The academy courtyard was strangely quiet.
No wind stirred the banners. No voices echoed off the marble walls. Just the sound of Aki's boots on stone as he crossed the wide square, the diary heavy under his arm.
Something was off.
He could feel it in the way the air lagged—a half-second delay between the rustle of his coat and the sound reaching his ears. Like reality itself was buffering.
"…Great," Aki muttered, scanning the empty expanse. "The world's crashing and now even the lag spikes are immersive."
And then—
A voice cut through the silence.
"Aki."
Aki froze.
That voice. He knew that voice better than anyone's. He turned, slowly, heart thudding against his ribs.
Eren stood there.
But it wasn't the Eren he knew.
The boy's golden hair gleamed brighter than before, his eyes hard and sharp as molten steel. His presence radiated power, a crushing weight that made the air itself hum. And when he smiled… it wasn't warm. It wasn't his.
"…You're alive," Aki said, his tone flat. "Well. Half-alive, half-loading-screen, judging by the glow. What, did you raid the debug menu without me?"
Eren didn't laugh.
Instead, he stepped forward, each footfall unnervingly precise, like a program executing perfectly written code.
"You don't belong here."
The words hit Aki harder than he expected.
He forced a smirk. "Well, neither do you, apparently. Pretty sure heroes aren't supposed to look like they're about to murder their best friend."
"I don't have a best friend," Eren said, his tone chillingly certain. "Not in this world."
The courtyard spun. For a second, Aki thought he'd misheard. "…What?"
Eren's eyes narrowed. "I remember everything. But not you. Not us. Not the library. Not the time you saved me from Celis. Those things… never happened."
Aki's heart squeezed. He tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out thin. "You're joking. This is some messed-up prank, right? Resetting my death flags wasn't enough, so now you're erasing my character development too?"
But Eren didn't flinch. His aura pulsed like fire restrained by glass.
"In the world I remember, Riel Arkwood was the villain. A cruel one. He never cracked jokes. He never… tried to be kind." Eren's gaze pierced him like a blade. "So tell me, Aki—what are you?"
Aki's throat tightened. He wanted to snap back, to make some sarcastic quip about being the budget DLC character. But the words stuck.
Because this wasn't the same boy.
This was a version of Eren forged in a world without him.
And that world had no memory of Aki's existence.
"…I'm the guy who kept you alive," Aki muttered finally, voice low. "Even if you don't remember it."
Eren's fists clenched. For a moment, the cold mask cracked—something flickered in his eyes, a faint trace of doubt, of recognition. But then it vanished, smothered by steel resolve.
"If you really cared," Eren said quietly, "then stop pretending. Stop corrupting this world."
Aki's lips twisted. "…So that's what this is. The system fed you the same script it's been trying to shove down my throat. Hero against villain. Light against shadow. You're supposed to kill me to 'fix' the story."
"And I will," Eren said.
The words hit like a blade.
Aki barked a laugh, but it was hollow. "You know what's funny, Eren? For once, you sound exactly like everyone else. And here I thought you were different."
The silence stretched.
Then, softly, Eren asked, "Why do you keep fighting the story?"
Aki looked down at the diary, fingers tightening on the leather. The blank page that had crumbled this morning seemed to echo back at him.
"…Because if I don't," he whispered, "then I was never here at all."
Eren's expression faltered. Just for a heartbeat. Then his aura flared again, brighter, hotter.
The system wanted them enemies.
And maybe—for the first time—Aki wasn't sure he could win.