The alarm buzzed quietly.
Ren groaned and reached out from beneath the covers, slapping the clock until it stopped. His hand dropped back down limply, and he lay still for a moment, eyes half-lidded. A dull ache settled behind his eyes, like pressure building inside his skull. It wasn't pain, exactly—more like a leftover heaviness. Like he'd been awake all night without realizing it.
He sat up slowly, his movements sluggish, and rubbed the back of his neck. His body felt stiff, as if he'd run a marathon in his sleep. The dream—if he could even call it that—was already starting to slip away. But the image that lingered most clearly was the devil's grin. That cold, wide mouth… stretching open too far.
"Tch… just a dream."
He muttered it more to fill the silence than to reassure himself.
Dragging himself off the bed, Ren shuffled across the room and pushed open the bathroom door. The apartment outside was quiet. He could faintly hear the clinking of utensils—Miyuki was already awake, probably making tea like she always did. Same routine. Same silence.
He turned on the tap. Cold water splashed into the basin, and he cupped some in his hands, leaning forward to splash it onto his face. The chill helped clear the fog in his head, but not the feeling crawling just beneath his skin.
Ren lifted his gaze to the mirror.
His reflection stared back—same dark hair, same crimson eyes, same expressionless face.
And then—it didn't.
Just for a moment, his reflection lagged. Barely. But enough.
When he tilted his head slightly, the image responded a fraction of a second too late. Or maybe too early. He couldn't tell. The sync was broken, like a video stuttering on a bad connection.
Ren froze, water still dripping from his chin.
The reflection caught up.
Now it moved normally again, mirroring him perfectly—as if nothing had happened.
He blinked.
"...Still dreaming?"
He leaned closer, narrowing his eyes.
It looked like him.
But for a second, it hadn't felt like him.
He held the stare a little longer, searching for something—anything—that didn't belong. But the mirror was just glass again. Cold. Silent. Harmless.
Finally, he turned away and grabbed the towel.
But as he stepped back toward his room, a thought whispered quietly at the edge of his mind.
What if it wasn't lag…
What if it was watching me back?
He didn't answer it.
But the unease stayed with him.
As Ren got dressed, he kept glancing at his hands. Nothing felt off, and yet—something inside him stirred, like a thought he hadn't fully formed. He shook it off, grabbed his schoolbag, and stepped outside, where the cold morning air hit his face. Miyuki stood a few steps ahead, not turning back, not calling for him.
She just knew he'd follow.
The city was calm that morning. The sky hung like a black ceiling—unmoving, uncaring, the sun hidden behind clouds that promised rain later. The roads buzzed faintly with traffic, and students in uniform chatted, walked, and laughed as they made their way to school.
Ren followed a few steps behind Miyuki. They didn't talk. They never really did during these walks. But there was something comfortable about the silence—like neither of them needed to fill it.
As they approached the gate of Katsuragi Public High, Miyuki finally stopped.
She handed him a small plastic bag—inside, a neatly packed bento, school ID card, and schedule.
"Don't lose them," she said.
Ren looked at the bag, then at her.
"You sure do act like a real guardian," he said, smirking lightly.
"Even though you haven't asked how I'm feeling. Or what I dreamed about."
Miyuki didn't answer. She simply looked at him, calm as always.
"I don't need to ask," she said. "You'll talk when you're ready."
He paused, unsure how to respond.
"It's annoying how she never watches me… but always knows what I need."
Without another word, she turned and walked away.
Ren stood there for a few seconds, eyes drifting toward the school building.
"Let's see how normal this life can really be…"
He stepped through the gate.
As Ren walked through the school halls, the atmosphere shifted. Conversations faded into whispers, and more than a few students turned to stare—some openly, others pretending not to.
He ignored them, keeping his pace steady, expression unreadable. Without a word, he reached his classroom door and stepped inside.
Class had barely begun.
Students were still chatting, moving desks, and pretending to be busy while the teacher was out of the room. Ren sat by the window, his chin resting on his palm, eyes staring out at the sky. It was still overcast—gray and distant, like the day hadn't fully woken up yet.
Behind him, a group of students whispered, not even trying that hard to hide it.
"That's him, right? The new guy… transferred from some correction center?"
"Yeah, I heard he killed his own parents."
"No way…"
"I swear! My cousin said he burned them alive. Totally psycho."
Ren's eyes drifted back inside.
He turned his head slowly, looking directly at the two boys whispering.
The room quieted.
"Of course I did," Ren said flatly.
A pause.
"Want to know the details?"
He smiled. Not a forced one. Not a fake one. Just a soft, calm curve of the lips that made the temperature in the room feel colder.
The two boys froze—eyes wide.
No one said another word. They turned away like they hadn't spoken at all.
Ren leaned back in his chair, eyes half-lidded.
"Idiots."
The teacher walked in moments later, and class began like normal. Or at least, pretended to be normal. But Ren wasn't paying attention.
His mind drifted back to the dream—the forest, the devil, the other version of himself.
That enormous, grinning maw.
The words:
"You're next."
Ren frowned for a moment… and then shrugged.
"Just a dream. Weird, but not real."
He looked back out the window, the clouds still hanging low.
But somewhere, faintly—his fingers were trembling.
[Later – Lunch Break]
The morning slipped by in slow motion. Ren sat through each period with his chin in his hand, eyes fixed on the window, half-listening to the drone of lectures. Nothing stuck. He wasn't here to learn. He was just playing along—for now.
When the bell finally rang to signal lunch, the classroom buzzed back to life. Students dragged their desks together, opened their bentos, and filled the air with laughter and casual chatter. A group in the back started tossing bread crusts at each other. Ren sat alone, as expected, his desk still in place by the window.
He reached into his bag and pulled out the bento box Miyuki had packed.
It was… perfect. Almost too perfect. Rice shaped into small triangles. Rolled tamagoyaki. Stir-fried vegetables neatly separated by dividers. It felt like something out of a magazine ad—a meal crafted by someone who paid attention to details.
Ren clicked it open and took a bite. It was warm, somehow, even without heating.
She made this?
The taste surprised him. Not just because it was good, but because it felt… intentional. Like every flavor had been chosen for him.
He paused mid-chew.
Something was off.
A strange sensation pressed against the back of his skull—like static building in a television right before the screen goes dark.
He blinked and looked up.
The room was frozen.
Literally.
The girl across from him had a sandwich inches from her mouth, unmoving. The boy beside her had been laughing mid-joke, but his mouth hung open in stillness, frozen in time.
A piece of bread, midair—suspended halfway across the classroom.
Not a single sound.
Even the clock on the wall had stopped ticking.
Ren's breath caught. The half-chewed bite of food felt like stone in his throat.
What… is this?
Then, in the corner of his right eye, something glitched.
A red flicker. Like corrupted code.
It pulsed once. Then again.
He turned his head slightly, and it came into full view—lines of distorted, pixelated text hovering just above the edge of his vision. Letters bled into each other, vibrating slightly, as if they weren't meant to be read by human eyes.
[Sin Archive Detected]
[Classification: Wrath]
[Awakening: 7%]
The air grew colder.
His fingers trembled slightly as he set his chopsticks down, staring at the red text as it hovered in place.
Seven percent? What does that even mean?
No answers came.
Only silence.
And then—without warning—the words cracked. Like glass under pressure, the letters shattered into fragments of glowing red light and dissolved into the air.
The frozen world around him snapped back into motion.
The piece of bread hit a student in the back of the head.
The delayed laughter burst back into the room.
Someone shouted across the class. A chair scraped loudly against the floor. The clock resumed ticking, and the hum of life returned.
But Ren remained still.
No one else reacted. No one saw what he just saw.
It was like it had never happened.
But the chill down his spine told him otherwise.
He clenched his fist slightly beneath the desk, eyes narrowing.
"This isn't just a system awakening…"
He stared down at his half-eaten lunch, suddenly no longer hungry.
"Something's wrong."
The rest of the day passed without incident, but the weight in Ren's chest didn't fade. Every tick of the classroom clock felt louder, every glance from a teacher or classmate dragged longer than it should. He didn't speak for the rest of the afternoon. Not because he was tired—but because part of him was listening, waiting, half-expecting the world to freeze again.
By the time he returned home, the sky had darkened, and the city lights blinked lazily through the window of apartment 304. The quiet smell of steamed rice and miso filled the air. Miyuki was already at the table, as if she'd been waiting.
Dinner was quiet, as always.
Ren sat at the small table, slowly eating the rice and miso soup Miyuki had prepared. She sat across from him, sipping her tea. Neither spoke for the first few minutes—not because there was tension, but because silence had become their default.
But Ren couldn't hold it in forever.
"...Do people usually see weird messages before their System awakens?"
He didn't look up as he asked. Just kept his voice calm, almost lazy.
Miyuki didn't answer right away.
She set her cup down gently, her eyes resting on him.
"What did you see?"
Ren shrugged, still avoiding her gaze.
"I don't know. Could've been nothing. A glitch. Maybe I'm losing it."
Miyuki's expression didn't change, but her silence lingered long enough to give him the answer he wasn't asking for.
"If anything strange happens again," she said at last, her voice calm but firm, "tell me. Immediately."
He finally looked up. Her eyes were sharp—sharper than usual.
"Why? You think I've got some kind of broken version of the System?"
She didn't blink.
"I think you've got something," she replied. "Broken or not, you can't ignore it anymore."
Ren stared at her for a moment longer. The warmth of the food in his stomach suddenly felt a little colder.
"Right," he muttered, looking back at his plate. "Figures."
Miyuki stood up, picking up her cup and walking toward the sink.
"I'm not trying to scare you," she said without turning around. "But normal systems don't talk to you before they activate. And they don't freeze time."
After dinner, Ren returned to his room and dropped onto the bed with a soft thud. The ceiling above him was plain, blank—just like the rest of the apartment. But tonight, even that empty space felt heavier somehow.
He thought about the glitch, the red screen, and Miyuki's warning.
Normal systems didn't do that.
Normal people didn't freeze time.
So what the hell was he?
He closed his eyes, trying to dismiss the question, but it clung to him like dust in the dark.
"Seven percent…"
He let the thought fade as his breathing slowed. The silence of the apartment wrapped around him once again—familiar, but not comforting.
And somewhere deep inside, the System stirred.
Watching.
Waiting.