The more she tried to control, the more she lost herself.
——
Mrs. Zane collapsed on the fifth morning.
Not from illness—
But from something inside her going suddenly, inexplicably blank.
She woke at six.
Stood before the mirror, eyebrow pencil in hand.
And stared at her bare face for ten full minutes.
It wasn't fatigue.
It wasn't aging.
It was the realization that—
She no longer knew who she needed to win for.
———
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Mrs. Zane held the pocket watch in her palm.
It was a gift she had present to Zane years ago, for his birthday.
He had never worn it.
Never mentioned it.
She thought it was long forgotten.
Until a few nights ago, when she saw it again—
Lying quietly in the corner of the study room.
The watch was spotless, almost new.
The chain clasp still carried a trace of warmth.
She didn't know why it had returned.
She didn't ask.
But she began to understand something—more clearly by the day:
She had done so much.
And yet, not once had she received a single, clear answer in return.
At breakfast, Mrs. Zane stared at the white peanuts in her porridge and didn't move.
A maid approached, speaking carefully.
"Ma'am… would you like to go out today?"
She shook her head.
Sunlight poured through the windows.
Osmanthus petals drifted outside.
But all she could feel was the thinning air—
As if the entire house had been sealed shut.
Not with heat,
But a silent atmosphere that cause suffocating.
—
She began repeating the unpurposed actions.
Wiping the mirror for the third time.
Adjusting the vase angle again.
Opening and closing the drawer where the watch was kept—over and over.
The servants started to look at each others without any clue behind her back.
Liu stood by the kitchen door for a while.
He sighed softly.
Said nothing.
Zane never came home.
It felt intentional.
Like he was letting her victory end without the applause of joy.
——
That night, Mrs. Zane sat before her vanity desk.
Under the light, she took out the pocket watch again.
The silver case still gleamed.
The hour hands stopped at 3:17 a.m.
She stared at it, as if waiting for an answer.
—
Soft words drifted through the empty room:
"You were never really mine."
"Then what did I even win?"
—
Meanwhile, Elric was in his night school logic course.
The classroom was dim.
Formulas, commands, and structural maps glowed on the desk projection.
He sat second row from the window.
No notes.
Just his eyes fixed on the bottom-right icon:
Simulation Module Locked.
That's the part of the system which not yet available to students.
No one had told him when it would unlock.
But he already knew—
This place didn't wait for readiness.
It responded to initiative.
He flipped open his notebook and wrote across the top line:
"Out-of-System Thinking: Custom Pathway Simulation."
And in that same moment—
Lights in another world quietly went out.
—
Elsewhere, Elena sat on the edge of her bed.
A small lamp still on, casting light over the sewing kit on her lap.
She hadn't gone out today.
Just stayed in her room, stitching an old shirt—thread by thread.
Not to wear it.
Just out of habit.
She didn't speak.
Didn't know where Elric was.
But her hands kept moving—needle through thread—
As if mending the tear inside her heart.
As if she truly believed—
That if she stayed quiet enough, careful enough, patient enough,
And disturbed no one—
The boy would one day return.
—
That night, across three spaces,
Three people remained silent.
But each of them was facing the one truth they least wanted to admit:
Mrs. Zane had lost control.
Elena had lost companionship.
And Elric—was learning to live in a world where no one reminded him what to do.
——
[Chapter Epigraph]
Some victories are meaningless when there is no competitor.
And some identities only begin to grow after you've been erased.
⸻
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Chapter 18 · Light Beneath the Surface
In the middle of a simulation task, shadows from childhood quietly begin to resurface.