The knocking grew louder.
Not from one wall.
From all of them.
Ren stood frozen as the classroom twisted, desks rattling, the blackboard bleeding faint lines of static like cracks in a broken screen. Students screamed, but the sound warped—stretching, echoing, folding back on itself.
This was bad.
No—this was early.
"The Observer isn't supposed to manifest until Day Three," Ren muttered.
The girl grabbed his wrist.
Her hand was cold.
"Then you really are remembering," she said quietly.
"What are you?" Ren asked.
She didn't answer.
The knocking stopped.
Silence slammed into the room.
Then—
The classroom door opened.
There was nothing on the other side.
No hallway. No light.
Just a vertical absence, like someone had erased the concept of space.
A foot stepped out.
Then another.
The Observer emerged slowly, as if the world itself were reluctant to allow it through.
It had no face.
No features.
Just a tall humanoid silhouette, its surface reflecting fragments of everyone looking at it—eyes, mouths, screams—broken and misaligned.
[OBSERVER UNIT: KETER-0]
Function: Anomaly Verification
Target: Ren Ashford
Ren's vision blurred.
Pressure crushed his lungs, like gravity had decided to double—then triple.
So this was how it started this time.
"Don't look at it directly," the girl hissed.
"It uses attention as confirmation."
Ren dropped his gaze.
Too late.
A voice spoke inside his skull—not loud, not soft, but absolute.
You are not in the recorded sequence.
Ren clenched his teeth.
"I know."
You have exceeded permissible memory retention.
"Also true."
Explain.
Ren laughed.
It came out hoarse.
"Sure," he said. "Right after you explain why your perfect system keeps ending the world."
The Observer paused.
Just for a fraction of a second.
And that—
That was new.
[SYSTEM LAG DETECTED]
The girl's grip tightened.
"Ren," she whispered urgently.
"This is your chance. Say it."
"Say what?"
"The thing you've never said in any timeline."
Ren swallowed.
In every world, he'd reacted—fought, begged, ran.
Never declared.
He raised his head.
Not to look at the Observer—
But to address the system itself.
"I reject the correction."
The air screamed.
[CRITICAL ERROR]
Rejection outside authorized parameters.
Initiating forced rollback—
"No," Ren said firmly.
"I'm not a mistake."
The classroom shattered.
Time froze.
Shards of desks and glass hung midair like a paused explosion.
A new interface burned itself into Ren's vision.
Not blue.
Not white.
Red.
[ANOMALY STATUS CONFIRMED]
Designation: Persistent Variable
Authority Level: Undefined
Ability Unlocked — "Error Archive"
You may retain, index, and invoke fragments of failed timelines.
Warning: Excessive use accelerates erasure.
Ren breathed.
Slow.
Steady.
Memory flooded him.
Deaths. Choices. Power paths. Failures.
Seven endings—
Now weapons.
He looked at the Observer.
For the first time—
it looked uncertain.
Ren smiled.
"Let's try something new," he said.
"This time, I'll be the one observing you."
The frozen world cracked.
And reality resumed—
Violently.