Chapter 12

A sharp, piercing screech shattered the silence.

Tadashi gasped, stumbling backward as the sound clawed at his mind. It was the same as before—the same wretched cry that had marked his failure. His hands trembled as he grasped at his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath. The spark had disappeared, fading into the nothingness that surrounded him, leaving behind only the bitter taste of defeat.

He clenched his fists. He had failed again. A cold sensation coiled around his gut, twisting deeper with each passing second. The void around him felt endless, as if the world itself had forgotten him. How long had he been here? Hours? Days? Or had time lost meaning altogether? Then, from the emptiness, two figures emerged.

“Tadashi.”

Kei’s voice was softer than usual, lacking her usual sharpness. Rin stood beside her, hands in her pockets, her expression unreadable. They weren’t smiling. They weren’t teasing him. For once, they looked… worried.

“You’re here again,” Kei said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tadashi didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

“That sound,” Rin muttered. “It’s worse every time.”

Tadashi pressed his lips together, refusing to meet their eyes. He wanted to say something—to crack a joke, to tell them he was fine—but the words wouldn’t come. His body felt heavy, his mind sluggish. Was this how it was going to be? Failing, over and over, until he was swallowed by this place completely?

Tadashi turned sharply. A man stepped forward, his white coat standing out starkly against the darkness. His glasses caught the dim glow of the void, reflecting something unreadable in his gaze. Simon.

“You again,” Tadashi muttered.

“What do you want this time?”

Simon adjusted his glasses. “To enlighten you. You’re under the impression that reaching that spark is a matter of will. That if you try hard enough, you’ll grasp it eventually.”

Tadashi narrowed his eyes. “Isn’t it?”

Simon shook his head. “No. That’s the illusion. The true difficulty of this world doesn’t depend on effort alone. It depends on something far more intricate—something written in the very foundation of existence.”

Tadashi felt a chill creep up his spine. “What are you talking about?”

Simon raised his hand. In an instant, rows upon rows of tallies began to appear in the darkness, stretching out endlessly in every direction. Each tally glowed faintly, pulsating with an eerie rhythm, as if they were alive.

“The difficulty of this world,” Simon said, “depends on these. Each column of tally marks dictates the weight of your existence. Your choices, your past, your very being—everything is calculated, everything is measured. And the more you try to defy it, the harder the world pushes back.”

Tadashi’s breath caught in his throat. “So you’re saying… my failures aren’t just bad luck?”

“Exactly,” Simon replied. “The more you struggle, the more the system corrects itself to prevent your success. This isn’t a game of persistence. It’s a battle against fate itself.”

Tadashi stared at the glowing tallies, his pulse pounding in his ears. If what Simon was saying was true… then what chance did he have? He had always believed that pushing forward was the answer—that as long as he kept trying, he would eventually succeed. But if the very fabric of this world was designed to resist him, then how could he possibly win. Simon gave him a knowing look.

“The next attempt is about to begin. Are you ready to face it?”

Tadashi’s fingers curled into fists. He didn’t know the answer.

But he had no choice but to find out.

The streets were empty. No cars. No people. Just the sound of Tadashi’s footsteps echoing like a reminder that he was still here… and they weren’t.

He walked with his head down, eyes fixed on the cracks in the pavement. Each one felt like it had more life in it than he did. Kei floated beside him, unusually quiet. Rin followed a few paces ahead, her hands buried in her jacket pockets. No one said anything.

Tadashi wasn’t sure if the silence made it better or worse. Faces kept flashing in his head—people he’d met in these worlds, the ones who had stuck around long enough to matter. Rin bleeding out in an alley. Kei’s stupid grin fading as he collapsed. The voices, the laughter, the promises.

All gone.

And for what? So he could keep playing some twisted survival game? Kei finally spoke, his voice softer than usual.

“You did good, you know. Most people don’t even make it this far.”

Tadashi let out a short laugh. It sounded wrong in his own ears.

“Yeah. Real impressive. I’m the last man standing in a group that’s already dead.”

Rin glanced over her shoulder, her expression unreadable.

“You’re still alive. That’s what matters.”

“Is it?”

Tadashi asked. His voice cracked just enough to make him hate himself for it.

“If surviving means losing everyone over and over… what’s the point?”

Neither of them answered. At the end of the street, a pale light shimmered in the air, swaying like it was breathing. Tadashi stopped walking.

“What is that?”

“Your exit,” Rin said.

“Or your entrance, depending on how you look at it,” Kei added, trying for a smirk but failing.

Tadashi stared at the light. His chest felt heavy.

“I don’t want another world.”

“You don’t get to choose,” Rin replied.

The glow expanded, swallowing the ground beneath him. Kei’s voice called his name, Rin’s sharp “Stay alert!” cut through the air, and then—

Cold.

He woke lying on damp earth. The air was thick with the smell of wet leaves and something faintly metallic. When he sat up, his fingers brushed moss, his shirt clinging to him with cold sweat.

A forest. Tall, shadowy trees pressed in on all sides. Mist curled low to the ground, and small points of light floated lazily between the branches. Tadashi pulled his knees up to his chest and sat there for a moment, listening to the sound of his own breathing.

No Kei.

No Rin.

No one.

The silence here was worse than the empty streets.

A low growl rolled through the air, deep enough to make the ground under him tremble. He turned his head slowly. Two figures stood at the tree line — short, hunched, their outlines jagged. Their eyes glowed faintly, locking on him with a predator’s patience.

The growl came again, closer this time.

Tadashi’s throat tightened. He didn’t run. He just stood there, watching them watch him, wondering if this was finally it—the moment when all the losses, all the restarts, would finally be over.