The second Rin tilted her head a bit too much, like a cursor that had gone too far on the screen.
"Iteration incomplete," she said, her words perfectly spaced, but her lips didn't quite match the sound.
The real Rin flinched, her fingers gripping the empty air where the interface shimmered. "Don't," she whispered. "That's not—"
The copy smiled, each movement happening slowly, frame by frame. "You learned to hide," it continued, its eyes flickering with code. "But the system learns faster."
Matthew's breath caught. The cold stone beneath him pulsed once, like a slow heartbeat. Symbols on the walls sharpened, their twisted patterns folding inward until they formed a ring around the dais.
Sora stepped back from the Mask of the Forgotten. Its surface no longer shifted faces—it streamed a cascade of numbers, every digit glowing like a dying star. "It's reading us," she said. "Like it's…downloading."
The real Rin's voice cracked. "Matthew. Don't look at it."
But Matthew was already staring. The copy's eyes met his, and a single line of text burned across his vision—private channel opened.
He tried to blink it away. The text followed.
Do you remember who started the first game?
The cathedral lights dimmed. The shattered dome above trembled, shards of glass humming as if tuned to a hidden frequency.
Sora clutched the Mask tighter. "It's not just copying," she said. "It's—"
The second Rin spoke over her, perfectly timed.
"—rewriting."
A low chime echoed through the air, the sound of a system prompt that shouldn't exist.
Update in progress. Players will not remain stable.
The floor cracked.
Reality began to buffer.