The system did not come back.
Every few seconds, Blake's eyes drifted toward the space where translucent panels usually hovered. The air remained stubbornly empty.
No notifications. No favorability updates. No reminders.
Just classroom noise and the steady hum of fluorescent lights.
He had never realized how much he relied on it until it vanished.
The afternoon classes passed in fragments.
Blake wrote down notes automatically, though he couldn't remember a single sentence afterward. His awareness kept splitting in two, half of him tracking Myles' position in the room, half of him listening for the mechanical chime of the system returning.
It never did.
Myles sat two rows behind him in history. Not by coincidence, Blake had arrived late, scanning the room too long before choosing a seat. Myles had already been there, posture straight, hands folded loosely over an open notebook. He did not use earphones this time.
He listened.
Or at least, he appeared to.
Once, midway through the lecture, Blake felt it again, that quiet weight of attention. It wasn't obvious by any means. Just the faint awareness that someone's gaze had settled and was not moving.
'I can't turn now. That would only confirm it...'
Instead, he let three seconds pass. Four. Five.
Then he shifted in his chair as if stretching and glanced back casually.
Myles' eyes were already elsewhere, focused on the board.
Blake looked forward again, his pulse uneven.
He hadn't imagined it. He was almost certain he hadn't, on his literal first day.
Without the system's commentary, the uncertainty felt larger. Before, there had always been text, numbers, something quantifiable to hold onto.
Now there was only interpretation.
In physics, Myles answered two questions after being asked to. He answered one right, then the other one wrong.
'He truly knows how not to catch attention. Impressive.'
Blake found himself watching the side of his face again, the way his expression didn't shift even after the teacher complimented him and later corrected him, the way he returned to silence as though speaking had cost him nothing and gained him nothing.
It was unsettling how contained he was.
When the final bell rang, the release of noise felt almost violent. Chairs scraped back. Conversations reignited at full volume. Blake packed his bag more slowly than necessary, stealing a glance toward the back of the room.
Myles was already standing.
He didn't look at Blake.
He walked past him without pause, merging into the hallway current.
Blake hesitated before following, keeping a consistent distance.
Outside, the late-afternoon sun washed the campus in pale gold. Students clustered near the gates, some lingering to talk, others rushing toward buses. Myles didn't slow down.
Blake almost called out to him.
He stopped himself.
Without the system pushing a mission into his face, there was no immediate reason to approach him or a timer ticking down. No penalty hovering over his head.
'Why should I dig my own grave any further...?'
He watched as Myles reached the bus stop and joined the small group waiting there. The same bus as before. The same position near the rear door.
Blake joined the line a few people back.
The ride was uneventful. No conversation. No charged silence. Just the rhythmic sway of the vehicle and the blur of buildings sliding past the windows.
At one stop, an elderly woman boarded, moving slowly with a cane. The bus was nearly full.
Before Blake could think about standing, Myles was already on his feet. He didn't say anything. He simply stepped aside and gestured briefly toward his seat.
The woman thanked him twice. He inclined his head once in acknowledgment and moved toward the back without expression.
Blake watched the exchange from across the aisle.
'He truly knows how to put on an act.'
He tried to recall the forum discussions he'd skimmed about Hero Lab Disaster back in his original world. Threads analyzing Myles Cortez as a "textbook psychopath," as "chaos," as "emotionally vacant."
But the boy standing near the bus exit, one hand lightly gripping the overhead rail to steady himself, didn't look vacant.
He looked aware.
Blake's stop came first. He stepped off the bus into the cooler air of early evening and watched through the window as Myles remained inside, his profile framed by the fading light.
Their eyes met briefly through the glass.
Myles didn't look away.
Neither did Blake.
The bus pulled off, breaking the line of sight.
***
The apartment felt smaller than it had that morning.
Blake locked the door behind him and leaned against it, exhaling slowly. The silence pressed in from all sides. No chatter. No footsteps in hallways. No system voice chiming "Dear Host" at inconvenient intervals.
He dropped his bag on the floor and stared at the empty air in front of him.
Nothing appeared.
"Are you just…gone?" he muttered.
Still nothing.
He paced once across the room, then twice. The farewell letter lay where he had dropped it earlier, crumpled near the bed. He avoided looking at it.
Without missions, what was he supposed to do? Study? Eat? Sleep?
Live normally?
The thought was almost laughable.
He pulled out the phone and checked the date again.
November 11, 2125.
Blake Ashford's birthday.
And death day.
His stomach twisted.
Had the original Blake chosen this date intentionally? Symbolism had a way of clinging to tragedies. He tried to imagine the thoughts that would lead someone to write a goodbye letter at eighteen.
Loneliness, maybe.
Pressure.
Or something more specific.
Blake Ashford hadn't been popular or seemed to have had any contact with Myles.
The room felt colder.
He dropped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. His mind replayed Myles' words from lunch.
You should decide what you're actually seeing.
'It wasn't accusatory. If anything, it sounded...clinical.'
As though Myles were testing a hypothesis.
Blake rolled onto his side and pressed his face into the pillow.
"What did the system mean by data inconsistency? Or projected model?"
He sat up abruptly.
If the system had been operating on flawed assumptions, then every mission so far had been based on incomplete information.
"Maybe I don't have to seduce him, after all!"
The silence did not answer.
...
Sleep came in fragments.
He dreamed of red text flickering across a black sky, of numbers rearranging themselves faster than he could read. In the dream, he was staring at something he couldn't see, and something unseen was staring back.
He woke before his alarm, heart racing, the early dawn light thin and gray across the walls.
For a moment, he lay still, listening.
Nothing.
Then—
A soft chime.
Blake bolted upright.
The familiar translucent interface unfolded slowly in front of him, lines of text stabilizing into legible form.
[ System Reboot Complete. ]
Relief flooded him so sharply it bordered on anger.
"Where were you?" he demanded.
[ Temporary interference resolved. ]
"That's not an explanation, come on."
The screen flickered once, as though considering whether to elaborate. It didn't.
[ Daily Objective Update Available. ]
Blake scrubbed a hand down his face.
"Of course there is. Can't you spare me?"
Text scrolled into place.
[ Secondary Condition Added. ]
[ Maintain target proximity without triggering defensive escalation. ]
Blake stared at it.
"Defensive escalation?"
[ Parameter threshold recalibrated. Excessive behavioral deviation may result in accelerated hostility. ]
"So you're saying I can't just…act randomly anymore."
[ Correct. ]
He laughed quietly, though there was no humor in it.
"I didn't realize I was acting randomly."
The system didn't respond.
"What about my reward?"
[ Reward: roulette skill ]
[ Press here → ⚫ ]
Blake pressed it as he picked his uniform up.
[ Now That I Think About It, My Lover Is Always Right! (C) ]
He got dressed in the same uniform, moving more slowly this time to read carefully.
[ Effect: The target will feel like you're right in a situation in which you might be wrong or suspicious. ]
"Ah... well. I suppose that's useful. But why am I only getting low-grade skills? Can't I get an A-level one or something?"
[ Dear Host, skills increase in value when favorability becomes higher. ]
"How unfair."
In the meantime, he turned on the TV.
"Last night, there was an attack directed at the main state building. It is believed to be UD and his organization. The last time they struck, they..."
"God... the moment I try to distract myself, he shows up on TV."
UD.
Blake didn't remember what it stood for, however, that was Myles' alter ego, the one who committed crimes and was a threat to the entire world.
"Money, money..." He searched through all the drawers and finally, some cash fell out.
'Whatever. I should still look for a job, unless the system plans on paying me.'
Blake turned off the TV, sighing, and as he stepped out of the apartment building, the morning air carried the faint chill of late autumn. The city looked unchanged, cars moving steadily, pedestrians crossing streets, storefronts opening for business.
Ordinary.
He reached the bus stop a few minutes early.
Myles was already there.
Standing slightly apart from the small cluster of students, hands in his coat pockets, gaze angled toward the street.
Blake stopped a few steps away.
He didn't stare this time.
He watched peripherally, letting his eyes drift naturally instead of locking on.
The bus arrived.
They boarded.
This time, Blake chose a seat across the aisle instead of behind or in front of him.
Myles sat by the window again.
As the bus pulled away from the curb, Blake felt it: the faint, unmistakable sensation of being assessed.
He turned his head slightly.
Myles wasn't looking at him directly.
His gaze was angled toward the reflection in the glass.
And in that reflection, Blake could see himself.
Watching.
'I can't believe I fell for it a second time!'
The corner of Myles' eye shifted almost imperceptibly, tracking the movement.
Blake looked forward again, his heart steady but no longer frantic.
The system remained silent, no favorability numbers flashing.
No immediate warnings.
Just the quiet hum of the engine and the city sliding past outside.
Across the aisle, Myles' reflection didn't move.
But his eyes did.
And this time, Blake was certain.
He wasn't the only one observing anymore.