The academy cafeteria was alive with chatter.
Students laughed at tables, plates clattered, and the smell of bread and soup lingered in the air. For a moment, Aki almost forgot the fight in the courtyard, almost forgot the way Eren's eyes had looked at him with nothing but coldness.
Almost.
He grabbed a tray and joined the line.
"Chicken stew again?" he muttered, eyeing the pot the lunch lady was stirring. "Do game devs ever eat anything else, or did they just copy-paste the asset file?"
The lunch lady—an older woman with tired eyes and flour on her apron—glanced up. "It's chicken stew, young man. You'll like it. Just like yesterday."
Aki blinked. "…Yesterday?"
She ladled the stew into his bowl. Steam rose. Smelled good. Same as yesterday. Exactly the same.
Too much the same.
He took the bowl and moved to the tables, scanning the room. A group of first-years were laughing near the window.
"Did you hear?" one of them said, giggling. "Professor Alwen tripped over his robe again!"
Aki froze.
No. He'd heard that line before. Word for word. Yesterday.
His eyes darted to the far corner. Another group of students. A girl with braids leaned forward, whispering: "I bet the hero will pass the trial easily. He always does."
The same line. Same intonation. Same nervous smile.
Aki set his tray down slowly, his appetite gone.
"…Great. I'm in an MMO lobby stuck on repeat."
He tapped the table nervously, then whispered, "Okay. Chill, Aki. Maybe it's just déjà vu. Maybe the universe isn't trying to gaslight you into insanity."
But then—
"Professor Alwen tripped over his robe again!"
Same voice. Same laugh.
Aki whipped his head toward the first-years. Same gesture. Same timing. The boy lifted his fork at the exact second as before, the bread slipping and dropping to the plate with the same dull thud.
No delay. No variation.
Looping.
His throat went dry.
He stood abruptly, bumping into someone. "Sorry—"
The girl he bumped into smiled politely. "It's chicken stew today. You'll like it. Just like yesterday."
Aki's skin crawled. He backed away, knocking his tray to the ground, stew splattering across the tiles.
Nobody reacted.
They just… kept smiling, eating, laughing the same lines, like actors reading a broken script.
Aki staggered out of the cafeteria, heart racing.
The hallways weren't better.
A pair of students passed him, holding books. He strained his ears.
"…Don't be late to class again."
"…I won't. I promise."
Five steps later, another pair of students passed.
"…Don't be late to class again."
"…I won't. I promise."
Aki's chest tightened. "Nope. Nope. Not today. I didn't sign up for Groundhog Day: RPG Edition."
He pressed his back to the wall, pulling the diary out. The pages trembled in his hands, flickering faintly, like bad reception on a screen.
"Come on, you stupid book. Tell me what's happening."
The ink shifted. Words surfaced briefly—
"RESET FLAG: ACTIVE
ERASE SUBROUTINE: RUNNING"
Then the page went blank.
Aki's stomach dropped. "Erase… me?"
Footsteps echoed behind him.
He turned.
It was Eren.
But not moving normally. His body jittered, stuttering frame by frame, like a character model lagging in corrupted code. His head turned too slowly, eyes glowing unnaturally bright.
"…Aki."
Aki stumbled back. "Oh, hell no. You're not my hero. You're a discount creepypasta knock-off."
But Eren kept walking, stiff, deliberate.
"The world doesn't need you," he said. Except his mouth didn't move. The voice came from everywhere, layered, distorted. "Delete yourself."
Aki's laugh was brittle. "Yeah, sorry. Not a fan of self-destruct endings. Got anything else on the menu?"
The air warped. Behind Eren, the walls shimmered like water, then reset. Students walked past again—same lines, same gestures, same timing.
"…Don't be late to class again."
"…I won't. I promise."
The loop was tightening. Faster. Shorter.
Aki clutched the diary to his chest, every instinct screaming at him to run, but his legs felt like lead.
If the world keeps resetting, I'll be erased.
He heard Whiskerdoom's voice in his head: "You're not a bug in the game. You're the update."
But right now, he didn't feel like an update.
He felt like the patch the system was desperately trying to uninstall.
"…Fine," he whispered, forcing his legs to move. "If the world wants to play loops, then I'll break it. I'll make a move it can't predict."
He gritted his teeth and sprinted straight toward Eren—
And right as he passed him, the world glitched.
The hallway twisted. Colors inverted. Students froze mid-step, their voices collapsing into static.
And then Aki was standing in a void.
Alone.
Except for one figure in the distance.
Someone waiting for him.
Someone who looked exactly like him.