The sun shone on the roof of Nagakawa High School, but to Kaito, it felt like a blinding spotlight meant to expose him. Today was the first day back after vacation—and at the same time, the day he would finally realize he didn't belong in this world anymore. Around him, everyone cheerfully interacted with their holograms, greeting their personal systems and confirming their daily goals. But Kaito stood alone—no interface, no greeting, no purpose. He wasn't logged in. Not connected. Not existent.
"Good morning, students of class 10-B! Please synchronize your thoughts with the school network. System initialization in 3… 2… 1…" The system's voice echoed from the speakers.
Kaito heard it but saw nothing. No welcome message, no heads-up display. Just that familiar feeling of exclusion. He shoved his hands in his pockets as the others navigated their mental menus, checked their grade statistics, or laughed with their chat avatars. He was like a black-and-white photo in a brightly colored comic.
His seat was his usual one, in the back left corner. A good hiding spot. As soon as he sat down, someone slapped the desk. "Hey, Offline-Boy. Still no update?" Takeda, his favorite human—if sarcasm could kill.
Kaito smirked. "Maybe I'm just the premium version. No system. No control."
"Oh, the error can talk!" another jeered. "Careful not to uninstall yourself."
The teacher entered the room, but something was off. Her movements were jerky, too precise. "Good morning, class. Please take your seats. Today's curriculum has been updated." Her eyes were empty—system-controlled, like all the adults.
Kaito felt a chill run down his spine. Like something was watching him. As the lesson began, his gaze landed on a girl—front row, shiny black hair, perfect posture: Misaki Hoshino. She was the top student, popular, flawless. Yet, there was a moment when she turned and looked at him—not with disdain like the others, but with… confusion?
Then the lights flickered. A humming buzz came through the speakers. The teacher twitched. "New update detected… processing error… please wait…" Her voice distorted. Suddenly she grabbed a ruler and slammed it on the desk—with force. The students screamed. The system was failing—but not for everyone. Only for her.
Only Kaito moved freely. He jumped up, knocked over his desk, and shouted, "Someone trigger emergency mode!"
But no one could. Their interfaces were frozen—or locked. Kaito stepped forward, snatched the ruler from the teacher, who twitched like a broken robot, still trying to follow her routine.
"Error detected… unauthorized action…"
Kaito held his breath. The voice didn't come from her.
It came from the speakers.