Sauce… graine.

  At this point, what used to be his favorite food had become one of his worst traumas.

  But at least today, he didn’t throw up. He just… sat there. Hollowed out, dull.

  The chaos in his mind had dimmed, like a fire left to burn out, but the embers still whispered. The hunger was still there, less overwhelming, but deeper now, more uncomfortable, as if it had taken root in his ribs.

  He could manage it. For now.

  He reached for his notebook, flipping it open.

  “…Yep. Gone,” he muttered bitterly.

  Everything he had written yesterday, every rule, every pattern, erased. Another reminder that nothing stayed unless he made it out.

  He sighed and spent the next ten minutes rewriting it all from memory. When he got to Rule 6—maybe I can act long before the scene happens—he paused longer than usual.

  “This might be it,” he whispered. “The key.”

  He leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

  How? What scene do I try it on?

  His mind flicked through the day’s schedule like pages in a damaged book. He landed on the school. The kid. The fall.

  That had to be it.

  He stepped outside, eyes narrowed against the dusty sun. His legs moved faster than usual. He wasn’t just observing this time, he had a mission.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  The school sat like a quiet beast at the far end of North Azuma, brick-red and sun-dulled. Kazeem reached the stretch of road just before its entrance and began to scan the ground. Small rocks, Branches, even bits of discarded paper and palm fibers.

  He started clearing the path.

  With his hands, his feet, even an old broom he found leaning on a fence, he swept every obstacle off to the side. People stared. A few merchants murmured something about the “ghost-eyed kid doing ghost things again.”

  He didn’t care.

  This time, I’ll get ahead of the script.

  When the road looked as clean as it could be, he stood back and waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  Finally, the children began spilling out of the school.

  There he was the boy.

  Kazeem recognized the same bag, same oversized sandals. The one who had tripped last time and scraped his arm on a rock.

  This time… the path was clear.

  This has to work… this HAS to ! , Kazeem thought, heart pounding.

  And the boy really didn’t fall!

  At first.

  He laughed with his friends, waving his arms too hard, spinning in a half-circle as they teased each other.

  And then it happened.

  His foot hit something. Kazeem blinked.

  There was nothing there.

  Nothing visible, at least.

  But the boy tripped … harder than last time.

  He hit the ground shoulder-first, skidding across the dust, then cracked his forehead against a loose chunk of broken pavement.

  “Wu… uh… wWAHHHHHHHH!”

  Blood. Real blood was running down from his eyebrow.

  The other kids screamed.

  “KYAAAAA”

  ”HE IS BLEEDING ! HE IS GOING TO DIE”

  Kazeem stood there, frozen.

  People ran toward the scene.

  ”What happened ?! Oh MY GOD !”

  ”Are you ok ?”

  ”Ohhh don’t cry , you are a big boy, right ?”

  ”Ohhh, *Yako it’s ok , it’s ok ”

  And this time, the whispers didn’t just return… they screamed.

  Gb?… gb?… GB?, GB?!

  The hunger twisted. Not in pain, in rage.

  His stomach turned cold.

  This wasn’t just a failed attempt.

  This was worse than before.

  He staggered back, his hands trembling.

  What did I miss? he thought. There was nothing on the ground! I cleared everything!

  The whispers only got louder in his skull.

  Too early, too direct, too obvious, they seemed to say.

  And then it hit him.

  Maybe it wasn’t the rocks.

  Maybe the fall was part of the script, not caused by anything visible. Maybe his mistake… was trying to remove an effect instead of disrupting the cause.

  He swallowed.

  That boy was meant to fall.

  He couldn’t change the moment.

  Not like that.

  Not directly.

  He returned home, head low, notebook tucked under his arm like a failed exam.

  No headache this time.

  No nosebleed.

  No mask needed to save him.

  But somehow, that made it worse.

  It meant the timeline didn’t even consider him a threat this time. Just another background character playing at being the lead.

  As he shut the door behind him, a single bitter thought crossed his mind:

  So even acting early isn’t enough…

  Then when?

  ?

  Closing Line:

  Too early and the scene rejects you. Too late and it breaks you. So when’s the right time?

  The good new is that next Friday is the day my summer j*b end so I will be able to upload more frequently.