The Borderline between [α] and [β].

Ah. So slow—time crawls like a snail over cold stone.

Where are you, little brother—left lies [α], right lies [β], like two forks in a fogged road.

Making me wait... it itches like ants under my skin.

So annoying... so annoying. So annoying. So annoying. So annoying. So annoying. So annoying. So annoying!

Sigh... so bored—like a pond with no wind and no ripples.

This World is so boring—an empty chessboard, a rainless sky, a moon that won’t rise, a lantern with no flame.

Eh, forget it—fingers open, sand slips away.

No more waiting—the taut thread snaps.

Then I’ll ruin it—break the board, scatter the stars.

Boom—!!!

[α] Worldline.

Seer. I want news of Time—my voice a small candle in the dark.

You know the price—her reply a cold bell under water.

The last payment should still have some left. Enough for one yes-or-no question—like a single seed kept for winter.

...What question?—her breath thin as frost.

Time—did she die?—the name hangs like a pale moon.

...She died—her words fall like ash.

[α] Worldline.

As when he arrived—a river of void, a sky of ink.

Ye Weibai drifted through the cosmos, a lone boat under black constellations.

This time, seasoned by loss, he didn’t get lost in absolute stillness and darkness—he steered by a stubborn star.

His chest was tight as winter stone. He thought.

Thinking back—Time rewound more than three times—like tide after tide grinding the shore.

I forced myself to forget those rounds—memories were knives, and I turned my face.

And it wasn’t a clean rewind. At first it was Aya, and at the end it was Daisy—names like petals trading places in a storm.

Some days rained, some were overcast, some showed a thin moon—skies shuffling like cards.

Even if memory reset, feelings clung like damp leaves—on the last day, Daisy called my name, though it was our first meeting.

And Time, she seemed—

Ye Weibai cut his thoughts short—silence dropped like a blade.

What is that?—a cold question, a wire in the dark.

Whoosh—!

A blue brilliance flashed past, blinding even with closed eyes—like lightning in a sealed coffin.

It cut the World to ribbons—threads of reality frayed and flying.

Boom—!

[β] Worldline.

Is it Nightfall?—he asked softly, eyes two embers in dusk.

If it’s her, good—Little Ash smiled, light as a fox-dance. Then we won’t be so shabby. We can’t beat her, but if we run, she won’t catch us—the wind will be our cloak.

That—

—Won’t work—Little Ash paused, the laugh thinning like smoke. Tell Little White, but Little White can’t hear this—words drop into a locked well.

...Our level isn’t enough again?—Ye Weibai’s voice was a low tide.

Mm. And we don’t like to say Its name. Say it, and It ‘hears’—a listening ear in the dark reeds. If It hears, It appears at once—like a shadow stepping out of the wall. That’s bad.

—That terrifying?—his breath stirred like a moth wing.

Well... about that terrifying—Little Ash tilted her head, a sparrow mid-hop. Eh?

Little Ash’s face paled—color fell like dust. Ye Weibai didn’t have time to ask.

Whoosh—!

A blue curtain of light swept across the Void—bright enough to steal the night.

It cut the World to shards—glass rain over nothing.

Boom—!

[α]/[β] Worldline.

Ye Weibai jolted—mind blinking like a lantern in wind.

When that blue light sheet cleaved the entire Void Tunnel, he felt new shards slip into his head—memories stitching like cold needles.

In that inserted memory, Little Ash didn’t die. She fled back to the house—footsteps like quick rain—and she told him:

The terrifying thing that wants to kill Little Ash—It—will appear the moment Its name is spoken—like thunder at the call.

If such a thing exists, and someone speaks Its name before you, and nothing happens—no shadow, no breath—then there’s only one possibility—

That person is It—smiling like a mask.

Am I right... Wei?—his whisper a reed bending by water.

—Right—her answer like a drop from a high eave.

Why? Why kill Little Ash... and maybe Time?—his grief a black tide licking the shore.

—You should know—her voice a thin string.

Just to get close to me? If so, you didn’t have to kill them—my gate was open like an unbarred door.

—It’s already happened—her words sat heavy, like wet clay.

True. It’s already happened—the echo was a hollow drum.

...I’m sorry—his apology a white feather falling.

Sorry for what? If you don’t say it, I won’t get it—his gaze steady as iron.

—Sorry. I botched both [α] and [β]. Next time—next time I’ll be careful and less hasty—her vow a knot tied with trembling hands.

By next time, you mean?—his question floated like a paper boat.

—The [α-1] line—her answer pointed like a compass needle.

End of volume.