sunlight streaming through the windows, illuminating dust motes. It all felt staged. Like a set built for a play he wasn’t acting in anymore. He was an audience member who had wandered onto the stage by mistake.

  “Yo, did you see it? That clip’s going viral again!” A voice stabbed into his ears. Harukawa. He was sitting on Yu’s desk, swinging his legs, grinning without a care in the world. He held a smartphone in one hand, the screen glowing with a video Yu knew too well.

  “Of course I didn’t watch it,” Yu muttered, his voice tight. His heart lurched. He forced his gaze downward, focusing on the floor tiles as he dropped his bag onto his chair.

  “Seriously though,” Harukawa laughed, leaning in. “Is that ‘Yu’ actually you? The voice sounds kinda similar, don't you think?” His tone was casual. Half-joke, half-curiosity. A dangerous mixture. He didn't mean any harm, but his words were like casual swings of a knife.

  Yu pinched the edge of his desk. His fingers dug into the wood until his knuckles turned bone-white. Don't react. Don't freeze. Don't look guilty. He forced a smile. It felt like a mask made of porcelain, ready to crack.

  “And if it was?” Yu said lightly, trying to match the banter. “What would you do? Ask for an autograph?”

  “Yeah right! Like you could end up in some fantasy stream!” Harukawa barked a laugh, slapping his knee. The tension dissolved. “Check this out, the comments are wild…” The conversation drifted elsewhere as Harukawa turned to show the video to someone else.

  Yu sank into his chair. His chest felt as if an ice pick had been lodged in it, the cold spreading through his veins.…Keep your face normal. Act normal. Here, you’re supposed to know nothing. You are just Yu Shiro. His head understood the logic. His heartbeat didn’t.

  The classroom chatter—the symbol of normal life—swelled around him. It was a barrier. A wall. It highlighted the brutal gap between the world where people worried about tests and the world where people died in the mud.

  Yu no longer knew which world he was supposed to live in.

  ?

  The final bell rang. Ding-dong-dang-dong. The sound signaled freedom for everyone else. Students poured out of the room, a tide of energy. They left behind laughter, plans for karaoke, club activities, normalcy. Yu stayed slumped over his desk, his face buried in his arms, waiting for the world to empty. Waiting for the silence to return.

  “Shiro. A word.” The voice was sharp. Authoritative. He lifted his head. Kaori Mamiya stood at the doorway. Her arms were crossed, her expression unreadable behind her glasses. The few remaining students quietly avoided her gaze as they left, sensing the shift in atmospheric pressure. They hurried out, closing the door behind them.

  Yu stood up, his legs heavy, and followed her. She led him not to the faculty office, but to a small prep room at the end of the hall. It was a storage space for science equipment, smelling of rubbing alcohol and old textbooks.

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  Sunset lit the single window, flooding the room with intense, burning orange light. It stretched their shadows long across the floor, two distorted shapes reaching for the darkness in the corners.

  “Shiro. The boy who appeared next to Claval in that livestream—that was you, correct?” Mamiya closed the door with a click. She turned to face him head-on. It wasn't a question, It was a confirmation.

  “Yes.” Yu’s throat closed. He looked at his shoes.

  “We cut the stream as fast as we could. We utilized every protocol available to EWS. But it wasn’t enough. The damage is already done. The clips are circulating faster than we can delete them.” Her next words were mercilessly calm. Each syllable stabbed deeper than any blade in other world. It was the confirmation of his failure.

  “You are free to the Returnee’s shop or go to the other world,” she continued, her voice stern. “That is your choice. But your duty is to be a student. What happened to your promises to me, like attendance and submitting assignments?”

  These were simple facts. Teacher’s words. Not accusations, but observations of reality. And yet… Yu felt them like chains pulling him back, tearing him away from the place he wanted to be.

  “Mamiya-sensei… it’s my fault…” The dam inside him cracked. The pressure was too high. “I brought Claval to Hoshimine-san… I brought them together… and…”

  “Returnee…? ”Mamiya’s expression flickered. Her brows knit together.

  “Hoshimine-san… he protected us… he fought the TP… and he… he’s gone…!” Yu’s voice broke apart, dissolving into a sob. Tears splattered onto the wooden desk between them. Dark spots on the grain. Yu’s shoulders shook uncontrollably. The image of the Returnee vanishing—sacrificing himself for them—played over and over in his mind.

  “…I didn’t know,” Mamiya whispered. Her voice lost its professional edge. “That he… gave his life.” She froze. Her composure slipped. Her eyes lowered, staring at the floor.

  “And that’s not all… the TP—Time Patrol—said something…” Yu wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, but more tears followed. He couldn't stop them.

  “…They said a ‘counter-annihilation’ is coming. That everything will be wiped out.” He swallowed hard, tasting salt. At that word, Mamiya’s mask shattered completely for a second. Her eyes widened in genuine fear.

  “That’s… not a lie.” Mamiya’s voice trembled. The red pen she had been holding rolled across the desk, tapping softly as it hit a stack of papers. Tap. Tap. Stop.

  “Shiro,” she said quietly, regaining control with visible effort. “What that entity said, and my own calculations… they point to the same outcome. The instability is growing exponentially.” Her admission wasn’t comfort. It was a verdict. A death sentence for the world.

  Yu shook, his breath coming in ragged gasps, until eventually, the physical energy for crying ran out. He stood there, empty and hollowed out. Mamiya waited. Then, she slowly sat down on a stool across from him. The sunset painted half her face in shadow.

  “This is where you stand firm,” Mamiya said. Her voice was low, intense. “You cannot collapse here. If you break now, everything the returnee did was for nothing.”

  Yu raised his head. His eyes were swollen, red—but beneath the tears, there was a flicker. A spark.

  “People are supporting you,” she said, trying to find an anchor for him. “Even online. Even strangers who don't know the truth. They’re telling you that you’re not alone.” She slid Yu’s phone toward him across the desk.

  The screen lit up. The timeline was filled with messages, scrolling endlessly:

  “Protect Yu”

  “He was trying to save someone. You can hear it in his voice.”

  “That voice was shaking… he cared. He’s a hero.”

  “Don't let them bully you! We’re with you!”

  “I’m on your side too. As your teacher. As an observer. I will help you.” Mamiya met his eyes. Her words were sincere. They were meant to be a lifeline.

  But sincerity wasn’t what Yu heard. He stared at the screen. At the words "Protect Yu." At the thousands of likes. At the wave of validation from invisible strangers.

  “Support…?” His lips parted, and a twisted echo spilled out: The warmth of Mamiya’s words twisted inside his chest. It didn't feel like a hug. It felt like armor. I’m right. —I’m not alone. —The world can burn, the Time Patrol can come, the Lord can lock me up… and people will still cheer for me. His heartbeat quickened. Not with fear this time, but with adrenaline. A strange, glassy sheen ran across his pupils.

  “…I see.” Yu nodded slowly. The movement was mechanical. “So no matter what happens… there will be people who support me. Even if I'm a criminal in the other world. Even if I broke the rules.”

  Mamiya stiffened. She recognized the tone. She saw the shift in his eyes. It wasn't relief. It was something else. Something darker. But contradicting him now—pulling away the only support he had left—would only send him deeper into the abyss. She stayed silent.

  “Shiro…” Mamiya began, warningly. But Yu was no longer looking at her. He turned his head to stare out the window.

  The sunset had bled into twilight. The sky was a bruise of purple and black. The city lights flickered on one by one, a sea of artificial stars. A surge of exhilaration raced through him. It was cold. Electric. Addictive.

  They’re watching me. They’re supporting me. Then…I can do anything. A smile crept onto his lips.

  It wasn't the gentle, shy smile of the boy he had been yesterday. It was a thin, cracked smile—as though something inside him had hardened, fixed into place by fire and trauma. He had stepped onto a path he could no longer turn back from. And he didn’t even realize it yet.