The sky was unnaturally blue that morning.
Anyone who grew up in Taiwan would understand—that kind of "too clean" blue feels fake.No haze, no thin grey layer,just a crisp, unreasonable blue stretching across the whole sky.
I went to the bakery downstairs and bought two round rolls and a croissant.Croissants here were absurdly cheap and good…honestly enough to lift my mood a little.
By the time I returned to my room,the cat had already jumped onto the chair,wearing the expression of:
"I knew you'd bring back food."
"You didn't pay for any of this," I said, tearing open the paper bag.
I set the croissant on the table.Patch pretended not to look,but both ears were pointed straight at it.
I tore off a small piece and nudged it toward him.
He shot me a glare—like I was trying to seduce someone's dignity—but after a second, he leaned in, sniffed,and ate it with an expression so complexI almost laughed.
"You're such a tsundere, you know that?"
His tail flicked once as if to keep his pride intact.Then he scooted closer anyway.
Watching him, a thought struck me.
Yesterday, when he "tapped" the air near the source point,it looked like he was… fixing it.Eating a lot, acting aloof,and casually repairing weird spatial anomalies on the side—
"…You're basically a living patch, huh."
I stared at him.The more I thought about it, the more it fit.
"Alright. I'm calling you Patch from now on."
His ears twitched.He didn't protest.Didn't walk away.
Just moved closer and settled at my feet.
That kind of unwilling acceptance…really was its own kind of affection.
I reached out, expecting him to dodge.Instead, Patch leaned his head into my palm—not like he was being sweet,more like he was saying:
"That's acceptable."
This cat had way too much personality.
After eating, I stood in the center of the room,ready for today's training.
I closed my eyes and focused on the "line" in my chest.The sensation—something extending outward from inside my body—rose quickly.
Clearer than yesterday.What used to be one directionnow felt like two, maybe three places"breathing" around me.
I reached toward the nearest source point.
The space tightened, then rebounded.My shadow lagged again.My chest tightened,but not as badly as before.
In twenty seconds,I could stand straight again.
"This recovery speed… really is better."
Not overpowered.But reassuring.
I tried a more delicate touch—not poking, but listening.
The area around the source point shimmered like water.Unsteady at first, but I could pick out one clearer rhythm.
Patch had already walked to the corner.He sat near the source point, lifted a paw,and tapped the air.
Instantly, the entire wave pattern smoothed—like someone ran a comb through tangled threads.
"…You're more professional than me," I whispered.
His ears flicked.Obviously.
I stepped closer to the source point.
Suddenly, something flashed in my head.
Not a word,not quite a symbol—but almost.
"Frag—"
It vanished.Cleanly deleted.Like someone pressed a key in my mind.
I froze.
It wasn't Patch.Not an anomaly.Not the source point.
It felt like…something far away,high above,checking how much I had perceived.
I tried to refocus,but my chest crumpled for a moment.
Not pain—cold.
A thin, brief coldness,like a distant presencelooked directly at me.
No malice.Not kindness either.
Just… observation.
Patch's ears flicked at the exact same time.He looked toward the window,paused two seconds,then calmly resumed licking his paw.
As if nothing had happened.
My entire body broke into goosebumps.
"…What the hell was that?"
No answer.And I probably wasn't supposed to have one yet.
Training continued for about half an hour.I didn't dare push further—the side effects were under control,but the pressure still stacked in the background.
After wrapping up, I decided to take a walk.
The street looked normal.Blue sky, people walking dogs,sun on their faces,coffee smell drifting from the corner.
But as I walked,my senses kept brushing against tiny spatial ripples—small, faint,but more than yesterday.
Something was getting worse.
The whole city felt like a carpetwith too many pebbles under it—everything slightly off.
As I walked, I heard a voice:
"Jeff?"
I looked up.
Emilia.
Light jacket, hair tied in a simple band—like she'd hurried from somewhere.
Her gaze had less defensiveness than before,but still some caution.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
She hesitated, thinking.
"I'm looking for someone."
Another pause.
"And checking for unusual signs along the way."
She pulled out her phone,opened a photo,and held it out.
A man.Dark hair, defined features,older than me.Not unfriendly,not warm either—the kind of person you'd expect to show upat a critical moment.
"You seen him?" she asked.
"No," I answered honestly."But if I do, I'll tell you."
She nodded.
"You doing okay?" she asked softly.
"Still alive," I said.
She actually smiled this time.
After a brief silence,she handed me her phone.
"Give me your contact.If you run into something… tell me."
She was serious.No suspicion.No games.Just—she knew I'd run into trouble again,and she wanted early warning.
I typed in my info.She added me back.
She tucked her phone away.
"Alright.If anything happens… contact me."
"You too," I replied.
She walked off.Her figure disappeared around the corner.And somehow,the entire street felt quieter for a moment.
Back home, Patch sat by the window, staring out.
He turned his head,looked at me,and his eyes seemed to say:
"You felt the new source points out there, didn't you?"
I didn't answer.
I didn't need to.
Because I knew.
The source points were multiplying.
And I had no way back.