A sharp, piercing screech shattered the silence.
Tadashi gasped, stumbling backward as the sound clawed at his mind. It
was the same as before—the same wretched cry that had marked his failure.
His hands trembled as he grasped at his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall
of his breath. The spark had disappeared, fading into the nothingness that
surrounded him, leaving behind only the bitter taste of defeat.
He clenched his fists. He had failed again.
A cold sensation coiled around his gut, twisting deeper with each passing
second. The void around him felt endless, as if the world itself had
forgotten him. How long had he been here? Hours? Days? Or had time lost
meaning altogether?
Then, from the emptiness, two figures emerged.
"Tadashi."
Kei's voice was softer than usual, lacking her usual sharpness. Rin stood
beside her, hands in her pockets, her expression unreadable. They weren't
smiling. They weren't teasing him. For once, they looked… worried.
"You're here again," Kei said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Tadashi didn't answer. He couldn't.
"That sound," Rin muttered. "It's worse every time."
Tadashi pressed his lips together, refusing to meet their eyes. He wanted to
say something—to crack a joke, to tell them he was fine—but the words
wouldn't come. His body felt heavy, his mind sluggish. Was this how it was
going to be? Failing, over and over, until he was swallowed by this place
completely?
Tadashi turned sharply. A man stepped forward, his white coat standing out
starkly against the darkness. His glasses caught the dim glow of the void,
reflecting something unreadable in his gaze.
Simon.
"You again," Tadashi muttered. "What do you want this time?"
Simon adjusted his glasses. "To enlighten you. You're under the impression
that reaching that spark is a matter of will. That if you try hard enough,
you'll grasp it eventually."
Tadashi narrowed his eyes. "Isn't it?"
Simon shook his head. "No. That's the illusion. The true difficulty of this
world doesn't depend on effort alone. It depends on something far more
intricate—something written in the very foundation of existence."
Tadashi felt a chill creep up his spine. "What are you talking about?"
Simon raised his hand. In an instant, rows upon rows of tallies began to
appear in the darkness, stretching out endlessly in every direction. Each
tally glowed faintly, pulsating with an eerie rhythm, as if they were alive.
"The difficulty of this world," Simon said, "depends on these. Each column
of tally marks dictates the weight of your existence. Your choices, your
past, your very being—everything is calculated, everything is measured.
And the more you try to defy it, the harder the world pushes back."
Tadashi's breath caught in his throat. "So you're saying… my failures aren't
just bad luck?"
"Exactly," Simon replied. "The more you struggle, the more the system
corrects itself to prevent your success. This isn't a game of persistence. It's
a battle against fate itself."
Tadashi stared at the glowing tallies, his pulse pounding in his ears. If what
Simon was saying was true… then what chance did he have?
He had always believed that pushing forward was the answer—that as long
as he kept trying, he would eventually succeed. But if the very fabric of this
world was designed to resist him, then how could he possibly win?
Simon gave him a knowing look. "The next attempt is about to begin. Are
you ready to face it?"
Tadashi's fingers curled into fists. He didn't know the answer.
But he had no choice but to find out.