Tuesday. Or was it Wednesday?
Kai wasn't sure anymore.
Time had started to feel elastic, like it twisted around him when he wasn't looking. And today, it twisted tighter.
It began during homeroom.
As Kai entered the classroom, everything felt… too quiet. The murmurs of early chatter, the scraping of chairs—absent. The air carried a hum, almost like a refrigerator buzz.
At his seat sat Jun Morita, a quiet boy with long bangs who barely spoke.
He stared ahead.
Kai slid into his desk and gave a nod. "Morning, Jun."
No response.
He tried again. "Hey, Jun. You good?"
Jun blinked once. Slowly. Mechanically. Then said, "The weather is nice today."
Pause.
Then again: "The weather is nice today."
And again.
"The weather is nice today."
His voice had no emotion. No inflection. Like a scratched record.
Kai's heart slowed. He leaned closer. "Jun, it's me. Do you recognize me?"
Jun didn't blink. "The weather is nice today."
The girl in front of them, Yui, turned around and smiled. "He always says that. He's just sleepy."
But there was something strange in her voice. Too… rehearsed.
Like she was reading from a script.
Kai felt the cold begin to creep up his spine.
At lunch, Jun was sitting on the same bench under the tree where he always ate his rice balls. Same position. Same plastic bento box.
Kai watched him from behind a vending machine.
He waited.
Jun took a bite. Chewed.
Then blinked.
Then repeated:
"The weather is nice today."
Kai's breath hitched. No change in tone. No change in rhythm.
Like time around Jun wasn't moving.
He waited five minutes.
Same phrase.
Kai stepped closer. "Why are you saying that? What's going on?"
Jun turned his head slowly, almost reluctantly.
He looked Kai in the eyes.
But there was nothing behind them.
He opened his mouth.
Then—
A twitch. A spasm. His eyes rolled back slightly.
And for one fleeting second, his face contorted—not in pain, but like something inside was trying to break out.
In a low whisper, barely audible:"Help me."
Then it was gone.
Back to neutral.
"The weather is nice today."
That evening, Kai went through the school's student behavior records, breaking into the counselor's digital files.
He typed in Jun's name.
No disciplinary actions.
No anomalies.
But there was a hidden file, encrypted with faculty clearance. He bypassed it using the override code he found back in Room 2-5.
The file loaded.
It wasn't a record.
It was a report.
Title: Subject #23: Behavioral Conditioning ProgressStatus: Active Simulation PhaseSupervisor: S. Hayama
Notes: Subject's retention of loop phrase stable under Phase 2 conditioning.Emotional response minimal. No memory bleed detected.Risk of destabilization if confronted with personal anchors—monitor closely.
Kai read it again.
And again.
"Simulation phase?""Loop phrase?"
Was Jun even real anymore?
Or just a husk of someone who used to be?
And how many others?
On his way home, Kai stood at the corner of the fourth floor, near the window that overlooked the old courtyard.
He looked out.
The courtyard below swayed peacefully under a blue sky.
Several students walked by, chatting and laughing.
But their movements…
They were the same.
The same gestures. The same way they tilted their heads. The same laughter, at the exact same time.
He waited. Watched.
Three minutes later—they did it again.Same steps. Same pause. Same synchronized laugh.
A loop.
Like background actors stuck in replay.
Kai took a step back.
He glanced at the glass window beside him—
And froze.
His reflection didn't move.
He turned left. The reflection stared forward. Unmoving.
Then—
It smiled.
Not his smile.
Someone else's.
He stumbled back and fell hard against the wall.
When he looked again—his reflection was normal.
Breathing heavy, Kai whispered, "What the hell is happening to this place?"
The next morning, Jun wasn't in class.
His desk was clean. Wiped down. No trace of him.
Kai asked the teacher.
"Oh, Morita-san? I think he transferred," the teacher said without looking up.
"He was here yesterday," Kai said.
The teacher blinked. "No, I don't think so. You must be confused."
"I saw him. I talked to him!"
But nobody else reacted.
The girl beside Kai—Yui—tilted her head and said, "There's no one named Jun in this class."
She smiled again.
Too wide.
Too forced.
Kai didn't respond. He just sat down and stared at Jun's empty seat.
As the lesson began, Kai felt it—the same buzzing in the air.
And the same sensation behind his eyes.
Like someone watching. Listening.
Like the whole room wasn't real.
Not completely.
That evening, Kai searched Jun's locker.
At the very back, behind an old gym towel, was a single item: a notebook.
Inside were pages and pages of nonsense scribbles.
Until the final page.
Scrawled in frantic, messy handwriting:
"They erased me.I'm still here. I think.If you're reading this, you're not crazy.Some of them aren't real.Watch the reflections.Don't trust the sky.Find the others. Before they find you."
Underneath it, a signature:
"—Jun Morita?"
The question mark chilled Kai more than anything else.
Even Jun wasn't sure he was real anymore.
The next day, a different student—Minami—was standing in the hallway.
Kai passed her, only to hear:
"The sky is too blue today."
She said it again. And again.
He turned slowly.
She stared at him with wide, unblinking eyes.
Behind her, her reflection blinked twice.Out of sync.
Two reflections.
Two versions.
Two realities.
And then, like a switch flipped, she smiled.
"Morning, Kai!"
Normal voice.
Normal tone.
But something behind her eyes had fractured.
The glass wasn't just cracking anymore.
It was falling apart.