Alex stopped in the middle of the street because something felt wrong.
Not danger. Not pressure. Not even resistance. Nothing reacted to him. The crosswalk light ahead turned green without hesitation. Cars flowed past smoothly, adjusting speed by fractions of a second, leaving perfect gaps for pedestrians to pass through. No one rushed. No one waited too long. The city worked. Alex took another stepLatest Chapter
Chapter 231 — The First Person Who Refused to Be Replaced
The platform emptied slowly after the next train. Not in panic. Not in confusion. Just routine. People stepped onto the cars, doors closed, and the train slid away like a line of thought that had decided it was finished. The station returned to its normal rhythm—soft announcements, distant footsteps, the hum of machinery that never truly slept. But the space where the bag had been still felt different. At least to them. Alex stood there longer than he should have. Long enough for two more trains to pass. Long enough for the crowd to cycle through entirely new faces. No one noticed the empty space. No one asked about the man named Tae Min. Except one person. She appeared near the far end of the platform. Mid-thirties. Office clothes slightly wrinkled, like she’d been wearing them too long. Hair pulled back hastily. Eyes scanning the ground with growing confusion. She walked straight toward the spot where the bag had been. Stopped. Looked around. Then down at her phone. T
Chapter 230 — The Space He Left Behind
The next train arrived three minutes later. Right on schedule. Doors opened. Passengers stepped out in clean, orderly lines. No one rushed. No one hesitated. The platform absorbed them the way it always did—smooth, efficient, predictable. As if nothing had happened. As if a name had not just disappeared from the morning. Alex stood where the bag had been. There was no mark on the ground. No scuff. No dropped object. No system indicator. The space looked exactly like every other part of the platform. Perfectly normal. That was what made it unbearable. Mei Lin walked a slow circle around the spot. “…There should be something,” she said. “A delay. A mismatch. A ripple in the data.” Jin shook his head. “There isn’t,” he replied. “The model already closed the loop.” Marshal frowned. “Closed what loop?” “The absence loop,” Jin said. “Input removed. Output unchanged. System stable.” He looked at the floor where the bag had been. “That counts as success.” Alex felt the Burn s
Chapter 229 — The Day No One Was Missed
The train arrived on time. That was the first sign something was wrong. Not early. Not late. Exactly on schedule. Doors opening at the precise second predicted by the system, lights steady, platform noise low and controlled. People stepped off. People stepped on. No collisions. No rushing. The flow was perfect. Too perfect. Alex stood near the middle of the platform with Mei Lin, Jin, and Marshal. The Burn inside his chest was quiet, but there was a faint pressure in it—like a memory trying to surface. “Something’s off,” Mei Lin said. Jin didn’t answer. He was watching the overhead system feed only he seemed to notice. “…There’s a gap,” he murmured. Halfway down the platform, a seat was empty. Not unusual. Trains always had empty seats. But this one felt… different. A small backpack lay on the floor beside it. Not abandoned in panic. Just placed there, like someone meant to come back for it. The train doors closed. No one picked it up. No one asked about it. The train
Chapter 228 — The Crowd That No Longer Called Anyone Back
The first time it happened, no one thought it was strange. A boy tripped near the entrance of the transit station. His bag burst open, small metal parts scattering across the ground. Screws, wires, cheap tools—things someone clearly needed for work. He hit the pavement hard enough to cry out. People looked. A few slowed down. No one stopped. Not because they were cruel. Not because they were afraid. They simply didn’t know him. And the city gave them no reason to. Alex stood across the street when it happened. He had been watching the morning flow, tracking small changes in behavior. The Burn inside his chest felt quiet, but alert—like it was waiting for a pattern to reveal itself. Mei Lin noticed the fall at the same time. “…Someone should help him,” she said. But she didn’t move. Not because she didn’t want to. Because something in the air told her it wasn’t expected. The boy pushed himself up, wincing. He looked around at the moving legs, the passing shoes, the faces
Chapter 227 — The Day a Name Became Optional
The first name disappeared at noon.Not the person.Just the name.Alex noticed it in the public registry display near the transit hub. It was one of the city’s quiet information panels—normally used for schedules, announcements, and community notices.Today, a list of local residents scrolled across it. Not unusual. The system often displayed population statistics to keep people informed.But one entry flickered.For a split second, the text read:RESIDENT: ID 48-7712STATUS: ACTIVEThe name field was blank.Then the panel refreshed.The line was still there.Still active.Still present.But still without a name.Mei Lin frowned.“…Did you see that?”Alex nodded slowly.“Someone’s record just lost its identifier.”Jin was already scanning his slate, fingers moving fast.“No deletion notice,” he said. “No relocation tag. No death record.”Marshal crossed his arms.“So the person’s still here.”“Yes,” Jin replied. “But the system doesn’t care who they are anymore.”A young woman steppe
Chapter 226 — The Day No One Asked Why
It started with a disappearance. Not the dramatic kind. No sirens. No public alerts. No system echo announcing a removal. Just… a gap. Alex noticed it on the walk back toward the central district. There was a man who usually sold tea from a small folding cart near the transit stairs. He had been there every day for months—same quiet nod, same cracked kettle, same slow smile. Today, the cart was gone. No broken parts. No scorch marks. No police tape. Just an empty space where it used to be. Alex slowed. “Something’s missing,” he said. Mei Lin followed his gaze. “…The tea vendor?” Jin checked his slate, scrolling through quiet system logs. “No incident reports,” he said. “No closures. No relocation notice.” Marshal frowned. “So where did he go?” No one answered. Because the city didn’t either. They stepped closer to the empty spot. A few people passed by. One of them paused, looking at the space where the cart used to stand. He hesitated for a second, as if a memo
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