The teacher cleared his throat, visibly irritated by the lingering silence.

  “What is a cause, Mr. Kael?”

  Kael slowly lifted his eyes.

  The classroom suddenly felt too sharp, too precise, as if every detail were… highlighted.

  All eyes were fixed on him.

  His heart was racing. Too fast.

  He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, then spoke in a calm voice—almost detached:

  “A cause, in its essence… is an origin that is not always aware of itself.”

  Silence followed. Heavy.

  Those words… he hadn’t invented them. They had imposed themselves on him.

  They were the words of the man in the library. Etched into his memory. And now, they would never leave him.

  The teacher raised an eyebrow, visibly surprised.

  “I wasn’t expecting such a… advanced answer from you, Mr. Kael.”

  Kael gave him a crooked smile—cool, almost mocking.

  “That’s surprising.…”

  He didn’t listen to the rest of the lesson.

  His thoughts raced without order, like lightning in a storm. A dull pressure tightened around his chest. His gaze drifted over every student, every corner, every detail…

  Everything was identical. Down to the minute.

  There’s only one thing left to verify…

  Just one… to be sure I’m not losing my mind.

  He waited for the end of the class the way one waits for a verdict to be carried out.

  His fingers tapped nervously against his thigh. His right leg wouldn’t stop shaking.

  A tic.

  The same one Althéa had when she was stressed.

  Several students gave him strange looks. One of them whispered something, followed by a few snickers.

  He didn’t care.

  There was nothing left but the waiting. The silence before the impact.

  Finally, the bell rang.

  Kael almost leapt out of his chair.

  He pulled his phone from his pocket.

  Ten seconds passed.

  He stood completely still, eyes locked on the screen.

  Around him, the other students were leaving the classroom, chatting as they went.

  Thirty seconds.

  The teacher approached, frowning.

  “What are you doing, Kael? You should’ve left already.”

  Kael didn’t answer. He walked out of the classroom without a word.

  The hallway was empty. Strangely silent.

  One minute.

  Bzz.

  His phone vibrated.

  He raised it to eye level.

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  A message.

  Jeff: “Where are you?”

  He didn’t reply. He slowly slipped the phone back into his pocket.

  Then, as if crushed by a revelation too heavy to bear, he leaned back against the wall. His head tapped softly against the cold surface.

  His eyes closed.

  He murmured,

  “Shit…”

  A long silence.

  Then, barely above a breath:

  “I’m stuck in a loop.”

  Without wasting a second, Kael left the building and headed for the courtyard.

  It was recess.

  He walked straight toward the stone table—exactly the same one as in the previous loop. He sat down, tight as a drawn bowstring, eyes fixed on the ground.

  “Please…” he thought.

  Don’t let him tap my shoulder… please let me be crazy…

  And as if to finish him off, a hand gently came to rest on his shoulder.

  His entire body went slack in an instant, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

  “This can’t be happening…” he murmured, resigned.

  “Hey man!” Jeff called out in his usual tone.

  He sat down beside him and gave him a long look.

  “Wow. You look like absolute shit today. What’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Kael took a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of calm.

  Then, in a deliberately sarcastic tone:

  “Oh, nothing. Nothing much at all.

  I’m just stuck in a time loop. No big deal.”

  Jeff laughed, assuming it was a joke.

  Kael forced a tight smile. A mask. A curtain drawn over the discomfort.

  They chatted a bit more. Jeff noticed nothing. For him, it was just another ordinary morning.

  But for Kael, every word, every glance, every reaction was confirmation.

  Everything was repeating.

  When the bell rang, they stood up and headed toward the gymnasium.

  Climbing class.

  As expected.

  But this time, Kael kept a low profile.

  No sudden movements.

  No provocation.

  He followed the instructions. Warmed up. Climbed a few simple routes.

  He blended into the background.

  Not a word out of place.

  Not a glance held too long.

  The instructor—whom he had found unbearable and arrogant during the first loop—was just as unpleasant today. She also seemed strangely talkative.

  Maybe because he hadn’t climbed the 8A route.

  Maybe because he’d kept his head down.

  She talked technique. Foot placement. Posture.

  A long, methodical lecture, uninterrupted.

  And most importantly: no intervention from the second P.E. teacher.

  No transfer to the pool.

  The climbing session dragged on.

  And Kael, every second of it, observed.

  Compared.

  Analyzed.

  Everything had changed… because he had changed his reaction.

  The climbing class finally came to an end.

  Kael, still keeping to himself, hadn’t done anything noteworthy.

  No demonstration.

  No splash.

  And yet, he felt an immense pressure building inside him, as if every second of this replayed day threatened to implode.

  He rejoined Jeff, and together they headed toward the cafeteria.

  They sat at the same table.

  They ate in silence for a while, until Kael, finishing his last bite, suddenly stood up.

  “I’m going to the library,” he announced simply.

  Jeff looked up, a blasé expression on his face.

  “Alright… but no way I’m forcing myself to look at more books than necessary.”

  Kael didn’t answer.

  He had already turned away.

  Straight for the library.

  This time, he had a very specific idea in mind.

  He pushed through the building’s doors with a fast, tense, mechanical stride.

  But barely a few meters in… he stopped dead.

  The librarian was there.

  The same one as always.

  Plump, glasses perched on the tip of her nose, permanently grumpy.

  But this time, she wouldn’t have the chance to comment.

  He didn’t give her the time.

  He veered straight toward the mathematics section without a word.

  His gaze swept rapidly across the shelves.

  His hands began rummaging through the stack of textbooks.

  Nothing.

  “They’re gone…” he muttered.

  His heart skipped a beat.

  He searched faster, more frantically.

  Nothing.

  The three books had vanished.

  He took a step back.

  “There’s nothing… they’re really gone…”

  And suddenly, the tension snapped.

  He sent a stack of books flying with a sharp motion.

  The manuals crashed to the floor in a dull, echoing clatter.

  “I knew it… everything is tied to those damn books…”

  He repeated the sentence like a certainty. Like a confession.

  The librarian arrived immediately, furious, her footsteps echoing sharply across the floor.

  She took in the mess—the books scattered on the ground, the panic in Kael’s eyes.

  “What do you think you’re doing?!”

  She was almost screaming now, her shrill voice ringing through the room.

  “Are you sick or something?! You think this is a playground?!”

  Kael lowered his eyes, ashamed, and muttered a vague:

  “Sorry…”

  He dropped to his knees, hastily picking up the books, shoving them back into place—quickly, clumsily, without any order.

  “Out!” the librarian roared.

  “I don’t ever want to see you here again!”

  Kael didn’t answer.

  He turned and left the room.

  This time, Jeff wasn’t waiting outside the library.

  The bell hadn’t rung yet. He was early.

  So he headed toward his next classroom.

  He leaned against a wall, trying to regain control of his breathing.

  A kind of mental emptiness had settled in.

  When the bell finally rang, he went inside and took his seat.

  The class unfolded exactly like it had in the previous loop.

  Almost word for word.

  The teacher’s tone.

  The laughter.

  The looks.

  Everything happened… exactly the same.

  And when he stepped out, like a scene replayed without variation, Jeff was there, leaning against the wall.

  “So?” Jeff said. “How was philosophy class? Boring as hell, right?”

  Kael stared at him for a moment.

  Same tone.

  Same posture.

  Same expression.

  Jeff’s reactions barely change… he thought.

  He was starting to understand that some elements of this day were immutable.

  Fixed.

  As if he could only influence certain points.

  A chessboard.

  Some pieces locked in place.

  And others… free.