Connie hesitated for far too long.
She knew it. Ayaka knew it.
Her fingers hovered over the lock, her body frozen in indecision. Was Ayaka's arrival just a normal coincidence—or was it another consequence of the System?
A sharp breath. Then—
"Connie?" Ayaka's voice softened. "You okay?"
No way out of this. Connie forced herself to move, sliding the chain lock off and cracking the door open.
Ayaka stood there, her usual lively expression replaced with concern. She was still in her school uniform—why?
"You—" Connie's voice almost cracked. She cleared her throat. "What are you doing here?"
Ayaka frowned. "I was passing by after cram school. You weren't answering my texts."
Texts?
Connie's stomach dropped.
She hadn't checked her phone after the last reset.
A terrible realization struck her. If she looped to an earlier point before checking her messages… wouldn't that mean the unread ones would be exactly the same each time?
Connie forced a smile. "Sorry, I was… busy."
Ayaka raised an eyebrow. "You look pale. Are you sick?"
Not sick. Just mentally unraveling because I keep getting murdered, kidnapped, or almost flattened by a train.
"I didn't sleep well."
Ayaka sighed. "Don't tell me you skipped dinner again. You do that all the time, you know."
For a split second, the normalcy of the conversation almost convinced Connie that things were fine. That tonight was just another regular night.
But the dented frying pan still sat on the counter.
And the System's latest message was still burned into her phone screen.
[Death Flag Resolved. Points: 8.]
Nothing was normal.
Connie barely slept.
Her mind refused to quiet down, replaying the train derailment, the intruder, and the loop resets over and over.
What were the rules of the System? Did death flags only apply to her? Or could they involve other people too?
What if she missed a death flag because she was too slow to realize it?
Her eyes burned from exhaustion as the first hints of morning sunlight crept through her window.
She had to go to school.
She had to pretend everything was fine.
Even if, deep down, she knew her life had already spiraled out of control.
The streets were still damp from the night's rain as Connie walked to school, her breath visible in the morning air.
She was jumpy.
Every streetlight, every passing car, every small movement felt like a potential death flag.
Would she get hit by a car if she stepped off the sidewalk too soon? Would a flower pot fall on her head from a balcony? Would she choke on her own breakfast?
She exhaled slowly. Calm down.
She turned a familiar corner and saw the bus stop. A few students were already there, chatting absentmindedly as they waited.
Then—
An uneasy feeling crawled up her spine.
Something was wrong.
She didn't know what. Didn't know why.
But she knew something was about to happen.
Her heartbeat quickened. Was this a death flag?
But who was in danger?
The students? The bus driver? Her?
The hairs on her arms stood on end.
Then—
A distant honking sound.
Loud. Too loud.
Her head whipped to the side just in time to see—
A city bus, hurtling forward at full speed.
It wasn't slowing down. Wasn't stopping.
People screamed.
The world blinked.
Connie staggered backward, breathless.
She was back at the previous intersection.
The sun was in the exact same place. The street was still damp. Her breath still visible in the air.
Her hands were trembling.
She looked ahead—
The bus stop was there. The students were there.
She hadn't even reached the danger zone yet.
The loop had reset right before she saw the impact.
Her pulse pounded against her skull.
The bus was going to crash again.
And unless she stopped it…
People were going to die.
Connie rushed forward.
The bus stop. The students. The bus. She had seconds to act.
She had to stop them.
But how?
Would yelling work? Would they listen to her?
She opened her mouth to shout—
Then—
HONK.
Her body froze.
The same terrible screeching of tires. The same overwhelming panic.
The world blinked.
Connie gasped.
She was back again.
Intersection. Same damp air. Same breath visible in front of her.
Her hands clenched into fists.
This was worse than the train derailment.
At least then, she had time to react.
This?
She barely had seconds.
Think. Think, damn it!
Yelling didn't work. Running didn't work.
She needed to go further back.
The driver—what about the driver?
If she could stop the bus before it even reached the stop…
Her legs moved on their own.
She sprinted toward the previous intersection, toward the bus's next red light.
Her chest burned, her breath ragged. The bus was coming.
Red light. It was red.
If it stayed red long enough—
Then—
The light flicked green.
And the bus sped through the intersection.
Connie's heart sank.
The driver wasn't slowing down.
No—
No, it wasn't just that.
His head was slumped forward.
His hands were limp on the wheel.
Connie's stomach twisted in horror.
The driver wasn't just reckless.
He was unconscious.
This wasn't just an accident.
It was a guaranteed death flag.
A no-win scenario.
But she always had one more chance.
Her body moved before she could think.
The bus was approaching.
She had to do something insane.
So she ran directly into the road.
She lifted both arms—waving frantically.
A student gasped.
A woman shouted—
The driver didn't react.
But the passengers did.
A boy in the front seat noticed her. His eyes widened in shock.
Then—
He shook the driver violently.
A split second before impact—
The driver jerked awake.
His hands slammed the brakes.
The bus skidded. Tilted. Came to a stop—
Inches from the crowded sidewalk.
Connie collapsed onto her knees, gasping for air.
Her phone vibrated.
[Death Flag Resolved. Points: 13.]
She had done it.
But she had also learned something terrifying.
Some death flags were impossible to prevent alone.
And that meant, eventually—
She'd have to get someone else involved.