16: A Distorted Scenery

Tom began walking toward the playground area at the back of the park plaza—
the one with the ever-popular “Giraffe Slide” loved by children.
The giraffe’s long neck stood out so clearly that anyone could spot it even from far away.

If Rena were anywhere, it’d be there. But if she’s not… then…
Tom, who often bickered with Rena over the smallest things, knew her habits inside and out.
He pictured that gentle breeze and soothing presence that always seemed to comfort her.
But something was off—an eerie unease clung to him, washing that image away.

“That’s strange. I don’t see the swings. No, more than that…”

He had been using the giraffe’s head as a landmark from the plaza.
But no matter how far he walked, he didn’t seem to be getting any closer to it.
Even though he was clearly heading in the right direction, the distance just wouldn’t shrink.

“What the heck? The scenery around me looks exactly the same as always…
and I can see the path leading straight there…”

‘Chase it and it runs. Run and it chases… huh.’

Suddenly, a voice rang out. Tom whipped around, startled.
But what confused him even more was the strange phenomenon he noticed next.

“I… haven’t moved at all? I’m still in the same spot from earlier!?”

Just ahead of his gaze was the bench where that mysterious manga magazine had been left.
A man sat there, legs crossed, newspaper open wide in his hands.
That simple motion alone gave Tom a commanding and intimidating impression of the man.

Tom didn’t want to be noticed—but at the same time, he was curious about who this man was.
That contradiction only made his nerves tighten further.

“You there… Is this your first time here?”

“Huh?”

“I asked if this is your first time in this world.”

The man’s words didn’t just enter Tom’s ears—they seemed to echo directly inside his head,
leaving a strange, heavy sensation behind.

“This world? What do you mean by that? Don’t tell me…”

As Tom began to understand the man’s meaning, he forced himself to breathe steadily, trying not to panic.

“Do you remember what time you came to this park?”

“Uh… I’ve been here since morning, and, um…”

“Do you remember the exact time? What hour? What minute?”

The man’s rapid-fire questions were intense, yet oddly comforting in some way, helping Tom to focus and think clearly.

“Uh, I think… yeah! I remember it was a lucky number—right! An angel number.
11:11! So… it was around 11:11, I think…”

The man folded up his newspaper and slowly stood. Tom’s eyes followed him carefully.
His neatly slicked-back hair, sharp and cold eyes, and jet-black suit all hinted that this was no ordinary person.

“I see. Then… what time does the clock over there show?”

“Eh? Well, it should be evening by now—”

Tom’s eyes widened in disbelief. The face of the clock displayed a number that should have long passed.

—11:11—

Unbelievably, the sun was now high in the sky, as if time had never moved forward.