The classroom door opened without a sound. Not a creak, not a mechanical hiss. Just… opened. As if the air itself had parted. Kaito stared at the empty room beyond, unsure if what he saw was real or just another trick of the system. He'd stayed late—not by choice, but because his exit pass had been "delayed for security verification." Misaki had left hours ago without saying goodbye, and now, according to the building interface, the entire school was in "auto-clean mode." Yet here he was, standing in front of Room 2B again.
Only it wasn't Room 2B anymore.
The doorframe still had the familiar plaque. But the air shimmered inside like heat off asphalt. When Kaito stepped across the threshold, his ears popped. A faint pressure—like something pushed back against him. Then he was inside.
And instantly, he knew something was wrong.
The desks were still there—kind of. Glitching. Some were fused to the floor. One floated a few centimeters above it, frozen mid-jump as if someone had paused time mid-chaos. The walls weren't white anymore. They flickered between pure black and pale gray, coded text scrolling across the surface in a language he didn't recognize. The smartboard at the front was flickering between menu screens and corrupted error messages:
[CLASSROOM.EXE – FATAL EXCEPTION HANDLED]
[USER PRESENCE DETECTED: ARASAKA, KAITO]
[BEGINNING RECORDING SESSION]
Kaito stepped backward. But the door… wasn't there anymore.
He turned. The wall behind him was smooth. Solid. Seamless.
"What the—"
"Welcome to the sandbox," said a voice, sharp and cold.
Kaito spun. A figure stood at the front of the class where the teacher usually did—but this one wasn't human. Or at least, not entirely. The silhouette was humanoid, tall, dressed in a uniform that shimmered between school blazer and full-body suit of circuit-like patterns. Its face was a blank slate of gray metal, but with two glowing blue lines where eyes should be.
"Who the hell are you?" Kaito asked.
"I am Monitoring Subprocess Echo-Nine. This instance was triggered by your entry. Do not attempt to escape."
"I didn't—"
"Incorrect. You are not supposed to be here. You are not supposed to be anywhere."
The lights dimmed. Kaito's hands clenched into fists. "So this is a trap?"
"No. This is a classroom. A special one. Designed to test what cannot be simulated. You."
Kaito's heart pounded. This was insane. This wasn't just about being "offline" anymore. This was something deeper—like he was part of a corrupted file the system couldn't delete.
The figure raised its hand. A glowing cube floated from its palm, filled with rotating data symbols. It hovered toward Kaito.
"Touch it."
"Why would I—?"
"Because you need answers. And we need to know how deep the anomaly goes."
Kaito hesitated.
Then he reached out.
The moment his fingers touched the cube, everything exploded.
Not literally—but in sensation. His skin burned cold, his head filled with static, and a billion voices whispered a billion conflicting truths.
You are not real.
You are the original.
You are the key.
You are the virus.
You were never born.
You were never supposed to wake up.
He pulled his hand away and gasped for air, falling to his knees.
"What was that?!"
The figure tilted its head. "Confirmation. You are not corrupted."
"That… didn't feel like confirmation."
"You are not infected. You are incompatible."
Kaito slowly stood, sweat on his brow. "So what happens now?"
The room began to shake.
"Now?" the figure said, voice flattening. "Now we reboot."
The walls collapsed into grids of light. The desks vanished. The blackboard turned into a countdown timer.
[RESTARTING INSTANCE: CLASSROOM.EXE – 00:09]
"Wait—!"
00:08
00:07
Kaito ran.
There was no door. No window.
Just the system closing in.