A predicted future is nothing more than a cheap imitation. Become the unexpected. Act like a fool if you must… for accumulated unpredictability yields the most satisfactory results — Claudius Sherman
*****
The scene outside was chaotic—yet utterly breathtaking.
The sky shifted in rapid, violent succession, bleeding from the bruised orange glow of sunset into the brilliant, golden light of high noon, then back into the grey stillness of dawn. Within the span of a single breath, it would plunge into a simulated night, where the vibrant neon lights of the alleyways and towering commercial billboards illuminated the sudden darkness.
Beneath it all, the shadow of the moon hung low and heavy on the eastern horizon, an unignorable anchor in the fracturing sky.
Pedestrians along the alley were helplessly trapped within the reversal of time. New figures materialized out of thin air, passing by in fragments before being caught in the exact same endless loop. Everything in the world was bound to the temporal tide. Even the smallest ants, crawling on the concrete in their silent, microscopic struggle for survival, were not spared.
It was a beautiful, terrifying clash between absolute reality and absolute illusion.
"No one… outside?" Morca's frown deepened.
He stepped fully past the threshold, scanning the shifting environment for any sign of life. He had come downstairs because of the doorbell. Could it be that whoever rang it was swallowed by the reverse loop and gone?
As he stepped out of the door, something caught his eye. A discarded copy of the Crownnews newspaper lay on the ground, marked by a dirty footprint. He had almost overlooked it, but the bold headline—printed in sharp, elegant Decanis script—pulled his gaze right back down.
A Once-in-a-Century Genius of the Tyndaland Republic High School.
"The Crownnews channel…?" Morca murmured, his voice barely audible against the grinding hum of the shifting world. "It's rare to see their papers in a common district like this. This must be Father's subscription."
He bent down, picked it up, and brushed the damp grime off its surface.
He wasn't surprised that the paper was written in Decanis, the formal, upper-class accent of the Astro Continent. In Evoslon, it was widely known that among the four major press companies, only the Nationwell channel published in Gremacan for the common folk. The other three catered to the elite, and Cromwell's Crownnews was chief among them. With their residence in Magoria, Northelia—a booming commercial district—subscribing to such a paper was a luxury, but a manageable one. Especially since neither of his parents were ordinary citizens.
Leaving the context aside, Morca's attention snapped to the moving image embedded in the center-right of the front page. It looked like a standard passport photo.
The boy staring back at him was himself, dressed neatly in the prestigious Tyndaland Republic Elite College uniform.
"How…?" His voice faltered, the air catching in his throat. "How could the once-in-a-century genius be me? This was from a year ago—"
He cut himself off as a key piece of the puzzle clicked into place. His gaze zipped to the masthead, where the publication date was stamped clearly beneath the newspaper's logo.
Saturday, 23rd July, 2985.
"July 23, 2985…" he whispered under his breath. "Isn't this… exactly two days after I was abducted?"
It had been a full, grueling year since his disappearance, yet the paper in his hands belonged to the exact week Sir Emmett Lee had forcefully abducted him. A flicker of intense curiosity stirred within his chest. He lowered his eyes, devouring the fine print of the article.
As he scanned the text, the truth of that lost timeline finally became clear.
"So this is what happened," Morca muttered, a trace of bitter irony slipping into his tone. "After my exam results were released, the top three universities all extended admissions. None of them offered financial sponsorships, but the Governor of Northelia personally stepped in. He offered to fund my entire education… on the sole condition that I serve as the state historian in his office after graduation."
He stared at his own unmarred face in the photo. "If I hadn't been taken… my future would have been perfectly secured."
The bitter sting threatened to take root, but he quickly steadied his mind. He reminded himself that he was currently standing inside a trial—a genetic gauntlet whose hidden rules he had yet to fully decipher.
If I were given a second chance… what would I actually choose?
One path offered a year steeped in agonizing illness, trauma, the horrific loss of loved ones, and the constant, suffocating fear of betrayal by those closest to his heart.
The other path offered absolute peace. No loss. No suffering. No permanent, lingering wounds. A golden future already laid out for him, standing comfortably among governors and the most prominent figures of Evoslon.
"Without a doubt, I know what the old me should have chosen." He had always possessed the supreme confidence in his own intellect to graduate and claim a seat among the apex individuals of the continent.
Around him, the reversed flow of time began to accelerate. The seasons themselves started cycling past in a blur of colors—autumn leaves withered backward into green, winter snow dissolved into rain, spring bloomed in seconds, and then, summer hit.
Morca's gaze fell to the wet concrete pavement. The moisture gathered into tight droplets before defying every known law of physics. They lifted off the ground, rising straight back into the sky. For a fleeting moment, the rain fell upward, retreating into darkening storm clouds that were violently pierced by jagged flashes of lightning.
Then, the chaotic momentum began to slow. The finer details of the illusionary world grew sharper, lingering longer. Day and night stopped flickering like a broken switch.
Out of the distant, shifting alley opposite his doorstep, the squeak of moving wheels broke the silence. A wheelchair was rolling backward, heading directly toward him.
Morca's eyes narrowed, his entire body locking up as recognition struck like a physical blow. The man seated in the chair was his father—Claudius Sherman.
For the first time since waking up in this fragmented memory, Morca's heart pounded uncontrollably against his ribs. The volatile emotions he had buried deep within his soul threatened to erupt. This was the man who had orchestrated a year of pure suffering for him—the man who had reduced him to a helpless cripple.
Yes. A cripple. Because deep down, Morca knew that was exactly what he had become. And after inflicting that damage, his father had simply vanished, never once considering how deeply his grand designs would scar his own flesh and blood.
As the wheelchair drew closer, Morca's breathing grew shallow.Then, the rules of the illusion shattered.
Unlike everything else trapped in the rigid script of the reverse loop, the wheelchair smoothly turned. It moved deliberately, defying the timeline, until Claudius was facing him directly.
Morca's crimson eyes locked onto an identical pair of deeper, far more profound crimson eyes—eyes that seemed to hold the weight of ancient, forbidden knowledge.
"Surprised to see your father… in your trial?" Claudius asked.
So it really is a trial. Morca swallowed hard, keeping his posture rigid, but said nothing. He kept the kitchen knife securely pressed against his spine.
Claudius spoke again, his voice laced with a quiet, magnetic mystery. The gentle smile on his handsome face shifted into something entirely solemn.
"Morca… if you were given the ultimate choice, what would you choose? The first path: a life entirely free from the extraordinary and the hidden mysteries of this world. A life where you achieve whatever your heart desires. Your mother and I would remain by your side. There would be no awakening. A loving family. No pursuit by the forces of Heaven, and no attention from the Abyss. You would rise to become a prominent, celebrated figure in Evoslon… without ever knowing a day of true suffering. In this path, you would live as nothing more… and nothing less… than a normal human."
Claudius leaned forward slightly, his gaze piercing through his son's defenses.
"Or… the second path. You accept everything exactly as it stands now. You turn your back on comfort and walk forward into the dark, entirely alone. You accept your lineage flaws… you embrace the broken path, the threat of death, the constant pursuit, and the inevitable loss. But in choosing this, your future will no longer be pre-ordained by others. It will be yours, and yours alone, to decide."
Hearing the two options laid bare, Morca sank into a heavy, suffocating silence.
He had considered these exact paths just moments before his father materialized. But never had the choice carried such staggering weight. Never had it felt so real.
"I know you have questions to ask," Claudius's firm, unyielding voice cut straight through his internal debate. "However, I am not here to give you answers. I am merely here to guard you. The answers you seek… lie waiting in reality."
"If you were to choose for me," Morca countered, masterfully mirroring his father's stern, unreadable inflection, "what would you choose?"
"My opinion no longer matters, Morca. I already chose for you once… and you know the consequences. You suffered because of my choice." Claudius paused, his crimson gaze drifting toward the rising rain. "This is your trial. If you wish for comfort, remain here until time reverses to the exact moment you stood at the train station. I will come for you then. Everything that followed this past year will be treated as nothing more than a bad dream. Or…"
Claudius pointed a finger toward the massive, bleeding horizon.
"…ascend the mountain where the crimson moon rests, and acknowledge your first lineage flaw."
It's not like I would ever accept a choice you made for me anyway, Morca thought, his jaw tightening.
As if sensing the silent defiance, the wheelchair began to roll backward into the loop once more. A faint, knowing smile returned to Claudius's handsome face as he receded into the chaotic, shifting dawn.
"As your guard, Morca… whatever choice you make, remember this," Claudius called out, his parting words echoing strangely across the temporal storm. "When you are given options, never choose the first, nor the last. If there are only two… choose neither. Seek the third, even if it fails… for it is the truest."
He paused, his voice softening to a low murmur that somehow carried a crushing, monumental weight.
"A predicted future is nothing more than a cheap imitation. Become the unexpected. Act like a fool if you must… for accumulated unpredictability yields the most satisfactory results."
The gentle voice began to blur, breaking apart into acoustic fragments. The sharp lines of Claudius's frame bled into the surrounding neon light, fading along with the reverse orbit of the sky until he vanished completely from Morca's sight.
Morca took a step forward, a sudden impulse to stop him flaring in his chest, but he forcibly restrained himself.
"…Search for the third… even if it fails, for it is the truest," Morca repeated, testing the syllables on his tongue. "Does that riddle still apply… even to a trial like this?"
He understood the literal meaning of the words… and yet, he didn't. Especially the latter part about absolute unpredictability.
The heavy mandate of the genetic sphere surfaced once more, flashing through his consciousness like an immutable law:
[Renounce the broken path. Renounce Nihility. Remain.]
Renounce… Remain.
The two words echoed relentlessly within his skull, a pounding mantra trying to force his compliance.
Does that mean I should actively renounce my lineage flaws and accept a different, stable path? And 'remain'… Father said that if I stay here until time un絲s back to the train station, everything resets. The pain ends.
A profound, suffocating dilemma took hold of his mind.
This was no longer a simple trial of raw emotion. Nor was it a puzzle that cold logic alone could dismantle. It required a gamble of identity.
And just as the first cold drop of hesitation crept into his heart—A voice, soft, distant, and utterly alien, echoed within the deep recesses of his mind once again…