The timer kept falling like it didn't care that my brain was lagging behind reality.
00:09:41
00:09:40
I blinked hard, once, twice, like I could scrub the blue pane off my eyes.
It stayed.
Floating.
Quiet.
Certain.
My skin went cold in patches. My fingers tingled like they'd fallen asleep.
"No," I said again, louder this time, because volume felt like power. "No, no, no. This isn't—this can't be real."
The system didn't argue.
It didn't need to.
It just counted.
00:09:29
00:09:28
My chair screeched as I shoved it back and ran up the stairs, taking them too fast, feet slipping on the edge of the steps.
"Mom!" My voice cracked in the middle, like it wasn't used to being urgent. "Mom!"
The kitchen was lit the way it always was at night—soft, dim, the hallway nightlight spilling across tiles. For a second, I felt stupid, like I'd imagined everything.
Then the system pane floated into the kitchen with me.
Not moving.
Just… existing in my vision like a curse.
My throat tightened.
"Mom!"
No answer.
I crossed to her room, hand already raised to knock, then hesitated. The house felt wrong. Not haunted. Not creepy.
Just… empty.
Like a place wearing the skin of a home.
I pushed the door open.
Her bed was made.
Too neat.
No blanket bunched, no pillow dented, no phone charger plugged in, no water cup on the bedside table.
My chest dipped.
"Mom?" I whispered.
Silence answered like a wall.
The system displayed a new line beneath the countdown, as casual as a weather update.
[NOTICE: LOCAL WORLD STREAM DISENGAGED]
[FAREWELLS ARE NOT GUARANTEED]
My stomach turned.
"What do you mean, not guaranteed?" I snapped, voice shaking. "Bring her back. Bring them back. Bring—"
The blue pane pulsed once.
Then more text slid in, clean and cruel:
[NEGOTIATION: UNAVAILABLE]
[TRANSFER: LOCKED]
00:08:02
00:08:01
My hands were already moving before my mind caught up.
Phone.
I grabbed it off the counter, thumb flying.
No service.
Wi-Fi symbol gone.
I switched airplane mode on and off. Restarted and held it so close to my face my breath fogged the screen.
Nothing.
I called anyway.
The call didn't even ring—just failed, instantly, like the number didn't exist.
I tried again. And again.
Each failure hit like a slap.
I backed away from the counter like it was guilty, staring at my own kitchen as it had betrayed me.
Outside the window, the street looked normal.
Too normal.
No headlights passing. No dog barking. No distant generator hum. Not even the occasional drunk laugh from some neighbor's compound.
Just stillness.
The kind of stillness you only get in places that aren't being lived in.
I shoved the door open and stepped outside.
Cold air bit my cheeks. The night sky was there—stars, black-blue haze—but it looked flat, like a photo printed too clean.
I walked down the porch steps and onto the driveway.
My slippers scuffed the concrete. The sound felt loud, wrong.
"Hello?" I called out.
No echo.
No reply.
The system pane hovered in front of me, as if it were enjoying the show.
00:06:57
00:06:56
I laughed again, but this time it was ugly. A sound with teeth.
"So you can erase everyone," I muttered. "You can kill my network. You can—what? You can delete my whole world like it's an app?"
A new line appeared.
[CLARIFICATION]
Local perception has been isolated for transfer integrity.
Do not panic. Panic reduces the survival rate by 18%.
"Don't panic," I repeated, staring at the words until my eyes watered. "That's your advice?"
My hands clenched so hard my nails dug into my palms.
I wanted to hit something. Break something. Make the universe admit it had crossed a line.
But the street stood there, empty and indifferent, and the timer kept walking toward zero like a man who didn't care if you begged.
00:05:44
00:05:43
I stumbled back into the house and slammed the door, more for myself than for anything outside.
Breathing. Focus. Think.
If this was real—if I was about to be… moved—then I needed something. Anything.
My eyes swept the room like I'd been dropped into an exam I didn't study for.
Knife.
Kitchen knife.
I yanked open the drawer and gripped one, the metal cold and comforting, and immediately felt stupid.
A knife against… what? A floating blue pane? A reincarnation protocol?
Still, holding it made my shoulders loosen a fraction.
I found a notebook and a pen. My hands shook so much that the pen scratched ugly lines before it formed actual letters.
I stared at the blank page.
What do you write when you're being stolen from your life?
Mom, I'm sorry.
The words wouldn't come out clean. They came out like they were crawling.
Mom.
If you ever read this, I didn't leave you on purpose.
I'm sorry I—
My throat closed. I pressed my knuckles to my mouth until the feeling passed.
I finished the line anyway, because that's what I should've done a long time ago—say what I meant before it was too late.
—I'm sorry I wasted the time you gave me.
The pen hovered again.
I didn't know what else to say.
Because the truth was heavier than the paper could hold.
I tore the page out and left it on the counter like a small, useless proof that I existed.
The system pane brightened.
[PRE-TRANSFER SELECTION REQUIRED]
Choose one Legacy Path:
Scrap Blessing — Random minor talent. Low risk.
Rejected Brand — Access to forbidden quests. Moderate risk.
Omnimage Seed — Image-based reality manipulation (Locked). Extreme risk.
My heartbeat stalled, then slammed back in.
A choice.
A real choice.
My mouth went dry. "What happens if I don't choose?"
The system answered instantly.
[FAILURE TO CHOOSE = SCRAP BLESSING DEFAULT]
Of course it did.
I stared at the options until the words blurred.
Scrap Blessing sounded like a pitiful reward.
Rejected Brand sounded like pain in exchange for power.
Omnimage Seed…
Locked.
Extreme risk.
Reality manipulation.
My thumb brushed my palm, and I realized something that made my stomach twist: the system wasn't offering me a gift.
It was offering me a bet.
Pick safe and arrive weak.
Pick dangerous and arrive hunted.
The old me—the basement me—would've picked safe. I would've begged for comfort.
But the timer didn't care about comfort.
00:02:21
00:02:20
My chest rose and fell. Slow. Forced.
I thought of the empty bed upstairs. The erased world. The "farewells are not guaranteed."
I thought of every time I told myself, "tomorrow."
Tomorrow was a lie I'd used to survive today.
And now tomorrow was gone.
I lifted my eyes to the blue pane.
"If I'm going to be thrown into some brutal world," I whispered, voice steadying like it was tired of shaking, "I'm not arriving as a joke."
My fingers shook as I reached toward the air.
"Omnimage Seed."
The system flashed.
Pain snapped into my palm like someone stabbed a needle of fire through the skin. I jerked my hand back, swearing under my breath.
A symbol was forming there—fine lines, sharp angles—like ink being poured into my flesh from the inside.
It wasn't just a mark.
It felt like a claim.
[OMNIMAGE SEED: ACCEPTED]
Seal State: Dormant
Restriction: World-Locked
Unlock Condition: Survive Evaluation
My laugh came out thin. Survive evaluation. Great."
New text appeared.
[LEGACY NAME CONFIRMED]
LEGACY OF THE REJECTED: THE RETURN OF THE OMNIMAGE
The words hit different when they weren't just a title.
"Rejected…" I muttered. "So I'm starting at the bottom."
The system didn't deny it.
It stamped it in.
[HOST STATUS UPON ARRIVAL: REJECTED]
Expected social response: HOSTILITY
Expected resource access: LIMITED
Expected betrayal probability: HIGH
My throat tightened.
Some part of me—small and ugly—wanted to plead.
I hated that part.
I swallowed it down like bitter medicine.
00:00:32
00:00:31
The room dimmed. Not like the light went out—like reality itself was lowering its brightness.
The air grew heavy, thick, pressing against my skin.
My ears popped as I went underwater.
"Wait—" I gasped. "Wait, just—"
[QUEST ASSIGNED]
The words landed like a hammer.
[QUEST 001: THE REJECT'S FIRST BREATH]
Objective: Do not beg.
Objective: Do not kneel.
Objective: Survive the first ten minutes.
My mouth opened.
No sound came out.
The floor tilted.
My knees buckled as if gravity suddenly remembered it hated me.
I fell—hard—hands scraping tile, knife clattering away.
The system pane filled my vision, bright enough to swallow everything.
And at the very bottom, one final line appeared, quiet and deadly.
[WARNING: SOMEONE IS WAITING TO KILL YOU ON ARRIVAL.]
The world snapped white.
Then—
Cold hit my lungs like a punch.
Mud. Iron. Smoke.
I tried to inhale and coughed instead, spitting something warm onto my lips.
My eyes opened to a sky the color of bruises.
Voices rang out around me—sharp, unfamiliar, angry.
A boot pressed into my back, grinding me into the ground.
"Look," someone spat, amusement thick in their tone, "the trash finally spawned."
My hands trembled.
The quest text floated in front of my face like an execution notice.
Do not beg.
Do not kneel.
The boot pushed harder.
"Kneel," the voice said, lazy and sure. "Or I'll break you before you even take your first breath."
I swallowed blood.
And forced my elbows under me.