Morning light crept through the narrow gap in the curtains, pale and indifferent.
I sat at the edge of the bed, my back straight, my hands folded in my lap like I was waiting to be judged. Every sound in the apartment felt amplified—the hum of the refrigerator, the distant traffic, even my own breathing.
06:12:48
The countdown still hadn't moved.
That was wrong.
In my previous life, time never waited for anyone. And this system—this thing that claimed to control my survival—had been obsessively precise.
Until now.
"You said my survival probability is linked to his emotional state," I said silently. "Define linked."
No response.
The silence stretched on, heavy and deliberate.
"Answer me," I pressed.
[Warning:]
Excessive inquiry may result in corrective measures.
My lips curved into a humorless smile.
"There it is," I murmured. "Threats instead of answers."
Behind me, I felt movement.
"You're talking to yourself again," he said.
I flinched before I could stop myself.
When I turned around, he was standing by the window, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Morning light cut sharp lines across his face, emphasizing the tension in his jaw.
"You do that when you're nervous," he continued calmly. "You always have."
My throat tightened.
In my previous life, I'd never noticed how closely he watched me.
Or maybe I had—and chose to ignore it.
"I didn't sleep well," I said.
"That makes two of us."
He pushed away from the window and walked toward me, slow and unhurried. Every step he took sent a subtle pulse through my chest.
Not fear.
Anticipation.
[Alert:]
Subject A-01 emotional fluctuation detected.
I froze.
"What does that mean?" I asked internally.
[Response:]
Monitoring only. No action required.
A lie.
I could feel it.
He stopped a few feet away from me. Close enough that I could smell the faint scent of soap and something sharper beneath it—something metallic, like rain before a storm.
"You're acting like you're waiting for something bad to happen," he said quietly. "Like you already know the ending."
My fingers dug into the fabric of my jeans.
"Maybe I do."
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
The air shifted instantly.
His gaze sharpened, all traces of casual concern gone. "What does that mean?"
Pain sparked behind my eyes—sharp, warning, restrained.
[Unauthorized deviation detected.]
I sucked in a breath and forced my voice steady. "It means I've made bad choices before."
Not a lie.
Just not the truth he wanted.
The pain receded—but didn't disappear completely.
It lingered, like a hand pressed lightly against my throat.
"You're afraid of me," he said.
The statement wasn't accusatory.
It was observant.
I shook my head. "No."
He stepped closer.
One step.
[Caution:]
Proximity exceeding optimal emotional range.
"Then why are your hands shaking?" he asked.
I hadn't noticed.
I curled my fingers into fists.
"Sit down," he said suddenly.
I looked up at him.
"That wasn't a suggestion," he added.
Something cold slid down my spine.
In my past life, that tone always preceded something irreversible.
I sat.
He took the chair opposite me, leaning forward, forearms resting on his knees. The distance between us felt carefully measured—intentional.
"You came to me yesterday like you were running out of time," he said. "You insisted on staying. You panicked whenever I touched you… until you didn't."
My heart pounded harder with every word.
"And now?" he continued. "Now you're calmer. Like you passed some invisible test."
The system went very, very quiet.
[Critical:]
Observation parameters under strain.
I lifted my eyes to meet his.
"What if I told you I didn't have a choice?" I asked softly.
The pain surged—harder this time.
I gasped, my vision blurring.
[Warning.]
Do not approach disclosure threshold.
He was on his feet instantly.
"Hey." His hand wrapped around my wrist. "What's happening to you?"
The pain vanished.
Completely.
I sucked in a sharp breath, stunned.
That wasn't how it usually worked.
[System latency detected.]
I stared at the message.
Latency.
For the first time since my rebirth, the system was slow.
His grip tightened—not painfully, but firmly. "You're not sick," he said. "And this isn't stress."
I looked at him.
Really looked.
This was the man the system had chained my survival to.
"You don't remember killing me," I thought.
"But you're still dangerous."
"I need you to trust me," I said.
The words tasted bitter.
His brows drew together. "Trust works both ways."
The system chimed—late.
[Penalty Warning:]
Host emotional manipulation detected.
I laughed softly.
"So that's what this is to you?" I asked internally. "Manipulation?"
No answer.
Only another notification, flashing red.
[Hidden Variable Identified.]
Subject A-01 possesses partial resistance to system influence.
My breath caught.
Resistance?
That explained the hesitation.
The delay.
The lies.
He was watching me closely now, like he was trying to memorize my face.
"You're in trouble," he said quietly. "I don't know with what. Or with who."
He paused.
"But if someone is threatening you…" His jaw tightened. "They picked the wrong way to do it."
The system screamed.
[ERROR.]
Unpredicted protective response detected.
Pain slammed into me—violent, uncontrolled.
I cried out, collapsing forward.
His arms caught me before I hit the floor.
The pain cut off mid-surge.
Dead silence filled my head.
No countdown.
No warnings.
Nothing.
I clung to his shirt, shaking, my mind racing.
The system hadn't stopped me this time.
It hadn't even tried.
And in that terrifying quiet, one truth became painfully clear:
The system was losing control.