Haruto awoke in the endless white. Pain lingered, but clarity formed. He wasn't dead.
From the white, a radiant presence emerged. Judgment, knowledge, authority.
> "You survived," the voice said. "Though the story tried to erase you, you remain??."
Haruto's rage coiled:
> "So it was you… all this time! You made me suffer! My parents… my childhood… my life! Everything I lived for, everything I loved — ripped away! Just so you could… watch?"
The presence pulsed.
> "You think it was cruelty? That your suffering was meaningless?"
> "Meaningless?!" he shouted. "I watched my parents die! I bled, I killed, I laughed, I lost everything — and for what? For your amusement?!"
> "You were never a toy. You were proof. Proof that even in the most controlled story, choice could exist. Every scream, every fall, every broken dream… it shaped you. It made you necessary."
> "Necessary? I call it betrayal! You made me nothing but a puppet, a plaything to test your rules!"
> "No. I gave you suffering, yes, but also the spark of defiance. You acted even when powerless. You used Insta-Kill even in arrogance… and became proof that a being could rise above destiny itself."
Memories surged: childhood laughter, parents' screams, empty streets, monsters, rooftop kills. Every shred of pain, every spark of defiance, every moment of triumph and arrogance.
A glowing page floated before him. Its edges shimmered, alive:
> "Choose your path:
– Return rewritten.
– Erase yourself.
– Remain in the margin."
Haruto whispered, hand hovering over the page:
> "Not for revenge. Not for power. But for myself. For my own story."
The Codex pulsed, approving. He felt independent. Free.
> "Then step forward. Become yourself."
Every memory and pain coalesced into resolve. He would return. Rewrite. Challenge the story.
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