The Debug Monster collapsed in on itself with a wrung-tight finality, as if the entire thing had been stitched together by a thread so fragile and invisible that any gust of action could easily unravel it. When Kaze delivered the last blow-a precise, rapid chop that cut straight through the center of the monster's loading-circle chest-the creature's half-formed body gave way and imploded into a whirl of corrupted code, spiraling into disorganized fragments. It didn't shatter in the way ordinary monsters did. Instead, it folded inward, shrinking pixel by pixel, until only a minuscule black cube remained, blinking faintly like a dying cursor.
Kaze didn't bother to watch the collapse all the way to its end. His arm lowered with a measured slowness, as if such motions were ingrained muscle memory rather than conscious choice. A little shake of his wrist sent stray glitched bits tumbling from his hand. The floor beneath all three of them pulsed in a stubborn attempt to lock down gravity. Luna hovered no more than half an inch above the ground before it snapped back and dropped her with a sharp yelp. Riko barely kept his balance.
Once more, the world around them shimmered. Above, the sky twisted neon-blue lines arcing across the void, like some broken circuit diagram trying in vain to repair itself. Beneath their feet, even the "ground", made up of a patchwork of floating data chunks, kept shifting, like some malfunctioning loading screen. Nothing here felt solid, nothing here felt really alive.
Except Kaze.
Riko fixed his gaze on him. Really fixed it.
Kaze wasn't breathing hard. He wasn't sweating. He wasn't even bruised. His stance remained perfectly calm, perfectly balanced, as if he'd anticipated every move the monster would make before it even attempted them. Every strike. Every frame skip. Every glitch.
The monster had been terrifying. But Kaze… he looked like someone who wasn't afraid. Not here. Not in this impossible, broken place.
And that was wrong.
Riko's voice came out unsteady. "You… finished it off like you-I don't know-like you've fought these glitch things a hundred times."
Kaze didn't answer right away. His eyes followed the monster's remains as the last flicker of code dissolved into the ground. He said nothing. He didn't even blink. His eyes were razor-sharp, scanning the horizon the way a person would survey a familiar neighborhood street after years away.
Riko stepped closer. "Dude, why do you look like you belong here?"
Kaze finally turned.
His expression wasn't shocked, nor confused nor scared like Riko's and Luna's. It was…resigned. A touch annoyed. And a lot colder than usual.
Luna crossed her arms. "Alright, someone better start explaining. Because I'm pretty sure a normal person doesn't dodge frame-skipping monsters like it's part of their morning routine.
Kaze didn't meet her eyes.
He watched the data ground floating beneath them, observing the flickering seams in the digital fragments. He slightly stooped and brushed one of the glowing cracks with his fingertips. The very moment he touched it, the world reacted as if it had recognized him. The crack pulsed, expanding and contracting like a heartbeat.
Riko felt his stomach drop. "What was that?"
Kaze didn't answer.
Instead, he stood up, brushed the dust off his uniform, and spoke in his same calm tone he had used before throwing a punch.
"This place," he said slowly, "isn't new to me."
Luna blinked. "What does that even mean?"
Riko stepped forward. "New to you? Kaze, what are you talking about?"
Kaze didn't flinch. He didn't look away. He didn't hesitate.
"I've been here before," he said.
The words hit harder than the attacks of the Debug Monster.
Riko stared, waiting for the punch line. A smirk. A shrug. Something. Anything.
But Kaze wasn't joking.
His expression didn't change. His eyes didn't narrow or soften. No dramatic pause. No confusion. No doubt. He said it as a matter-of-fact. A fact no more complicated than stating the time.
Luna's jaw dropped. "YOU WHAT?!"
Riko threw his hands up. "Hold on—hold ON—how are you just casually dropping that on us like it's nothing?!
The empty sky above them crackled again, glitch lightning rippling through the darkness. The whole dimension shook. Whatever this place was-whatever this zone acted like-it clearly knew Kaze. Reacted to him. Responded to his presence.
Riko's system—half broken, flickering at his side—buzzed softly as Kaze spoke, as if even it didn't know how to process that information.
Riko stared at him, eyes wide. "Kaze… what do you mean you've been here before? How-when-why?"
Kaze closed his eyes for a moment, weighing which version of the truth to give. Yet when he opened them, he still gave the same answer.
"I've been here before."
That was it. No elaboration, no explanation; no emotion.
Just the truth.
Riko felt his brain short-circuit harder than the system had. "Bro, you're saying that like it's normal. Like it's just a casual after-school memory."
Luna pointed aggressively at him. "Yeah! And why didn't you tell us?! You know how many times we almost died five minutes ago?!"
Kaze said nothing. His silence only magnified the enormity of the void.
The air around them crackled with static. The ground shifted again. A long digital crack snaked under their feet, glowing bright blue before fading. Riko felt the hairs on his arms rise. This place was reacting to Kaze more strongly now that he admitted it.
Riko exhaled sharply. "Okay. Fine. Whatever. Let's just—try this again."
He jabbed a finger at Kaze. "You're telling me you've been in this… whatever this is… this glitch world… before?
Kaze nodded once.
Riko threw his hands up. "Dude, what the hell?!
Kaze remained expressionless.
Riko groaned, rubbing his face. "You're saying it like-like- He stopped mid-sentence, then laughed once-half in disbelief, half in hysteria. You say it as if I'd played these games before, like Gi Hun from Squid Game Season 2.