The delay was subtle at first.
Minh Truong noticed it while crossing the street. The pedestrian light turned green, yet the lifespan values above the waiting crowd remained frozen for half a second longer than usual.
Then they updated.
Not all at once.
One by one.
The numbers refreshed unevenly, as if each individual existed on a slightly different clock.
Minh Truong slowed his pace. He did not open the interface fully—only enough to confirm what his instincts were already telling him.
The system was no longer synchronous.
In the past, data had always been absolute. The moment his eyes landed on a person, their remaining lifespan appeared—clean, precise, unquestionable.
Now, it hesitated.
A woman on the opposite sidewalk laughed into her phone. Her lifespan flickered twice before stabilizing. A delivery rider sped past, his data lagging behind his movement, snapping into place only after he had already gone by.
Latency.
The word surfaced in Minh Truong's mind without effort.
This was not corruption.
Not yet.
It was delay.
Something in the system was struggling to keep real-time alignment with reality.
Minh Truong reached a quiet café and sat near the window, choosing a seat where reflections made it harder for anyone to notice his unfocused gaze. He watched people through the glass, measuring the delay unconsciously.
Some showed none.
Others lagged by fractions of a second.
A few—very few—were delayed long enough that Minh Truong felt a chill crawl up his spine.
Those people shared no visible traits. Different ages. Different professions. Different paths.
Yet the system treated them differently.
He focused on one man standing across the street.
For a brief moment, there was nothing.
No number.
No countdown.
Then, as if forced, the data appeared—compressed, unstable, correcting itself mid-display.
Minh Truong leaned back slowly.
That had never happened before.
If the system could temporarily fail to observe someone, even for a second, then its authority was no longer absolute. It was no longer merely revealing fate.
It was reacting to it.
Minh Truong closed his eyes and exhaled.
Vol 1 had taught him how to read the numbers.
Vol 2 was making one thing clear:
The numbers were starting to read him back.
Outside, the city continued its rhythm, unaware of the quiet desynchronization unfolding beneath its surface.
And somewhere beyond Minh Truong's perception, the system logged the anomaly.
Not as an error.
But as a variable.