Chương 52: Chapter 51: WILL - The Girl With Color

The rooftop wind smelled of old concrete, dust, and dead leaves. Z-69 stood beneath the gray sky with a sketchbook in one hand and a bag of premium beef jerky in the other. Behind him, three boys lay on the concrete in different stages of pain and humiliation. One curled around his ribs. One groaned into the floor. One had stopped trying to sit up after discovering movement made everything worse. The scene should have been ridiculous. It was not. It was still. Too still.

As if the simulation itself had paused to watch what he would do next. The girl remained motionless for one second too long. She was the only thing on that rooftop that did not look like it belonged inside a dead photograph. The sky was gray. The railings were gray. The schoolyard below looked like someone had rubbed charcoal across the whole world and decided that was enough. But around her, something impossible remained. Soft gold. Not a glow. Not magic. Not even color in the normal sense.

Just a quiet refusal to be erased. Z-69 held the jerky out a little farther.

"Want some beef jerky?" She stared at him. Then she laughed. The sound landed cleanly in his ears. No static. No warping. No cassette-tape distortion. Just a real laugh—light, clear, and effortless. That alone made it dangerous. She bent down, picked up her brush, and dusted it carefully against her skirt before taking the sketchbook from his hand. Her movements were precise. Not timid. Not flustered. Precise. Like someone who valued her things far more than they appeared to be worth.

"Premium beef jerky," she repeated, glancing at the bag.

"From the cafeteria?" He nodded once.

"It's good." She looked at him. Then at the three boys behind him. Then back at the jerky.

"You beat up three people," she said, "and your first idea after that was to offer me a snack?" A smile tugged at her mouth.

"That's such a weird way to approach someone." Z-69 said nothing. She tilted her head, studying him openly.

"Usually people ask, 'Are you okay?' first." The breeze lifted a few strands of her hair. For a fraction of a second, the gold around her thinned. Then it pulled itself back together. Z-69 watched the shift without comment. He had already learned enough to know answering too quickly in this place was usually a mistake. Naturally, the Tower refused to let him keep the silence. A translucent prompt appeared before his eyes.

SHE'S SMILING AND WAITING FOR YOUR RESPONSE Time Remaining: 00: 30 Girl, shut up and start eating. Don't misunderstand. It's not like I like you or anything. They say the stomach is the shortest road to a woman's heart. The timer began to tick. 00: 28 00: 27 He looked at the choices. The first would kill the mood instantly. The second stirred a word somewhere in the back of his head. Tsundere. He knew the word. Knew the character archetype. Had no idea why. The third option was unbearable. Cheesy. Transparent.

Embarrassingly deliberate. Which made it the most likely one to work. The Tower really had no shame. Z-69 fixed his gaze on the third line. A prickling sensation crept from behind his eyes down into the base of his skull. Click. The prompt vanished. He looked at the girl and spoke with the exact tone one might use to issue battlefield orders.

"They say the stomach is the shortest road to a woman's heart." A beat.

"The jerky is just an excuse." Another beat.

"An excuse to talk to you." She blinked. Then burst into laughter. Louder this time. Brighter.

"You cannot be serious." Her eyes curved with amusement.

"How are you saying something that cheesy with a face like that?" He did not answer. He was not sure what possible answer could improve the situation. She shook her head, still smiling.

"But," she said more quietly, "thank you." The air changed after that. Not dramatically. The violence from moments ago still clung to the rooftop. The groaning boys still existed behind them. Blood still stained his knuckles. But the tension loosened enough for breathing to feel easier. She lowered herself back to where she had been sitting before the interruption and patted the empty space beside her.

"Come on," she said.

"Since you already opened with premium beef jerky." He walked over and sat down. Not too far. Not too close. Just enough distance to avoid seeming cold without crowding her. She opened the bag, took one strip, and bit into it. Her eyes widened.

"Oh." She looked at the jerky again, reassessing it.

"It's actually good." Then she seemed to remember that social rules existed.

"Right," she said.

"I'm Jenny." Z-69 repeated it silently. Jenny. A simple name. Too ordinary for the only person in this town who felt truly rendered.

"Raito," he said. Jenny smiled faintly.

"Raito…" She rolled the name around once as if testing its texture.

"That sounds kind of cool." Then, teasingly:"It sounds like the name of someone from an anime." Another word he understood without understanding why. Anime. Reference. Tone. Joke. All of it arrived instantly. The memory behind it remained blank. He let the pause breathe.

"Maybe." Jenny laughed under her breath.

"That's such a vague answer." But she did not seem bothered. If anything, she looked more interested. She pulled out a pencil, opened the sketchbook across her knees, and focused on him again. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

"Raito," she said, "can I draw you?" His first instinct was no. Hide. Refuse. Reduce attention. The prompt appeared before he could act on it. JENNY WANTS TO DRAW YOU Time Remaining: 00: 30 Sure, but you have to make me handsome. Sure, but it's not free. No. Don't draw me. 00: 29 00: 28 Option three matched his instincts perfectly. Which was why he discarded it. Option two would drag the conversation sideways into awkward territory for no useful gain. Option one was stupid. That made it the correct choice. Click.

"Sure," he said. A brief pause.

"But you have to make me handsome." She stared at him. Then laughed again, shoulders shaking.

"You really are strange." She tapped the pencil lightly against the page.

"No promises. I'll do my best." Then she started drawing. Her hand moved with quick, practiced confidence. No hesitation. No searching for the right line. No correction after correction. She sketched the way some people breathed—naturally, without needing to think about it. And while she drew, she talked. Not from nervousness. Not because she feared silence. It felt more like she genuinely believed silence was something people should share with words instead of leaving it empty.

"What class are you in?"

"12A2."

"Oh. Same grade." Her pencil kept moving.

"I'm in 12A10." She glanced up once. Then down again.

"That's weird. I've been here for years, but I don't think I've ever seen you before."

"Probably because I'm easy to miss." Jenny smiled at that.

"Maybe." The pencil scratched softly across paper.

"Where do you live? Near the forest? Or near the lake?"

"Not far."

"That's vague too." She adjusted the page and continued.

"The lake is nice. On sunny days, the water looks—" She stopped. Only for a fraction of a second. Then corrected herself.

"…No. I guess not." Her voice had gone quieter.

"You probably see it as gray." Z-69 turned his head and looked at her fully. Jenny did not meet his eyes. She kept drawing. But her fingers tightened slightly around the pencil. How did she know that? Not metaphorically. Not casually. Not you seem sad. She had said it with the kind of ease that suggested she understood exactly how he saw the world. Jenny looked up and caught him staring. Then she smiled again. Smaller this time. Softer. More careful.

"You really don't talk much," she said.

"Yeah."

"I don't mind." She lowered her gaze.

"I can talk enough for both of us." There was no bitterness in it. No passive aggression. If anything, she sounded relieved. As if his silence created a kind of space she could safely occupy. The sketch finished soon after. Jenny tore the page free and handed it to him. The drawing was simple. Quick. Accurate in the way good sketches often were. Dark hair. Hoodie. A distant, watchful look he apparently wore even when he was not trying. And behind one shoulder, a thin streak of light.

Not enough to be called lightning. Just enough to suggest one.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"Handsome enough?" He studied it one second longer than necessary. Still black and white. But the eyes felt wrong. Not hostile. Not distorted. Deliberately incomplete. As if she had sensed there was something behind them and chosen not to draw it.

"Acceptable," he said. Jenny laughed.

"That's your version of a compliment, huh?" He looked out over the town beyond the railing. Gray rooftops. Gray trees. Gray streets cutting through everything like old scars. Jenny followed his gaze.

"You feel like someone who won't stay here long," she said. He did not answer immediately. Then, quietly:"I'm just passing through." She nodded as if that made perfect sense.

"Maybe," she said.

"But even people who pass through leave traces." Before he could decide whether that line mattered, the bell rang below. It cut through the rooftop air like a blade. Jenny made a face.

"Seriously?" She closed the sketchbook with obvious reluctance.

"Lunch is way too short." She packed quickly. Then she stood. For one moment, she hesitated and looked down at him, the faint gold still wrapped around her like something the world had failed to scrub away.

"See you later, okay?" Then she left. Just like that. Her footsteps faded into the stairwell. The rooftop became dead quiet again. Only he remained. He, the wind, the sketch in his hand— And the three boys still lying on the concrete. The pressure in his chest shifted almost immediately after she was gone. Raito's emotions crept back in like groundwater through cracked stone. Not overwhelming. Not yet. But present. Z-69 stood. Then looked once more at the sketch in his hand.

It should have been entirely black and white. Yet for one fraction of a second, in the drawn eyes, he thought he saw a tiny stain of gold. He blinked. It vanished. A small breath left him. Almost amusement.

"What an interesting girl." The alarm dragged him awake the next morning. Gray-white ceiling. Thin light through the curtains. A new day. And he was still here. He lay still for a few seconds, staring upward. No sign that the trial was near its end.

"Looks like this one's going to be long." He dressed. Left the house. Went to school. Evergreen High greeted him the same way it always did—like an institution pretending routine was enough to keep despair from leaking through the walls. He entered class like a ghost. No one greeted him. No one really noticed him. He took his usual seat in the back by the window. The teacher began talking. The voice came out warped and mechanical, as if the simulation had only half-committed to generating authority.

The chalk formulas on the board looked unstable, threatening to melt if stared at too long. The students remained gray silhouettes with unfinished faces. Z-69 stopped trying to force understanding. There was no return on the effort. And somewhere in the middle of enduring all that, he noticed something faintly absurd. He was waiting for lunch. Because lunch meant Jenny. That realization sat inside his chest like an unwelcome fact. When the chance came, he stood.

"Teacher, may I go to the restroom?" The teacher nodded without turning. Z-69 walked out. And kept walking.

"12A10," he muttered. It did not take long to find the room. He crouched beside the small door window and looked in. Same gray classroom. Same washed-out students. Same dead atmosphere. But in the back, by the window— Gold. Jenny sat with her head lowered, pencil moving across the page. This clearly was not art class. That did not seem to concern her. Something warm rose in his chest. Then a blade of pain drove straight through his skull. The world tilted. An image slammed into him. A window. Not this one.

Outside it stretched a ruined city. Collapsed buildings. Distant smoke. A sky packed with gray dust. A girl sat by that window with a notebook and drawing pen in her hand. He could not see her face clearly. Then a voice. A man's voice. His voice.

"Don't you think spending time drawing a ruined world like this… is pointless?" The girl laughed softly.

"And you?"

"Don't you think standing there watching me… is pointless?" She patted the seat beside her.

"Come here. Sit with me." The next instant, he was already sitting beside her. Wind poured through the broken window, carrying the smell of dust and burnt metal. She kept looking outside.

"I know it's pointless," she said quietly.

"It's just…" A pause.

"Sometimes I wish I could draw this world again… back when it was at its most beautiful." Then she turned.

"And you? What do you think?" For one split second, his pulse jumped. Then horror rolled over him. Her face did not exist. Pure static. Endless, bottomless, featureless distortion. Exactly like every other unfinished person in Evergreen. The lunch bell rang. The hallucination shattered. And in the final instant before it disappeared, her face overlapped with Jenny's. A violent headache detonated behind his eyes. Nausea hit hard enough to bend him forward. He jerked upright and ran.

Inside 12A10, Jenny suddenly lifted her head toward the window. She only caught a glimpse of his figure passing the hall before he vanished. In the restroom, he barely made it to the sink before vomiting. Once. Then again. Until his stomach emptied itself into bitter nothing. He straightened slowly. Splashed cold water over his face. Gripped the sink with both hands. The reflection in the mirror wavered like disturbed water.

"What the hell…" The question echoed. And brought more questions with it. Who was that girl? Why did she resemble Jenny? Why did someone inside a Tower trial feel familiar? He exhaled hard.

"Maybe Raito's body can't handle my memories." Even to him, that explanation felt weak. A few seconds in that vision had stolen too much time and hit far too hard to be simple overflow. Still, he forced himself upright and went to the cafeteria. His hands were still shaking when a warm streak of gold entered his peripheral vision. Jenny. She stood beside him holding her tray, smiling exactly like yesterday.

"Raito! What a coincidence. We met again. Do you want to sit together?" The moment she arrived, the pressure in his head dissolved. Just like that. Storm gone. Thoughts sharpened. Body steadied. Interesting. The prompt appeared. SHE WANTS TO EAT LUNCH WITH YOU Time Remaining: 00: 30 No. I like eating alone. Are you stalking me? Sure. I've been waiting for you. He did not need time for this one. If she walked away, the pressure would return. That alone made the answer obvious. Click.

"Sure," he said.

"I've been waiting for you." Jenny blinked.

"Really?" Then, with mock suspicion:"How did you know I'd come to the cafeteria today?"

"Intuition." She laughed and sat across from him like she had always belonged there. While they ate, she talked. Teachers. Art club. Paintings she wanted to make. Then she stopped and looked at his tray.

"You eat a lot."

"Yeah."

"You like food?" He stared at a chicken nugget. For a split second, memory answered before he did. Crimeria. Level Ten. Food that was more chemical parody than nourishment. Things that should have been edible and were not.

"Yes," he said. Jenny smiled.

"Then tomorrow I'll take you to the bakery in town. The pastries there—""You said bakery?" He cut in. Dead serious. Jenny blinked. Then nodded.

"Yeah. It's really good. You should come with—" He leaned across the table and grabbed her hand. His eyes held the intensity of someone discovering buried treasure.

"Of course," he said.

"We're going." In the corner of his vision, the HUD flickered. Probably another choice. He did not bother reading it. He selected yes before the Tower finished pretending it had control. The prompt blinked once. Almost offended. Then disappeared. Jenny stared down at his hand around hers. A faint blush rose to her cheeks. The gold around her brightened. Noticeably. He realized one second too late that he had overcommitted. He released her hand at once and looked away.

"Ahem. Sorry. I got… too excited." Jenny did not look upset. She looked entertained.

"Yay," she said softly.

"Then we're going tomorrow." She lowered her gaze to her lunch again, voice turning quieter.

"Thank you." He looked back at her.

"For what?" Jenny shrugged lightly.

"I don't know." A pause.

"It just feels like I should." He let that sit. But the thought surfaced anyway. Maybe Jenny was not just a character in this game. Maybe she was something else. The third morning began exactly the same. Alarm. Gray ceiling. Thin daylight. Immediate disappointment. Still here. Still Raito. Still trapped in this monochrome farce. He got up, washed, dressed, and returned to school. Class was unbearable in exactly the same way as always. Teacher voices broke apart in his ears. Board writing warped.

Students stayed half-rendered and emotionally irrelevant. He stopped trying to force understanding. There was no return on the effort. And somewhere in the middle of the lesson, he noticed it again. He was waiting for lunch. Not because of food. Because of Jenny. That fact remained irritating. And true. When the opportunity came, he asked to leave and walked out again. This time, when he stopped outside 12A10 and looked in, the atmosphere was different. Self-study period. Small groups talking.

Students trading papers, gossiping, wasting time with the practiced ease of people whose small lives had not yet collapsed. Jenny sat in the back by the window. Alone. Drawing. A male student approached her desk. Jenny looked up at once. And smiled. It was smooth enough to be unsettling. She responded politely. Nodded at the right moments. Laughed once. Everything about it looked natural from a casual glance. Then the boy left. The smile disappeared immediately. No fade. No sigh. No afterglow.

It simply switched off. Her eyes dropped back to the page. The pencil resumed moving. The rest of the room stopped mattering. Z-69 stayed perfectly still. Useful information. Jenny knew how to act normal. She simply did it only when necessary. On the page beneath her hand, he could make out the shape of a tree. Large. Leafless. Its branches reached upward like black veins over white paper. Something in the image tugged at the back of his mind. No memory attached itself to the feeling. Yet. The lunch bell rang.

He left before anyone could notice him. As expected, Jenny found him in the cafeteria with almost suspicious precision. She sat with him. He ate. She talked. Teachers. Art club. Class gossip. Future paintings. Underneath all of it sat a faint expectation. After school, they were supposed to go somewhere. The bakery. Jenny brought it up again near the end of lunch, as if checking whether he had changed his mind. He had not.

Whether he was going because the Tower wanted him there or because he wanted more data on her made no practical difference. When the final bell rang, she was already waiting by the school gate. Sketchbook in hand. When she saw him, she straightened and waved.

"Raito!" Her voice reached him more naturally than the rest of the world did. They walked through town together. Jenny did most of the talking. She pointed things out as they passed. The library. A used bookstore. The road leading toward the lake. A corner shop with terrible coffee but good candy. She talked as if naming places could pin them down before they drifted away. Z-69 listened. Memorized. Evergreen stayed gray. Sidewalks. Cars. Shop windows. Pedestrians. All reduced to ash.

Only Jenny carried that faint soft gold with her. They stopped in front of a bakery with large glass windows and a little bell above the door. The moment they stepped inside, warmth wrapped around them. Butter. Sugar. Fresh bread. The smell hit him hard enough for his stomach to tighten. Jenny noticed at once.

"Wow," she said, glancing at him.

"You really do like food." He said nothing. It was answer enough. The display case held pastries he could not properly see but could absolutely smell. Fruit fillings. Glaze. Dough. Butter-rich layers of flaky heat. Jenny leaned close to the case with intense concentration, as if choosing dessert was a matter of artistic integrity.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"Anything good." She looked back at him and laughed.

"That is not helpful at all." She chose for both of them and led him to a small table by the window. Inside the bakery, the lighting was warm enough that the world almost felt less hostile. Outside the glass, Evergreen remained gray and distant. Jenny took a bite of her pastry and closed her eyes briefly in satisfaction.

"Mm." Then she looked out the window.

"Life still has a little hope left." He watched her.

"You say that a lot." Jenny turned her fork slowly between her fingers.

"Hope?" He nodded. She looked back out through the glass.

"If I stop saying it," she said quietly, "I feel like it might disappear." The line should have sounded forced. It did not. It landed with the fragile honesty of something she had repeated to herself many times in private. Z-69 did not answer. Jenny seemed fine with that. A moment later, she reached into her bag, took out a pencil, and held it toward him.

"Try drawing something." He looked at the pencil. Then at her.

"Why?"

"Because I want to see what you'd draw." She looked at him with open expectation. The kind that made refusal feel unnecessarily cruel. The prompt appeared. JENNY IS WAITING FOR YOU TO DRAW SOMETHING Time Remaining: 00: 30 Draw a heart. Draw Jenny. Don't draw. He exhaled inwardly. Of course. Option three was eliminated immediately. He could refuse the Tower. He could not refuse that look. Option two risked too much with too little control. Which left the ridiculous option. Click. Jenny slid a napkin toward him.

He took the pencil with the solemnity of someone defusing a bomb and drew a heart. It was terrible. Lopsided. Crooked. A shape assembled by someone who understood romance only as a hostile environmental hazard. Jenny stared at it. Then laughed so hard she had to cover her mouth.

"Oh no," she said between breaths.

"That's amazing." He frowned faintly.

"It's a heart."

"It is technically a heart," she agreed, still laughing. Then she looked at him, eyes bright enough that the gold around her seemed a little stronger.

"You're kind of cute, you know that?" His expression did not change. But he turned his face toward the window.

"No." Jenny laughed even harder.

"Yes." The bakery glass reflected two worlds at once. The warm interior. The gray dead town outside. Between them, Z-69 sat in silence while Jenny's laughter softened into a smile. And without meaning to, he noticed one more thing. Whenever she laughed like that, the gold around her grew clearer. Not dramatically. Not enough for anyone else to notice. But enough for him. Enough to matter.