Chapter 10
<47 days of hell>(13)
✧A world without....✧
The paper felt gritty and rough, tasting more like dust and ash than anything meant to be swallowed. But I kept going, tearing it piece by piece, each fragment dissolving into bitterness on my tongue. The words and symbols seemed to pulse with a faint glow, as though resisting. It felt like swallowing sand, each bite grating against the back of my throat. My stomach churned, but I forced it down.
As the last shred disappeared, I felt a strange, pulsing sensation in my head—a hollow ache, but I couldn't place why. Just as I was beginning to wonder if I'd done it wrong, a blue-and-red system window appeared in front of me, cutting through the dimness of my room.
[Quest Completed!]
I sat back, a strange, uncomfortable emptiness settling over me. The words hung there, confirming what I'd waited for all this time.
Day 45
The day started like any other. I woke up feeling numb, still tasting that strange, brittle paper in my mouth. Last night's "meal" didn't sit right, and even now, my stomach churned uncomfortably. But I shrugged it off. I'd completed the quest, right? That's what I told myself, though deep down, the hollowness didn't shift.
I walked through the orphanage halls with purpose, stopping to chat briefly with the younger kids. Their faces were blurry to me now, just passing figures in this repetitive play. It was like someone had wiped my memories clean of Minato—or maybe I was doing it to myself. Either way, I couldn't bring myself to care.
At lunch, I sat beside Kaede, a quiet girl who barely spoke above a whisper. "What do you think is out there, past the gates?" I asked her, trying to break the silence.
She shrugged, staring down at her half-eaten sandwich. "I dunno. Why? Do you want to escape or something?"
I chuckled, the sound hollow even to my ears. "Maybe." Escape seemed pointless, but it was easier to pretend sometimes.
Day 46
The day crawled forward in its usual way. I had grown used to this dreary monotony, the way everything around me felt suffocating and faded. During breakfast, I spotted Mark across the room, his gaze occasionally flicking toward me with a guarded suspicion. A part of me wanted to sneer at him, but I knew that would only end badly.
As the day went on, I felt the familiar itch returning—an urge I couldn't suppress. I ducked into the restroom and pulled out the compass from my pocket. Its pointed end was dull from repeated use, but I pressed it into my skin, watching as thin lines of red surfaced along my arm. The sting was a brief reminder that I was still here, still able to feel something, even if it was just pain.
Later, in the hallway, I ran into Rei, a kid around my age who had a knack for disappearing when chores were assigned. "You okay, Hoshino?" he asked, a glimmer of concern in his eyes.
I gave him a smile that felt foreign. "Just tired, I guess." He shrugged and moved on, and I was left alone again.
Day 47
Midnight came and went, and I was still awake, lying in bed with a sense of restlessness gnawing at me. The memory of eating that cursed paper haunted me, the sensation still vivid on my tongue. Why had I done it? Was it all just a desperate attempt to break free from this relentless loop?
At exactly 12:00, a strange blue-and-red system window appeared, glowing faintly in the darkness. Its words sent a chill down my spine:
[You have survived!]
The moment everything around me froze, I knew something was wrong. The air turned thick and unyielding, trapping me in a strange silence, every sound smothered. Then the first message appeared, floating in front of me in bold, clinical blue and red:
[Side Quest: Kill Keter]
[Completed]
"Side quest?" I asked , trying to understand, but the system seemed intent on giving me no time to think. Another message followed almost immediately:
[Curse File: Destroyed]
[Quest: Survive 47 Days]
[Completed]
I watched the words flash, each one like a weight pressing down on my chest, and I felt a hollow pit opening up inside me. I'd done everything, reached the end, but there was no release, no sense of freedom—only the cold mechanical finality of a game ending. Then came the last message, cutting through everything I thought I understood:
[Simulation Completed!]
[Act 1 Completed!]
[You have completed the tutorial!]
[Error!You are too strong for this world.]
I felt my heart stutter. "Too strong? What is this supposed to mean?"
The text faded, replaced by something colder, something that seemed to speak right into my mind:
[Imagine a world where everyone cries, where pain and suffering prosper.]
[Where no one has to die.]
[That world can only exist...without you.]
My vision blurred as the world itself seemed to recoil, the walls closing in. A pressure, sharp and unrelenting, started to clamp around my throat. I gasped, trying to draw in air, but every breath felt as though it was sucked away before it could fill my lungs. My hands flew to my throat instinctively, but there was nothing there to grab—just the crushing, suffocating force that was squeezing the life out of me.
"N-no… stop… this isn't…," I croaked, but even my voice was swallowed by the pressure, leaving me in silence. Colors dimmed and darkened, my vision flickering as I sank to my knees, struggling against the inevitable. It felt like my mind was fracturing, thoughts splitting and merging in chaotic desperation.
The pressure grew heavier, filling every cell, every corner of my body, and my limbs trembled, unable to resist any longer. My heart pounded one last time, then faltered, and finally… finally, there was only darkness.
As Hoshino's last breath left his body, an unnatural stillness enveloped the world. There was no reset, no return to the cycle he had come to know and dread. His lifeless form lay on the cold floor, untouched by time's merciless rewind, and with his passing, something broke—a rift opened in the very fabric of reality.
It began as a hairline fracture in the sky above, a small, trembling gap that seemed to breathe with a dark, ominous life of its own. A faint, otherworldly glow seeped through, casting a cold blue hue across the world. Then, as if emboldened by Hoshino's absence, the rift widened, releasing tendrils of blue flame that twisted and writhed, eager to consume.
The flames spread quickly, snaking across the earth in relentless waves, devouring everything in their path. Forests ignited in azure fire, cities collapsed into ash, and oceans evaporated under the merciless heat. The world became an inferno, a swirling vortex of destruction, with the blue flames creeping over every mountain and swallowing every valley, leaving nothing but scorched, empty land in their wake.
Far above, the moon shuddered in the night sky, a fractured reflection of the chaos below. It trembled, cracks spidering across its pale surface until, with a dreadful inevitability, it began to descend. The moon fell in slow motion, looming larger and larger as it hurtled toward the earth, a colossal harbinger of doom.
People scattered in terror, their screams echoing as they fled—some from the collapsing sky, others from the shifting landscape, but there was no escape. Blue flames surged through streets, consuming buildings and homes, while the moon's relentless descent cast an oppressive shadow over the lands below. It struck the earth with a soundless explosion, sending shockwaves that rippled across continents, tearing the ground open and exposing the raw, churning depths beneath.
Above the devastation, the sun grew dark and ominous, its once-warm glow replaced by a blood-red hue. It glowered down on the broken world, an eye of rage and desolation, as its crimson rays stretched like claws across the sky. The familiar yellow light was gone, replaced by a sinister scarlet that painted the landscape in shades of ruin.
Yet the horrors didn't stop there. People twisted and convulsed, their forms bending and reshaping as something monstrous took hold. Ordinary humans became beasts, their eyes void of reason, bodies mutated into grotesque parodies of what they had once been. They turned on one another in a frenzy, compelled by an insatiable hunger and a mindless rage. Families, friends, and strangers alike were caught in the merciless grip of this transformation, each new creature adding to the chaos that now ruled the world.
In the shadows cast by the red sun, a silent plague began to seep into the air, spreading like an unseen miasma. Skin grew pale, veins turned black, and breaths grew labored as the disease swept through the remaining survivors, an invisible reaper among the flames and blood. The afflicted fell one by one, their bodies twitching and writhing as the sickness consumed them from within, leaving only hollow, twisted shells.
The earth itself seemed to groan under the weight of so much death and ruin. Cracks widened, splitting open fields and forests, swallowing entire regions as the planet's very core destabilized. Rivers ran dry, mountains crumbled, and oceans hissed into clouds of steam as the land gave in to the relentless destruction. No part of it was spared, and soon, even the beasts—the last twisted remnants of humanity—were nothing more than ash on the wind.
The red sun's fury grew until its fiery light was all that remained, a final, blazing mark upon a world that no longer resembled its former self. Its rays intensified, scorching the already desolate landscape until there was nothing left but a barren, lifeless rock, a memory of a once-living world. The sun expanded, its dying flames licking out into the void, devouring the earth in one last merciful act of oblivion.
As the planet crumbled into the fiery maw of the sun, the devastation extended beyond, creeping into the heart of the cosmos. Stars blinked out one by one, galaxies spun into darkness, and the fabric of the universe began to wither and decay. What was once vibrant and teeming with life became a husk, a graveyard of extinguished stars and collapsed realms, lost to the void.
In the end, there was only silence—a vast, echoing emptiness where creation had once flourished. And as if mocking the destruction it had wrought, a final message flickered into existence, stark and cold against the endless darkness:
[World Rank: D → C]
The notification lingered, a last remnant of an unseen system that had orchestrated this tragic end. The universe remained still, a hollow void where life and light had once danced, now reduced to a solitary message fading into the darkness, leaving nothing behind.
✧
Life....What is life? I've asked myself that question countless times, only to be met with silence. An answer never really seems to come, at least not in a way that feels complete, not in a way that solves anything. Everyone has their own life, distinct from everyone else's, with experiences and paths that could not be any more unique if they tried. Life is like a prism – you turn it, and you see different hues, but you can never quite see the whole spectrum at once. Every turn reveals a different side, a new shade that was hidden before. If we shift our viewpoint, if we truly dive into another's perspective, life divides, fragments, separates into something new. It stretches across a million moments, a thousand choices, fragments that somehow still form a whole.
Each person's life, shaped by choices, takes on a unique form and texture. Some people have a life that seems endlessly bright, touched by happiness and security, and we wonder if they've found a secret, some hidden truth, in their choices. For them, it looks as if choices are just stepping stones to a better future, as if life hands them the privilege of joy by virtue of their decisions. But life isn't always that neat. We don't all get to walk a linear path, don't all get to see the results of our choices reflected back at us as something beautiful. Some choices are laced with regret, with loss, with confusion and doubt that lingers long after we've moved forward. Choices, the little things we decide, the crossroads we encounter, accumulate and make us who we are. They create us. They turn into the days, the weeks, and the years that end up defining our lives.
There's something cruelly ironic about it. We live life, shaping and building it through our choices, but at the same time, life seems to live us. The days slip away like grains of sand through our fingers. Days turn into weeks; they pile into months, and then years, until those years blur and bleed into decades. And before we know it, a life that once felt like a stretch of endless moments has become a tapestry woven with memories, a mosaic of emotions, hopes, regrets, and remnants of the person we thought we'd be.
The passage of time can be relentless, ruthless. When we are young, time seems infinite, filled with possibility. The days move slowly, and each experience feels new and profound. Yet, as we grow older, time feels quicker, as though it has picked up speed. Days melt into weeks, weeks into months, and suddenly, the years are slipping by faster than we can hold them. Eventually, decades roll by, and time feels as vast and untamable as an ocean, swallowing up moments that once felt important, memories that were once vivid and bright. Eons and millennia could pass, and still, life would churn on without pause, folding our lives into the grander scheme, where our existence feels like a mere blip against an endless, cosmic backdrop.
Desires, though – those are the starting point. Our desires shape our decisions, guide our instincts. What we yearn for, what we dream of – these are the seeds from which our choices grow. A desire, even the tiniest flicker of a longing, sets in motion a whole series of events. Desires turn into choices, and those choices start shaping coincidences, unexpected twists of fate that we stumble upon by mere chance, or so it seems. A simple decision, a path chosen or avoided, creates an entire ripple of scenarios we never could have predicted.
And with each scenario, emotions are born. Love, fear, joy, regret, longing – all emotions that fill us, that leave marks upon our souls. Emotions aren't just reactions; they're landscapes we inhabit, places where we dwell and grow. And sometimes, they're labyrinths from which we struggle to escape. Emotions drive us, alter us. They become the fuel for our thoughts, shaping the way we view the world and our place within it. Anger can become a shield; sadness, a weight; joy, a light that warms us. And sometimes, those emotions tangle together in ways we don't understand, leaving us with thoughts that we can barely comprehend, ideas that haunt or inspire, concepts that challenge our sense of who we are and where we belong.
From thoughts, dreams are born. These dreams, fragile and fleeting, rise up like fragile wisps of smoke, visions of a life we want but do not yet have, visions of a self we haven't yet met. Dreams are what give life color, the vibrancy of imagination, the hope for what could be. They are the future we wish to write, the whispers of possibility that keep us moving forward when reality becomes too heavy, too dim. And sometimes, those dreams solidify, become daydreams, moments where we allow ourselves to escape from the present, to live briefly in a world of our own making.
Daydreams are our soul's way of practicing freedom, a safe haven from the rigidity of our daily existence. For a moment, we're free, untethered by limitations, constraints, fears. In our daydreams, we are everything we want to be; we live the lives we have yet to build, or perhaps can never build. Daydreams give us solace and a place to rest, even when the reality surrounding us feels too raw, too difficult to face.
Yet, daydreams fade. They slip away, falling into the recesses of our memory, taking their place among all the other memories we've gathered. Our memories become a storehouse, a museum of everything we've experienced, everything we've loved and lost, every joy and sorrow, every touch of light and shadow. These memories, once vivid, lose their sharpness with time. They turn hazy, blending together, succumbing to the dust of forgotten moments. Some memories stay close, held onto as sacred treasures, while others drift, slipping away, leaving us with only faint impressions of what once was.
And eventually, even those precious memories can fade. They surrender to the unstoppable march of time, slowly dissolving like grains of sand blown away by the wind. What remains are fragments, echoes of the person we once were, the lives we lived, and the choices that defined us. In time, even those fragments might be lost, scattered among the stars, part of an endless cycle where each of us is just a small part of something greater, something infinite.
Life is this strange blend of fragility and endurance, a paradox of significance and insignificance. We are here, feeling as though our lives are the center of the universe, but in the grand scheme, we are merely tiny sparks, flickering briefly before fading away. And perhaps that's why life feels so elusive, why it's so hard to define or understand. We're caught between existing and fading, between making choices that matter and knowing they're part of something beyond our control.
And yet, we keep going. We keep choosing, keep dreaming, keep holding on to the moments that make us feel alive, even if we know, deep down, that time will eventually take them away. We hold on to the love, the hope, the laughter, and even the sorrow, because it's all we have. It's what makes us human, what binds us together in our shared search for meaning, for purpose, for something that goes beyond the inevitable passing of days, weeks, months, and years.
In the end, life is this dance between creation and dissolution, between holding on and letting go. We are the sum of our choices, the result of our desires and dreams, and yet, we are also the dust that will one day return to the earth, part of an endless cycle that has no beginning and no end.
For me, life is a tragedy. It's not simply the passage of time or the common ups and downs of existence, but something far more relentless. It's the loops, the constant cycles that seem to drag me back to the same starting point, as though I'm caught in a never-ending spiral. It's the regressions, the setbacks that wipe away whatever progress I've made, leaving me stranded in places I thought I'd left behind. Every time I feel like I'm beginning to move forward, life seems to hit a reset button, pulling me back, testing my resilience.
It's as though I'm stuck in some grand, cosmic loop, where the same scenes, the same battles, and the same heartbreak play out over and over. Each loop takes a piece of me with it, leaving me a little more hollow, a little more worn. And yet, I'm expected to keep going, to pick up the pieces and try again, even as the weight of it all becomes nearly unbearable. Life, it seems, is a series of trials that repeat without end, and every time I go through them, they cut just a little deeper.
Perhaps the hardest part is the loss — the pain of losing loved ones, of watching people I care about fade away, one by one. They say time heals all wounds, but I think time only buries them deeper. The losses don't go away; they accumulate. Every new loss brings back the memories of those who have already gone, a fresh wound on top of scars that have barely had time to heal. And in a way, each loss feels like a betrayal, as if life is breaking its promise to me, reminding me that nothing, no one, is truly safe. The people I love, the ones who bring color to my world, are all fragile, just as mortal as I am. And one by one, they are taken, leaving me to carry on with only memories and emptiness to fill the space where they once stood.
It's hard to keep hope alive when every bond, every connection, feels like a ticking clock, counting down to an inevitable ending. Every moment of joy is shadowed by the knowledge that it won't last, that eventually, it will be stripped away. And yet, I keep living through these loops, these regressions and resets, as if trapped in some cruel game with no way out. I'm haunted by the sense that each new day, each new attempt to move forward, will only bring me back to the same pain, the same aching sense of loss that never truly fades.
So, yes, life feels like a tragedy to me — an endless repetition of hope and despair, love and loss, each cycle leaving me more exhausted, more fractured. It's as if life itself is testing me, asking how much I can endure, how many times I can bear to start over, knowing that every new beginning is just another step toward an inevitable end. And still, for reasons I can't fully understand, I continue.
As I opened my eyes, expecting the nothingness of true death, I found myself blinking against a burning, brilliant light. A heavy realization gnawed at me—I'm still here.
I couldn't help but scoff. "So, I can't even die properly, huh? Figures." The irony of it stung more than any of the absurd loops I'd been forced through. How many times had I thought I'd reached the end? And yet, here I was, staring at a sky I didn't recognize.
As I sat up, trying to piece together where exactly I had landed this time, a strange voice cut through my thoughts, shattering the silence.
"A will be executed today, Raven Nightshade."
The name hit me like a punch. "Raven… Nightshade?" I muttered, staring blankly. The name clawed at something within me, something long buried beneath layers of confusion and forced apathy. That was not my name, and yet, it felt stitched to me somehow. And with a name like that, who wouldn't roll their eyes?
I glanced up and found myself staring into the eyes of a knight—a figure clad in dark, heavy armor that gleamed in the strange, dim light. His face was hidden behind a sleek helmet, but I could feel his gaze as it pinned me in place. He held a spear in his hand, the tip of it not metal, but pure, flickering flame. The heat radiated out in waves, licking at my skin, a sensation that felt far too real for comfort.
"Who are you?" I asked, forcing a mocking grin. "My welcoming committee?"
The knight said nothing, just reached down and grabbed me, his grip like iron around my wrist. I yanked my arm back instinctively, but he didn't budge, dragging me forward as if I were nothing more than a rag doll.
"Oh, great. So, kidnapping? Really original," I sneered, my voice dripping with sarcasm. But deep down, a pang of panic began to take root. This was different. My body wasn't looping back, wasn't resetting like it always did. And as much as I wanted to pretend I didn't care, that I wasn't fazed, something about the finality of it all made my chest tighten.
The knight remained silent, dragging me through a path lined with stone walls, his fiery spear illuminating the way. My attempts to wrench free felt increasingly useless; his grip was unyielding, and every step hammered in a reality I wanted to deny. *This is real. This is happening.*
Eventually, the path opened up, and I found myself facing a massive wooden platform. A guillotine stood at its center, its sharp blade gleaming in the strange light, waiting. I stared at it, something icy trickling down my spine as I recognized the inevitable.
The knight pushed me forward, his grip never loosening. I stumbled, catching myself before I hit the ground, only to look up and see a crowd gathering around the platform. They filled the area, faces blurred and indistinct, all murmuring and whispering as they gazed at me. I could feel the weight of their stares, the raw judgment in their eyes.
"Execute him!" a voice rang out, followed by another, and then another. The crowd's cries grew louder, building into a relentless chant, a chorus that seemed to echo in the pit of my stomach.
I swallowed, forcing a smirk as I took a step forward, shrugging off the knight's grip. "You all seriously think this is going to break me?" I said, my voice ringing out, equal parts sarcasm and defiance. "Do your worst. I've died a thousand times. One more won't change a thing."
The crowd's roar swelled, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt a twinge of… something. Something that I had long thought had died within me. It was more than fear; it was a kind of dreadful acceptance, the kind that sinks into your bones and refuses to leave.
The knight seized my shoulder, his grip pulling me back to the platform. My struggles were feeble, my sarcastic facade crumbling as I was pushed toward the guillotine. They forced me down, my neck pressed against the cold wooden block, the blade gleaming above me.
I took a shaky breath, my mind racing. I could feel the weight of it all—the futility, the endless cycles, and the nagging, bitter truth that maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't be coming back from this one. The fear was raw, more real than I'd felt in ages.
"Any last words?" someone sneered, their voice dripping with disdain.
I glanced up, feeling my smirk return, brittle and bitter. "Yeah," I whispered, my voice low. "This game was rigged from the start."
As the blade hovered above, I felt the weight of all the loops, all the resets, press down on me, along with a strange, bitter calm. Somehow, this felt different, real in a way none of the other loops ever had. And yet, a part of me, that twisted, worn-down part, couldn't help but smile.
I lifted my head just slightly, enough to sneer at the crowd, voice dripping with the sarcasm that was now my armor. "So, you all needed a shiny blade and a whole show just to take me down? Not exactly creative, are we?"
A ripple went through the crowd, but their anger only fed the smirk that tugged at my lips. "Here's a tip for the next execution—try making it 'interesting' next time."
And then, just as I felt the finality of it sink in, my last thought hung in the air, bitter and sardonic, "End of the line, right? …..Finally."
✧
End of volume 1.