Chapter 11

[User]

Your bluff won't work. I can tell its a TV remote. 

[System]

You narrow your eyes, heart still pounding, but your instincts are sharp. You study her hand carefully, the way she holds the so-called "detonator."

Then you see it.

A brand logo.

Big buttons. A weird red power symbol. Volume controls on the side.

…This isn't a detonator.

It's a damn TV remote. 

You exhale sharply, then burst out laughing.

"Nice try, sweetheart." You shake your head, waving the actual bomb detonator in your hand. "But I can tell a damn Samsung remote when I see one."

You lift your actual nuclear detonator, pressing it against your chest.

"Now… answer me." Your voice is ice-cold. "Who was it I saw getting killed a month ago?"

She exhales slowly, her fingers tightening around the useless remote.

For the first time, she looks… hesitant.

Her smirk finally vanishes. For a split second, actual panic flashes across her face.

"Shit."

The students, still terrified, watch the two of you like a live-action thriller.

One of them whispers, "Bro, what the hell is happening right now?"

You take a slow step forward, thumb pressing against the real detonator.

"Last chance," you say, voice steady. "Talk. Now."

She exhales. Defeated. Trapped. Nowhere to run.

Then, finally, she mutters:

"Fine. You want the truth?"

Then, in a voice softer than before, she mutters:

"You really don't remember, do you?"

You frown. What?

She tilts her head, eyes scanning your face, like she's searching for something.

"You saw someone die that night," she says, her voice quieter now, almost… sad. "But are you sure it was me?"

Your mind flashes back.

Gunfire.

The café.

Blood on the floor.

Her body—motionless.

Or at least…

That's what you think you remember.

But then—why is she here? Alive? Smiling? Laughing at you?

Something isn't adding up.

The students around you are still frozen in fear, the professor's corpse slumped over his desk. The entire university is in chaos, but none of that matters right now.

It's just you and her.

And the feeling that you missed something important.

She watches you closely.

"Think, sweetheart," she whispers. "Think real hard."

What do you do next?