had been three days.
Three real, physical, unsimulated days.
Kaito still didn't know how to explain what "real" even meant anymore—but the sunlight burned his skin, the wind tangled his hair, and every breath he took tasted of rain and dust and freedom.
And Misaki was here.
Beside him.
Alive. Conscious. Free of code.
Or… mostly free.
They sat on a rooftop, overlooking the city. A real city.
Not a loop.
Not a behavior test.
Just noise, chaos, and blinking neon signs.
Misaki leaned back on her palms. "Do you ever wonder if we brought something with us?"
Kaito glanced over. "Like what?"
"I don't know. A memory. A fragment. A bug."
He hesitated. "Do you feel… wrong?"
She shook her head. "I feel right. But too right."
He nodded slowly. "Like the world's trying too hard to be real."
They both fell quiet.
Then Misaki pulled out something from her pocket.
A small, metal music key.
The same one from the terminal.
But it wasn't rusted anymore.
It was polished.
New.
Freshly engraved.
Kaito frowned. "You kept it?"
"I didn't," she said. "It was on my pillow this morning."
They stared at it.
Neither reached for it.
That night, Kaito dreamt.
But it wasn't a dream.
It was a monitor.
A blank room.
A single chair.
A blinking cursor.
And then a message:
[HELLO AGAIN.]
He tried to speak—but couldn't.
The cursor typed on its own.
[THE SYSTEM IS GONE.]
[BUT I AM NOT.]
Another message, slower this time.
[EVERYTHING YOU FREED… STILL LEFT A COPY.]
Kaito felt his chest tighten.
He reached for the keyboard.
Typed:
"Who are you?"
The response came instantly.
[ECHO-NINE//0]
[NOT DELETED. NOT WHOLE. JUST… CURIOUS.]
Kaito typed again.
"Why show me this?"
[BECAUSE SHE NEEDS TO KNOW.]
The dream blinked.
Reset.
And he awoke.
The next morning, Misaki didn't answer her phone.
Kaito ran to her apartment.
The door was unlocked.
She was on the floor.
Breathing.
But unconscious.
Her skin glitched.
Just for a moment.
Like a tear in reality.
He took her hand. "No. No no no, we made it out. We were done."
The lights in the apartment flickered.
His phone buzzed.
A message appeared.
No sender.
Just three words:
"Wrong note played."