The classroom held the stale, lingering scent of chalk dust and forgotten lessons. 3:30 PM. The clock's tick, a metronome to my internal chaos, amplified the emptiness. I remained, a solitary figure against the rows of vacant desks, needing the silence to sift through the shattered pieces of my reality.

  A simulation point. A fragile, precious thing, earned by the simple act of attending class at noon. It felt like holding a single, delicate feather that could alter the course of a hurricane.

  The phantom pain, a constant, dull throb in my temples and a heavy ache in my chest, was a cruel reminder of the simulations, the terrifying glimpses into a future I was desperate to avoid.

  The lottery win. A poisoned chalice. It had set in motion a chain of events I couldn't fully grasp. Yesterday, I'd tried to intervene, to change the inevitable. I'd rushed, fought against the usual rhythm of the day, but still, I arrived home at 5:00 PM. Too late.

  Had that slight delay sealed our fate? The shadows around us seemed to deepen, even under the brightest sunlight. Was it envy? A calculated strike? Or something far more sinister, something beyond my comprehension? The weight of that failed intervention pressed down on me, a suffocating burden.

  Haruka. Her absence was a gaping wound, a silence that screamed louder than any accusation. Where was she? Her smile, once a source of warmth, now haunted my thoughts like a ghost. The sterile, cold environment of the hospital, a place of unsettling observation, was a stark contrast to her vibrant presence.

  The gaps in my memory, deliberate erasures, felt like a violation. Someone was manipulating the narrative, and I needed to reclaim it.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  The house, violated, robbed of more than just possessions. It was a theft of safety, of belonging.

  Unseen eyes watched, hunters in the shadows, closing in. The train platform, the final, horrifying image, the push, the lurch, the cold steel, the certainty of death. A blurred face, a phantom figure, an enigma that haunted my waking moments.

  Despair clawed at my throat, but I forced it back. I wouldn't be a puppet, dancing to the tune of some unseen puppeteer.

  I would dissect every detail, every whispered word, every fleeting expression, until I found the hidden connections, the invisible threads that bound them all together.

  My mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments. The lottery, Haruka, the hospital, the house, the train platform. Each a piece of a puzzle I couldn't yet solve.

  The simulation point, a single, precious chance, weighed heavily in my mental hand. How could I use it to unravel this tangled web?

  The lingering pain, a physical manifestation of my fear and frustration, fueled my resolve. I wouldn't accept this fate.

  The question echoed in my mind, but I hadn't initiated anything. Then I heard Sato's voice, startling me.

  "This is your phone. You forgot it yesterday," he said, holding out my device.

  I stared at the phone, a crucial piece of the puzzle. Yesterday. Because I'd lost the phone, I couldn't call my father to wait for me before claiming the lottery prize.

  The inability to stop my father was a double-edged trap. The broken train, the cause of my late arrival, and the lost phone, which should have been in my pocket. Both were essential in the chain of events. A deliberate design? Or a cruel twist of fate? I had to know. I had to understand.