The academy was quiet in the morning.
Sunlight streamed into the corridor on time, and the windows gleamed as if they had never been shattered. Students jogged on the sports field while routine announcements were broadcasted through the loudspeaker in a steady, gentle tone, as if nothing had transpired the night before.
The rift did not exist.
The alarm did not exist.
The seal, the sacrifice, the trial—none of it existed.
The world had reset.
Inside the classroom, the teacher took attendance.
Names were called out one by one, the rhythm natural and without hesitation.
When the roll call ended, no one noticed anyone was missing.
The register had always been complete.
The student council room reopened with desks and chairs neatly arranged and a barrier system displaying "long-term stability." Grey stood by the window, his head bowed over terminal data, his brow furrowing unconsciously.
It was a peculiar sensation.
It was as if he had forgotten to turn something off but couldn't remember what it was.
He looked up toward the seat opposite him.
Empty.
"Hasn't someone been missing lately?"
The words nearly slipped out, but reason reined them back in at the last moment.
No records.
No access changes.
No anomaly logs.
System verdict: All normal.
Grey withdrew his gaze and resumed work.
At that very moment, White Crow passed through the corridor.
He paused.
Not because of sound or sight, but because a sudden emptiness gripped his chest—as if something profoundly important had been snatched away, leaving no trace.
He stood rooted to the spot for several seconds.
"Tsk."
Just a single tsk.
He didn't know why he had paused or where that fleeting unease had come from. The world offered no answers, so he chose to keep walking.
The world permitted him to do so.
This was the reset.
No sorrow.
No mourning.
Not even the concept of "loss."
For loss presupposes possession.
Now, Li never existed.
No one remembers him standing before the fissure.
No one remembers him asking, "Then what am I?" Nor does anyone know that someone once brought "inevitability" to trial.
The academy continues to function.
The world maintains its rationality.
Only in certain fleeting moments do inexplicable misalignments occur.
Someone instinctively leaves an extra chair.
Someone pauses mid-stroke while doing homework.
Someone dreams of a pair of indistinct eyes but wakes with no recollection.
The system swiftly corrects these anomalies.
The world has no need of him.
At dusk, a locker in the old school building cracked open, blown by the wind.
No one noticed.
Inside was a numbered notebook.
Its cover was worn and bore no name.
The world had moved forward.
Only certain things remained behind.
Li was absent from every "present."
He existed solely within that deleted line of blank space.
That unused yet undemolished space held dust and time, but not the weight of memory. White Crow stood at the end of the corridor, merely passing through.
He didn't know why he had come there.
When he stopped walking, he startled himself.
The storage cupboard stood half-open.
The rusted door was gently pushed by the breeze and emitted a faint sound—not a call, but rather a reminder.
Bai Ya frowned and approached.
Inside the locker, there was only a notebook.
No number.
No name.
The cover was so old that it didn't seem like it had been placed there recently.
The moment he reached out to take it, his chest tightened suddenly.
Not pain.
A sense of absence.
It was as though something vital meant to accompany the notebook had been erased.
He turned to the first page.
The handwriting was clear and composed to an almost unnerving degree.
"If you can see this far, it means the world has chosen to move forward."
White Crow's fingers froze.
Logically, he knew this was just a stranger's record.
Yet, somewhere deep within him, a voice silently protested.
No.
He continued reading.
I don't know who you are.
I don't know if you remember me.
It's not your fault.
Once the world has reset, it leaves no trace of "deleted variables."
So, if you find this notebook peculiar, that is only to be expected.
White Crow's breathing slowed.
He began to sit down.
Not from weariness.
It was because, suddenly, he did not wish to stand and watch it unfold.
I once had eyes that could see beyond "right and wrong."
Later, I realized it was no blessing.
They showed me too many outcomes that "shouldn't have been."
The pages lie still, bearing no trace of emotional disturbance. Someone once asked me who I was.
I only answered this question at the very end.
I am no hero.
Nor am I a victim.
I am merely someone the world deems "superfluous."
The white crow's fingers tightened slightly.
He did not know why he reacted this way.
The system offered no contextual cues.
Name, image, records—all were blank.
Yet one thing was clear to him.
The hand that wrote these words was lucid.
If you are reading this diary, then the fissure has been temporarily suppressed.
The world should have returned to normal by now.
That's good.
I'd rather it continue functioning than be remembered.
Turn the page.
You'll notice an almost imperceptible change in handwriting in the last few lines.
Not trembling.
Relaxation.
I have no regrets.
If someone must take the place of the "erased," then this time, I chose to walk there of my own accord.
One more thing:
The white crow halted.
He didn't know why he had the misleading impression that the words were meant for him.
If, one day, in some corner of the world, you suddenly feel that everything is too logical—
It might not be because the world is right, but because someone has taken on the illogical part for you.
The final page.
Just one sentence.
May you remember that someone once saw.
The notes end here.
There is no signature.
White Crow closed the notebook and remained motionless for a long time.
The setting sun streamed through the window, illuminating every speck of dust. The world lay quiet, stable, and flawless.
Yet, for the first time, an inexplicable weight settled on his chest.
"...Who are you?"
he asked softly.
No one answered.
Only the sound of the wind rustling through the storage cupboards could be heard.
The world had moved on.
The trial had concluded.
The records were sealed.
Li had walked this path to its end.
Not as one remembered.
But as the reason the world could still be remembered.