9:16 a.m.
The ceiling fan spun lazily above her head.
Students whispered. Pages turned. A chair scraped lightly against the floor.
Everything looked painfully normal.
Her fingers dug into the edge of the desk.
One minute.
One minute before the sky would crack open and strangers would decide whether she deserved to exist.
Her heart was still racing from the memory of white nothingness. From the word Delete. From the way her body had thinned like she was never meant to be solid in the first place.
It felt real.
Too real to be a dream.
She inhaled slowly.
Think.
If this was a story—if she was a character—then something triggered the comments. Something made them start judging her at exactly 9:17.
Her gaze shifted to the window.
Blue sky. Calm. Silent.
For now.
"Ma'am?"
She flinched.
A student stood near her desk, holding a notebook. He looked concerned.
"You stopped talking."
She forced herself to focus. To act natural.
Right. She had been teaching.
Of course she had been teaching.
Because that's what she did in this chapter. She remembered now—this was the quiet chapter. The one where nothing dramatic happened. The one readers probably skimmed.
The boring one.
Her stomach tightened.
If engagement was low, then maybe she needed to change something before 9:17.
Do something unexpected.
Create conflict.
Her eyes scanned the room until they landed on him.
Back row. By the window.
The male lead.
He looked exactly the same as he had in the white space—calm, distant, unreadable. Dark hair falling slightly into his eyes. Sleeves rolled up just enough to show his wrist.
In the original timeline, she never confronted him here.
She smiled at him softly. That's what she always did. She was written to orbit him quietly. To support. To understand. To never demand.
Too soft.
Too safe.
Too replaceable.
Her pulse quickened.
Fine.
Let's try something different.
She stepped away from her desk and walked toward the back row. Each step felt like walking on fragile glass.
The clock on the wall ticked.
9:16:23.
The male lead looked up as she stopped in front of him.
His expression didn't change—but his eyes sharpened slightly.
In the original script, she would have asked about homework.
Instead, she said, "Why do you always look like you're somewhere else?"
A ripple moved through the air.
Subtle.
But there.
The room didn't freeze.
Not yet.
He tilted his head. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "You sit in my class every day, but you don't really see anything. Or anyone."
A few students turned to look.
This wasn't how the scene was supposed to go.
Good.
The clock ticked.
9:16:41.
His gaze lingered on her, unreadable.
Then he said quietly, "That's not in the script."
Her breath caught.
The world didn't stop.
But something shifted.
The air felt tighter.
"What did you just say?" she whispered.
His jaw flexed slightly, like he was choosing his next words carefully.
"You're not supposed to talk to me like this," he said. "Not in this chapter."
The floor beneath her felt less solid.
"You remember," she breathed.
Not a question.
A realization.
His eyes flicked upward—toward the sky.
9:16:55.
"You shouldn't change things," he said, voice low enough that only she could hear. "It makes them notice."
Too late.
9:16:59.
The first flicker appeared above her head.
A faint shimmer in the air.
She didn't look away from him.
"They already noticed," she said.
The sky cracked open.
BORING.
The word burned brighter than before.
But this time, she didn't flinch.
More comments flooded in, faster than the previous timeline.
Why is she acting different?
This feels forced.
What's going on?
Wait… did she just break character?
Her heart pounded—but she stood still.
She had one advantage now.
Awareness.
The percentage bar appeared instantly.
Voting in Progress.
It started at 52%.
Higher than before.
Because she changed something.
Because unpredictability created engagement.
A strange laugh bubbled in her chest.
So that was it.
Drama equals survival.
The male lead stood slowly.
"You're playing with something you don't understand," he said quietly.
"Then explain it," she shot back.
The percentage climbed.
61%.
The classroom lights flickered.
Some students blurred slightly around the edges.
Not frozen.
Distorted.
He looked at her like he wanted to say more—but couldn't.
Like invisible hands were tightening around his throat.
"They don't like unstable leads," he forced out. "They delete risks."
"Then maybe," she said, stepping closer, "I should stop being safe."
The sky darkened.
Engagement Level: Rising.
The words flashed in bold.
Her breath hitched.
Rising.
So change worked.
The percentage slowed.
63%.
64%.
It wasn't racing toward 100 anymore.
The system felt… confused.
Glitched.
For the first time, she felt something other than fear.
Control.
The male lead's eyes met hers, and for a split second, she saw it clearly.
Recognition.
Memory.
And something dangerously close to relief.
"You remembered too," she whispered.
The air trembled.
System Warning: Narrative Deviation Detected.
The classroom flickered violently.
Students' faces distorted, like unfinished sketches.
The male lead grabbed her wrist suddenly.
His touch was warm. Solid. Real.
"Stop," he said sharply. "If you push too far, they won't reset you."
The words chilled her.
"They'll erase you permanently."
The sky fractured wider.
Comments poured in faster, chaotic now.
This is interesting.
Wait, what's happening?
Is this a twist?
Don't drop this.
Engagement Level: 71%.
Her pulse roared in her ears.
She wasn't just surviving anymore.
She was disrupting.
And disruption was power.
The system text glitched violently above them.
Error.
Error.
Recalculating.
The ground beneath her feet cracked—not into white this time—
—but into something darker.
Deeper.
Like a gap in the narrative itself.
The male lead tightened his grip.
"Choose carefully," he said. "Fight the story… or survive inside it."
She looked up at the fractured sky.
Then at the percentage bar, frozen at 73%.
For the first time since she woke up—
Deletion wasn't certain.
And that scared her more than 100% ever had.
Because uncertainty meant something worse.
A rewrite.