Kael waited until the end of the class, observing the students one by one.

  Everything unfolded exactly as it had in the previous loop.

  By the third repetition, he had already grasped Thales’ theorem and arithmetic sequences.

  The bell eventually rang.

  He picked up his bag and left the classroom calmly.

  The teacher made no remark about the fact that he had remained standing there, motionless.

  He received the same message from Jeff.

  Went out into the courtyard.

  Sat at the same table.

  Jeff tapped him on the shoulder in the same way.

  Kael thought:

  What a strange place.

  Everything was… disordered, loud, without any clear rule.

  They gathered in groups, laughing without logic.

  No one seemed to have a clear mission, not even a straight posture.

  Gray buildings. Metal doors. Stone slabs underfoot. Glass windows everywhere.

  Crumpled papers at the foot of the benches.

  Painted lines on the ground that led nowhere.

  Kael did not know exactly what it was.

  But he knew it was not Soléandre.

  I know the Trial unfolds within the immaterial.

  I didn’t question it much in the previous loops.

  But now that I am more accustomed to it,

  I can focus on it more deeply.

  When the bell rang again, signaling the end of recess, Kael stood.

  As usual.

  He walked toward the gymnasium, following the same landmarks as in the previous loops.

  A right turn.

  A glass door.

  Heavy footsteps on the floor.

  He reached the gym.

  As he entered the locker room, Kael thought:

  Is everyone sent into the same world during the Trial?

  Why doesn’t the immaterial recreate a world similar to Soléandre?

  He changed, putting on his sports clothes without haste.

  Still oddly pleased to put on athletic shoes.

  He continued thinking.

  This world seems too organized.

  Too real.

  It’s truly strange.

  It doesn’t feel… improvised.

  He entered the climbing room.

  Walls covered in colorful holds rose toward a mesh ceiling.

  Ropes hung down.

  The teacher gave instructions loudly; the students half-listened.

  Kael did not intend to repeat the brilliant feat from the first loop.

  He simply wanted to think.

  To observe. To feel.

  He climbed a few simple routes without effort.

  He merely followed the movement, advancing mechanically.

  His body moved. His mind was elsewhere.

  The class ended.

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

  Kael remained silent. He continued thinking.

  Dubium must know something.

  He isn’t affected by the loop.

  That must mean he stands outside all this.

  I need to see him.

  At the table, he ate quickly, mechanically.

  Then he remained seated, his gaze empty.

  Jeff was playing a strange game, throwing a ball into a hole placed beneath a metal bar.

  Kael did not stand immediately.

  He did not leave for the library.

  He watched the ball roll.

  Kael patiently waited for the end of classes.

  He tried nothing. Forced nothing.

  He simply remained there.

  Physically present.

  Mentally withdrawn.

  When the bell rang, he walked home with Jeff, as usual.

  On the way, Jeff replayed exactly the same scene as in the second loop.

  He collapsed to the ground, shouting, accusing Kael of jumping on him for no reason.

  Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

  A ridiculous theater, perfectly orchestrated.

  Kael watched him, impassive.

  As if all this were perfectly normal.

  As if repetition no longer mattered.

  Then he resumed walking.

  Silent.

  They arrived in front of his house.

  Jeff waved goodbye and went inside, always with the same hand gesture, the same detached tone.

  Kael remained alone.

  He observed his house.

  His gaze was neutral, calm, washed of all spark.

  Then, without a word—

  He headed to the library.

  He stood before the building, still struck by its presence.

  And by the fact that he had no reason to be there.

  He looked at the time on his phone. 3:02 PM.

  He entered.

  Closed the door behind him.

  Nothing had changed.

  The same dark wooden shelves.

  The same black-and-white checkered floor.

  The same stained-glass windows with shifting lights, as if time had never been fixed there.

  He walked slowly toward the usual divan.

  His footsteps echoed loudly in the silence.

  Dubium was waiting for him.

  Seated, composed, imperturbable.

  On the same divan as always.

  Before him: a chessboard.

  A steaming teapot.

  Two cups.

  Kael greeted him politely:

  “Hello, Mr. Dubium.”

  He sat on the divan opposite him and placed his bag on the floor.

  Dubium replied with his calm voice and neutral tone:

  “Good afternoon, Kael.”

  Kael frowned.

  “I don’t believe I have ever given you my name.”

  Without bothering to answer directly, Dubium poured Kael a cup of tea. Kael thanked him.

  “Indeed, you have never told me. And yet, I know it,” Dubium replied.

  Kael did not respond immediately, reflecting on what Dubium had just said.

  With him, everything usually carried a double meaning.

  He brought the cup to his lips and marveled at the taste.

  The tea revitalized him.

  “And I suppose you are not going to tell me how you know?” he asked.

  Dubium, arranging the pieces on the chessboard, replied:

  “Correct.”

  Kael set the cup back down.

  There was only one book on the table, and he suspected very well which one it was.

  Dubium finished setting the pieces.

  He indicated that Kael should begin.

  Which he did.

  Kael opened with a bold move. Then, without lifting his eyes from the board, he asked a question he had never before dared to formulate:

  “Are you an Elan wielder?”

  Dubium answered with a move just as risky, yet perfectly controlled.

  “Yes… if you insist.”

  Kael swallowed, his gaze fixed on the lines of the board. He slid a piece, paused briefly, then asked:

  “In what way are you connected to my Trial?”

  Dubium took his time observing the game slowly unfolding between them, then played his turn calmly.

  “I am in no way connected to your Trial.”

  A faint smirk of surprise crossed Kael’s face. He straightened slightly on the divan, picked up a piece, and set it down with a soft click.

  “Then… what are you doing here? How is this even possible?”

  Dubium finally raised his eyes to him, measured him for a moment, then played his move with precision.

  “What do you think I am doing here?”

  Kael restrained a sigh. Another question instead of an answer.

  “I’m not really sure… I would say you’re a guide. Or something like that.”

  He advanced a piece. The wood slid with a faint friction. Dubium played immediately, as if he had anticipated the move from the very beginning.

  “No. I am not a guide.”

  Dubium rolled a piece between his fingers thoughtfully, then declared:

  “I have never guided you, Kael. I have only explained the rules. You are the one who learned to play, through attempts, errors, and reflection. I merely laid the foundations. It is the same for the rest. The theorem, causality, the Golden Ratio… I did not lead you to understanding. You reached it on your own.”

  Dubium continued:

  “I am not a guide. I am an initiator.”

  Kael played his move, focused on his opponent’s words.

  “My purpose is simple,” Dubium went on. “To develop your sense of questioning. I am not here to give you answers… only to teach you how to find them yourself.”

  He advanced a piece with brutal precision — a destructive move that shifted the balance of the game. Then, calmly lifting his eyes toward Kael, he asked:

  “What do you know about Elan?”

  Kael rubbed his forehead, eyes fixed on the board.

  “Not much. All I know is that Elan is an energy that flows through all things. My master says it should not be seen otherwise.”

  He played a cautious but confident move.

  Dubium observed the board and nodded slightly.

  “Mmh… your master is not fundamentally wrong. But she does not see far enough.”

  He paused, then added as he moved a piece:

  “But do you know why we call it that… ‘Elan’?”

  Kael lifted his eyes toward Dubium, as always trying to guess their color — unsuccessfully.

  “I don’t know,” he replied, perplexed.

  Dubium looked again at the board.

  “Elan is an impulse. A movement that animates will. Without Elan, the world would stagnate… and rot.”

  He straightened slightly, his voice gaining density:

  “Elan, Kael, is what breaks immobility. It is the first spark, the one that pushes a thing to become more than it is. It is neither brute force nor mere desire. It is an inner impulse, a call to movement. Elan does not seek the destination… it simply refuses inertia. Without it, nothing begins, nothing changes, nothing lives. The world would freeze, choking on its own inertia.”

  Kael observed the game, one hand resting on his chin, immersed in thought.

  “I see what you mean…” he murmured.

  He slightly lifted his eyes toward Dubium.

  “So everything you’ve done for me since the beginning… that was all it was. Giving me Elan. A simple push to force me forward. Everything I learned… it set my thinking in motion.”

  He fell silent for a moment, eyes returning to the board.

  “It forced my understanding of the world — and my knowledge — never to remain fixed.”

  He played a move slowly, then added:

  “And because of all that… I learned to doubt.”

  Dubium looked at him straight in the eyes. Kael could almost have sworn they were shining. Then Dubium played his move — a movement of surgical precision.

  Kael leaned forward immediately, scanning the board for an escape. Nothing. No way out. He moved a piece without conviction, purely out of pride.

  Dubium advanced one final piece, the gesture sharp.

  “You see, Kael… I teach you nothing.”

  He paused.

  “Checkmate.”