He opened his eyes.
The ceiling stared back at him — too white, too clean.
Birdsong. The creak of bed springs.
And a bell ringing somewhere distant.
> Day one.
Again.
The MC didn't panic this time.
Not outwardly.
But inside, a storm churned.
He touched his forehead. No scars. No weight.
No blood.
Not even a bruise on reality.
Everything had reset.
Everything but him.
---
His roommate — the Silent One — sat again on the edge of the bed, tying his shoes in the same practiced rhythm.
Not a word. Not a glance.
The world was pretending.
Playing house.
But the MC was done pretending.
This time, he wouldn't follow the path.
This time, he wouldn't keep the balance.
> If the subconscious wanted stability,
he would bring it chaos.
Even if it meant losing himself.
---
He started doing everything wrong.
On purpose.
He skipped the breakfast roll call.
Wandered into staff-only areas.
Read files in offices with names he didn't recognize.
Spoke to NPC students who didn't even have a clear face — just blurred outlines, as if the brain hadn't finished rendering them.
The world resisted at first — subtly.
He'd blink, and be back in his bed.
He'd speak, and mouths wouldn't answer.
Time would skip.
Colors would shift.
Laughter would come without mouths.
But he pressed on.
---
He found hidden places.
A stairwell that looped into itself.
A hallway that shrank the farther he walked.
A classroom covered in writing — not in chalk, but scratches on the wall, spelling out words he couldn't understand.
Until finally — he came back to the Silent One.
The only constant.
The only person who had ever looked at him like they knew.
> So the MC did the unthinkable.
He told him the truth.
About the illusion.
The resets.
The cracks.
The world not being real.
---
The Silent One didn't scream.
He didn't even speak.
He simply stared.
And then — he started glitching.
His limbs stuttered out of sync.
His shape flickered, breaking into white lines.
He opened his mouth, but static came out.
Then — his body folded inward, like paper bending the wrong way.
And where he stood, there was now a crack in space.
A living, pulsing wound in the wall.
The MC stepped toward it — not afraid.
Because somehow, he knew what he'd find.
---
> It was waiting.
Not an object.
Not a monster.
But a choice.
Something ancient. Raw. Terrifying in its honesty.
> The Purifier.
It wasn't made to help him.
It was made to burn away the lie — even if he went down with it.
---
It spoke — not in words, but in pressure on his chest.
> "You may harm the illusion,
but you will harm yourself too."
> "You may break the walls,
but the cracks will run through your own mind."
> "This is not a gift.
This is death made useful."
He took it anyway.
---
The world changed instantly.
> Gravity reversed.
Sound looped.
Faces blinked in and out of existence.
> And behind it all — the MC stood quietly,
holding The Purifier.
Not a sword.
Not fire.
Just... a presence inside him now.
> The ability to harm the illusion.
At a cost he had yet to understand.
He looked back at the place where the Silent One had stood.
Still glitched. Still broken.
But somehow — not gone.
The MC clenched his fists.
Let the world shake.
---
> He wasn't here to survive anymore.
He was here to tear down the lie.
Even if it meant burning himself with it.