The candle was still burning.
Hours past midnight, when it should have guttered out, when the wax should have drowned the wick—its flame danced steady and bright.
Hae-won's blood had dried at the corner of his mouth. His chest still ached with every breath. His hands shook whenever he tried to steady the pen over his journal.
But the flame remained.
Proof.
The modifier was real.
A knock shattered the silence.
His head jerked up.
At this hour?
Before he could speak, the door creaked open, slow, deliberate. A shadow slid across the floor.
Seo Ha-young stepped inside, hands tucked behind her back. Her expression was unreadable—smile too sharp to be kind, eyes too watchful to be casual.
"You're awake," she said softly.
Hae-won's jaw tightened. "What do you want?"
She ignored the edge in his voice, gliding further into the room. Her gaze fell to the candle, its steady flame betraying him. For the briefest instant, her eyes widened.
Then she smiled.
"Interesting."
The whispers in Hae-won's head sharpened, hissing louder. … anomaly … modifier … unauthorized …
He shoved the sound down, forcing his breathing steady. "Leave."
Instead, she leaned against the desk, her shoulder brushing close enough for him to smell the faint trace of steel oil and lavender soap. Her fingers trailed near the candle's glass.
"This shouldn't be burning."
His stomach turned cold.
She tilted her head, smile never faltering. "You touched it, didn't you?"
Hae-won didn't answer.
But his silence was answer enough.
Ha-young's laughter rang low, quiet, almost admiring. "So that's your secret. You're not just a vessel for the ledger—you're a vandal."
The word cut like a blade.
"Say it again," Hae-won warned.
Her smile widened. "Vandal. Script-breaker. Modifier."
His fist clenched at his side, blood beading where his nails dug in.
"You don't understand what this means," she continued, voice softer now, almost coaxing. "The ledger isn't just a prison, Hae-won. It isn't just debt. It's… balance. Authority. Do you know what happens when you scratch ink across divine account books?"
He met her gaze, steady despite the tremor in his chest. "I change it."
For a moment, silence hung between them.
Then she sighed, almost disappointed. "Do you know how many have tried? Worlds break for less. One misstep, and everything you're clinging to will collapse faster than the Titan's fist."
Hae-won's lips curled. "And if I don't try, they'll die anyway. Arin. Do-hyun. Everyone. I've seen it. Twice. You want me to sit here and play along?"
Ha-young's eyes softened for just a heartbeat. Almost pity. Almost something else. Then it was gone, buried under that mocking veneer again.
"You think you're the first to resist?" she asked quietly. "Every world has someone like you. Some desperate soul who thinks if they just bleed hard enough, they can cheat the books. You know what the ledger calls them?"
"…What?"
Her smile was razor-sharp.
"Errors."
The whispers roared, the word echoed within him: … error … modifier … unpaid …
Pain stabbed through his skull. He swayed, gripping the edge of the desk.
Her hand shot out—steadying him.
For a moment, her mask cracked. Her eyes held his, hard, fierce, not mocking at all. "Listen to me. You've been marked. I can see it—threads of red ink winding through your veins. You push too hard, you'll draw its collectors. Not Titans. Not cadets. Something worse."
Hae-won shoved her hand away, forcing himself upright. His chest heaved, but his voice was steady.
"Then let them come."
The words hung in the air, heavier than the silence that followed.
The candle flickered once, bright and defiant.
Ha-young's smile returned—but it was thinner now, strained at the edges. "You're going to get us all killed, you stubborn bastard."
"Or I'll get us free," Hae-won said.
For the first time since the regression began, he believed it.
Not fully. Not enough to call it hope.
But enough to make the ledger itself flinch.
The whispers in his head didn't fade. But they changed.
Not just condemnation. Not just rage.
Something else.
Curiosity.
… modifier … observed … monitoring …
Ha-young's eyes flicked toward him, unreadable in the dim light. For once, she didn't mock, didn't warn.
She just whispered, so quiet it could have been mistaken for the ledger itself.
"Don't let it eat you before you find out how far you can bend it."
Then she left.
The door clicked shut.
Hae-won sat back in his chair, chest aching, the candle still burning bright.
And for the first time, the whispers didn't sound entirely like chains.
They sounded like a challenge.