The rooftop of Northwood High was a vast expanse of gravel and tar, dotted with ventilation units that hummed like sleeping beasts. The sun was setting, bleeding a bruised purple and orange across the horizon. The wind up here was fierce, whipping Elara’s hair across her face and chilling the sweat on my back.
I let go of her hand and collapsed against a generator housing, gasping for air.
Elara didn't collapse. She stood there, smoothing down her blazer, trying to regain some semblance of her perfect, untouchable persona. But her hands were trembling.
"Okay," she said, her voice fighting the wind. "We are on the roof. We are alone. Start talking, Ren."
She took a step toward me, her eyes hard. "You blew out the windows. With your fist. You knew about the fog. And you keep looking at things that I can’t see."
I looked up at her. The countdown timer above her head was glitching violently.
ERROR. ERROR. Destiny Flux.
"Elara," I rasped, wiping my nose. "You really don't want to know. Ignorance is... well, it’s safer."
"I am the top student in this school," she snapped. "I don't do ignorance. Tell me who you are."
I opened my mouth to give her some half-baked lie about being a psychic or a government experiment, but the air suddenly grew heavy.
Static electricity prickled my skin. The hairs on my arms stood up.
"Ren?" Elara’s voice dropped an octave. She hugged herself, shivering. "Why does it suddenly smell like... rotting paper?"
I pushed myself off the generator. "Get behind me."
"What?"
"Get behind me, now!"
I shoved her back just as the gravel in the center of the roof exploded.
It wasn't a bomb. It was an eruption of sludge.
A massive, amorphous shape rose from the tar paper. It looked like a column of black ink mixed with gray pulp—the shredded remains of a thousand failed test papers. As it rose, it took shape. It grew arms that were too long, fingers made of sharp, broken rulers, and a face that was nothing but a hollow, screaming void.
[Class B Entity: The Dropout Demon]13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxACNxY5MSP
Origin: The concentrated residue of the Vice Principal’s Audit. It seeks to erase the "flawed" variables.
"Oh, come on," I groaned. "I beat the mid-boss. Why is there a second phase?"
The demon roared—a sound like tearing cardboard amplified through a jet engine. It didn't look at me. It turned its hollow face directly toward Elara.
She was the beacon. To this thing, she was a lighthouse of spiritual energy, the perfect fuel to repair its broken form.
Elara screamed, stumbling back until she hit the chain-link fence at the edge of the roof.
"Ren!" she cried out, pointing. "What is that thing?!"
"That," I said, stepping between them, "is what happens when you care too much about your GPA."
The demon lunged.
It moved with terrifying speed for something so big. A massive arm made of wet, heavy pulp swung at us.
I tackled Elara, rolling us both across the sharp gravel. The demon’s fist smashed into the spot where she had been standing, cracking the concrete roof tiles.
I scrambled up, dragging Elara with me. "Keep moving! Don't let it corner you!"
"I can't fight that!" she yelled, her composure completely shattered.
"You're not supposed to!"
I reached into my pocket. I had one talisman left—a sticky note where I’d scribbled a prediction about the housing market crash.
"Hey, ugly!" I shouted, waving the note. "Check out these interest rates!"
I slapped the note onto the demon’s flank as it passed.
Nothing happened.
The ink sizzled weakly and went out. The demon didn't even flinch.
Insufficient Capital, my brain supplied. Your spiritual credit score is zero.
I had burned everything in the gym. The "Market Crash" attack had drained my reserves. I was running on fumes.
The demon backhanded me.
It felt like being hit by a wet mattress filled with bricks. I flew ten feet through the air and slammed into a ventilation duct. My vision went white. I slid to the ground, coughing violently. Something inside my chest rattled.
"Ren!" Elara’s voice sounded far away.
I tried to get up, but my limbs wouldn't listen.
The demon ignored me. It turned back to Elara. She was pressed against the fence, nowhere left to run. The creature loomed over her, its ruler-fingers extending, ready to spear her.
She looked at it, terrified, but she didn't close her eyes. She stood tall. Even in the face of death, she was stubborn.
176 Days... The timer above her head stopped counting down. It just blinked. 00:00:00.
"No," I whispered.
This wasn't supposed to happen yet. She wasn't supposed to die on the roof. She was supposed to die at graduation. The timeline was collapsing because I had messed it up.
I forced my head up.
"Hey!" I wheezed.
The demon paused, its jagged fingers inches from Elara’s face.
"Leave her alone," I said, grabbing the edge of the vent to pull myself up. "She’s... she’s not the variable you want. I am."
I stood up, swaying like a drunkard. I had no weapons. No talismans. No energy.
But I had memories.
The "Stock Market Soul" wasn't just about writing things down. It was about value. It was about trading one thing for another. Equivalent exchange.
If I didn't have spiritual energy, I had to burn something else.
I closed my eyes and reached into the vault of my future knowledge. I found the big one. The Golden Goose. The memory that was going to make me a billionaire in my thirties.
Bitcoin. 2009. The wallet key I memorized.
It was worth billions. It was my retirement plan. It was my empire.
"I'm initiating a trade," I muttered, my voice gaining strength.
The air around me began to vibrate. Not with golden light this time, but with a burning, crimson aura. The smell of ozone overpowered the smell of rot.
The demon turned slowly, sensing the massive spike in value. It forgot about Elara. It looked at me with hunger.
"You want value?" I shouted, my hands glowing red hot. "I'm short-selling my entire future! take it all!"
I grabbed the memory of that wealth—the yachts, the penthouses, the security—and I crushed it. I converted all that potential destiny into raw, explosive power.
Transaction Approved.
I didn't run. I simply thrust my palm forward.
13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJO51IU3LBx
13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsBsCDUKgqw
Closing Note：I’m stuck on a plot point! Help me decide the Heroine's next move on our Discord: unplot_joshua.
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