[2:00 P.M. – Hero Academy, Lecture Hall 7.5B (Now Temporarily Repurposed as a Bureaucratic Tribunal Zone)]
There was no ceremony. No alert. No "Attention students, your very existence is being reviewed."
Just a quiet ding.
And then a wall disappeared.
Not collapsed. Not exploded.Just… vanished. Like it had been a placeholder asset the whole time.
In its place stood five figures.
They wore suits.
Not suits in the classic sense—these weren't stitched or tailored. They were formatted—line breaks, header tags, floating metadata streams scrolling across lapels. Their ties rotated through fonts.
One held a clipboard that emitted a soft hum of smugness.
The lead stepped forward. Their name tag read:
ARBITER 404 – Compliance & Narrative Assessment Division
The clipboard unrolled itself.
"Class WTF," they said, voice tuned to passive-aggressive neutrality. "You are hereby summoned to undergo immediate narrative audit for instability, deviance, and excess thematic leakage."
Cryflame raised a shaky hand. "What if we get stuck in an infinite ramen arc again?"
The Arbiter did not blink. "Then perhaps you should've declared a clearer function."
Alex leaned back in his chair, hoodie half-zipped, arms crossed. "Is this about the vending machine again?"
Penny kicked his ankle under the table.
Mistopher whispered, "Oh no. This is the one with the forced reassignments. We're going to get recast."
Voidica slowly raised a shadowy tendril. "If someone tries to label me 'emotionally reserved with a tragic twist,' I will eat this building."
The Arbiter didn't look fazed.
"Your classifications," they continued, "are pending. But preliminary data suggests you are… unstructured."
They paused for emphasis.
"Unresolved. Unprofitable."
***
[2:03 P.M. – The Charges]
Another wall panel flickered to life.
Across it, glowing text scrolled like an endless receipt of crimes:
Multiple arc disruptions
Resistance to character development
Genre non-compliance
Overuse of meta awareness
Emotional ambiguity
Weaponized apathy
Pickle-based misconduct
And one (1) unauthorized glitch hug during a Trial of Despair™
Alex raised a hand. "Technically, I only accepted the hug. The glitch initiated."
The Arbiter scowled. "That is not better."
Another auditor—this one with a floating pie chart instead of a face—added:
"In a recent internal survey, 82% of story threads attached to this class either ended unresolved or reclassified as 'unmarketable.'"
Voidica muttered, "Good."
Cryflame elbowed Alex. "Should I cry now or save it for my redemption scene?"
Alex shrugged. "Might be your only one."
***
[2:05 P.M. – The Verdict (Pending)
Arbiter 404 raised their clipboard again.
"Each of you will undergo a Function Trial. You will be placed in a controlled narrative simulation designed to identify your arc classification, genre compatibility, and marketable traits."
Penny narrowed her eyes. "And if we fail?"
Another auditor stepped forward. Her ID read:
ARBITER 12B – Character Optimization & Asset Retcon
"Then you will be reassigned," she said, voice sweet as sugar-coated sin. "Or decommissioned."
Alex opened his mouth.
A red error icon flashed across his face.
INPUT DENIED. MAIN CHARACTER LOCKED PENDING REVIEW.
His mouth closed itself.
He blinked.
Slowly looked down at his hoodie.
And said nothing.
***
[2:06 P.M. – The Room Reconfigures]
The floor folded inward.
Chairs vanished.
The lights dimmed and then turned teal. For some reason.
A door labeled Function Trials Begin pulsed into existence.
Penny reached for Alex.
He couldn't move.
Just watched as the others were slowly pulled toward the door, one by one.
Voidica glanced back. Just once. Then squared her shoulders and walked in first.
Cryflame followed, sword drawn but not flaming.
Mistopher drifted in upside-down, muttering something about cheese metaphors.
And Penny?
Penny looked at Alex.
Her voice barely reached him.
"I'll see you in the margins."
Then the door closed.
And Alex was alone with the clipboard people.
***
[2:10 P.M. – Trial Chamber 1: Cryflame]
The simulation opened with the sound of strings and destiny.
Cryflame landed with a kneel-roll-pose trifecta that would've earned a standing ovation in any shonen pilot.
The air shimmered with prophecy. Light filtered through clouds like a motivational speech. A sword floated above a stone, glowing like a metaphor on fire.
"Welcome, candidate," said a voice made of orchestral chords and backstory. "You have been summoned to fulfill your arc."
A nearby town burned softly in the distance.
Villagers screamed in surround sound.
A tiny child clutched a doll and sobbed, "Only a hero can save us now!"
Cryflame blinked.
Then looked down at the floating sword. It had his name engraved on it. In gold.
"Choose, Cryflame," the voice intoned. "Do you save the village… or rescue the mentor trapped beneath the collapse?"
Two glowing arrows appeared in the air."VILLAGE" →← "MENTOR"
Cryflame's hand hovered between them.
He turned.
Walked the opposite direction.
Straight to the crying child.
And sat down.
"Hey," he said. "I know this isn't real. But I'm real right now. And that's gotta be enough."
The sky flickered.
The town paused mid-burn.
"Incorrect," said the voice, struggling to stay composed. "That's not… that's not the structure—"
Cryflame wiped a tear from the kid's cheek and said gently:
"I don't want to win this arc. I want to make sure someone feels seen."
The world crashed.
The simulation shattered into static.
Cryflame sat in the silence.
Smiling.
***
[2:15 P.M. – Trial Chamber 2: Mistopher]
Mistopher fell sideways into a room that rotated 180 degrees halfway through rendering.
He hovered.
All around him: mirrors.Each one showed a different Mistopher.
One wore a monocle and carried a cane made of plot devices.One was a tragic spirit cursed to only speak in soliloquies.One wore a hat labeled "Comic Relief #3."One wore no face at all.
The room hummed.
"Choose your truth," the voice instructed. "Select your arc identity and resolve internal variance."
Mistopher rotated slowly.
Then faster.
Then upside-down.
"I choose all of them," he said.
"Invalid input."
"I am the B-side of a dubstep remix of a half-dreamed rewrite," he continued.
"This is not a joke."
"No," Mistopher said, pulling a name tag from thin air and slapping it onto one of the mirrors, "This is."
The tag read:
HELLO MY NAME IS: MISTOPHERS
Plural.
He duplicated.
Tripled.
Became a kaleidoscope of himself, breakdancing into metaphor.
The system tried to render a unified version.
It crashed.
Mistopher exited the trial whistling a tune no one else could hear, seven name tags pinned to his chest and one on his forehead.
***
[2:22 P.M. – Trial Chamber 3: Voidica]
Darkness.
A single spotlight.
Voidica stood in the center of a vast stage. Empty auditorium. Velvet curtains.
"You are the brooding loner," said the voice. "The tragic past. The soft redemption."
A costume rack rolled in.
Leather jackets. Capes. A pre-written backstory.
Voidica stared at it.
Stared harder.
Then shot it.
The rack exploded.
"You are meant to be misunderstood and secretly kind."
She reloaded.
"I'm not your archetype," she said flatly.
"You must fit somewhere."
Voidica turned, face lit by cold fury.
"I already do."
She opened a backstage door that shouldn't have been there and walked out.
The voice tried to stop her.
It couldn't.
Because she wasn't a role.
She was a person.
And she was done being outlined.
***
[2:30 P.M. – Trial Chamber 4: Penny]
The room was beautiful.
Simple.
Warm lighting. A desk. A notepad.
On the desk: a contract.
Penny leaned in.
The header read:
"Pilot Offer – New Solo Arc"
The system spoke softly, almost kindly.
"You are a recovered draft. You were never meant to continue. But we offer you purpose. Your own story. You can lead. Be remembered."
She sat.
Read the contract.
Her pen hovered above the page.
"One condition," said the voice.
"You go alone."
She froze.
Her eyes traced a line labeled "Character Detachment Clause."
She looked up.
And saw nothing.
No Alex.
No Class WTF.
No noise.
No chaos.
Just peace.
But…
Penny set the pen down.
Folded the contract.
And stood.
"I already had a story," she said. "It was mine because I chose it. Not because you gave it to me."
The contract burst into flame.
The desk collapsed.
And Penny walked calmly through the fire, eyes forward.
***
[2:35 P.M. – Back in the Hall]
The trials ended.
Not with music.
Not with triumph.
Just four students walking out of glitching doors, quiet and alive.
They saw each other.
No one cheered.
They didn't need to.
They had survived themselves.
And outside the hallway, the Audit Chamber pulsed harder.
Because Alex's trial hadn't started.
Because Alex's trial had already happened.
And he'd failed it on purpose.
***
[2:40 P.M. – Administrative Reality Layer: Offer Room BETA]
The room was silent.
Not quiet—silent.Not a single ambient sound. No hum of tech. No tick of passing time. Just stillness, like the world was holding its breath.
Penny stood in the middle of it.
This wasn't a simulation.
This was an offer.
The walls were lined with screens—each one showing a different version of her.
Some were leading rebellions.Some were strategists in cosmic wars.One was a school nurse.One was… gone.
"You are an anomaly," said a voice. Female. Warm. Familiar."But not a threat. Not yet."
Penny didn't flinch.
"You gave me an offer already. I burned it."
"That was a draft," the voice said. "This is final."
A table appeared.
On it, a folder. Sleek. Branded.ARC_PENNY_FINAL_APPROVEDStamped across the front:
"Lead Role: Accepted."
***
[2:42 P.M. – The Offer]
The voice continued:
"You've shown tactical growth. Emotional value. Narrative flexibility."
"We offer you full elevation.Your own series. Your own supporting cast.Your genre. Your tone. Your ending."
The folder opened.
Penny saw:
A cast of powerful, competent allies.
A villain with a personal vendetta.
A romantic subplot. (Tastefully ambiguous.)
Emotional beats spaced exactly every three chapters.
No glitches.
No waiting in margins.
No more disappearing.
No more being forgotten.
Just clean, controlled protagonism.
"You deserve better," the voice said.
Penny stared at the folder.
She almost said yes.
***
[2:43 P.M. – The Clause]
One page fluttered forward.
Penny caught it.
Her eyes narrowed.
"'Narrative Integrity Clause'," she read aloud. "'All previous associations deemed unresolved or unstable will be terminated for cohesion.'"
The voice responded:
"You can't build something new if you keep carrying dead code."
Penny folded the page.
Set it down.
"You mean Alex."
"He's not part of your arc anymore."
Penny turned slowly.
"Then it's not my arc."
The screens glitched.
"You think he's the key? He's chaos. He's refusal. He's nothing."
Penny smiled.
"Yeah," she said. "And he's mine."
***
[2:44 P.M. – The Room Begins to Fracture]
The folder caught fire.
The screens shook.
The voice cracked.
"You're making a mistake."
Penny stepped forward.
"You tried to erase me."
"We offered you salvation."
"You offered me a cage."
The room began folding in on itself—like a bad pitch meeting collapsing under its own lack of character development.
And through the noise—
A whisper.
Faint. Ragged.
"Penny?"
Her head snapped around.
At the edge of the collapsing space—
Alex.
Still bound.
Still muted.
But looking at her.
Seeing her.
Remembering.
She ran.
***
[2:45 P.M. – Narrative Error]
Penny grabbed his hand.
He glitched once.
Then stabilized.
The red error icon over his head blinked.
MAIN CHARACTER LOCK – OVERRIDE ATTEMPT DETECTED.
The system screamed:
"You can't choose him. He has no arc!"
Penny turned, eyes blazing.
"I'm not choosing his arc," she said.
"I'm choosing my story."
She pulled him close.
And kissed his forehead.
Just once.
And the system didn't know what to do with that.
***
[2:46 P.M. – Status Update]
The room imploded.
The Offer was withdrawn.
A new status appeared in the global system feed:
PENNY – ROLE: SELF-SELECTEDARC STATUS: GLITCH-AFFIRMEDTHREAT LEVEL: CATALYST
Alex blinked.
Spoke, for the first time in the chapter.
"…Thanks for not picking the spinoff."
Penny smirked.
"Wasn't enough snacks."
***
[2:50 P.M. – Audit Core, Tribunal Stage]
The chamber was empty of chairs.
No jury. No audience. No applause.
Just five auditors floating behind their translucent desk like bad code wearing suits. Clipboards hovered in front of them, brimming with glitching text.
Alex stood at the center of the room.
Mouth closed.
By force.
Red error bars still flickered around him:
SPEECH: DISABLEDPRIMARY ROLE: INVALIDNARRATIVE FUNCTION: NONCOMPLIANT
He didn't move.
Didn't struggle.
He was a question mark in a room full of periods.
And Penny stood behind the glass wall, fists clenched, shouting things the system refused to render.
Mistopher, Voidica, and Cryflame banged on the invisible barrier.
The trial had begun.
Only one person wasn't allowed to speak.
***
[2:52 P.M. – The Verdict Begins]
Arbiter 404 leaned forward.
"Plot Armor," they said. "Alex. Unnamed anomaly. You've resisted classification, narrative cohesion, and emotional anchoring."
Another auditor continued, droning:
"You've destabilized over twenty-seven arc threads. You have no genre. No momentum. Your very presence has reduced market readability by 18% across three multiverses."
"You lack theme," said the next. "You lack tone. You do not grow. You refuse resolution."
"You are… unwritten."
Alex blinked slowly.
The auditors raised their hands.
"The Tribunal recommends final processing."
Penny shouted, but her voice warped into white noise.
The others fought the barrier.
One of Mistopher's name tags burst into flames.
Cryflame pulled out a sword that may or may not have been made of cafeteria trays.
Voidica tried to shadow-step through the wall and bit the edge of reality instead.
The auditors spoke in one voice:
"Does the accused have any last words?"
Alex smiled.
***
[2:53 P.M. – The Vending Machine Returns]
There was a ding.
Soft. Metallic. Friendly.
A vending machine rolled into the chamber.
On its screen:
"CRITICAL CONTEXT REQUESTED.""INSERT PROTAGONIST.""PRESS FOR FLAVOR."
Alex turned.
Pressed the blinking button.
There was a click.
The red bars flickered—
Then dropped.
The error icons popped like soap bubbles.
The silence broke.
The machine spat out a can of orange soda with a sticker on it:
"UNSTABLE. DRINK WITH INTENTION."
Alex cracked it open.
Took a sip.
And stepped forward.
***
[2:55 P.M. – "I Never Asked to Be Here."]
His voice wasn't loud.
But it was clear.
"I never asked for power," he said. "I never asked for an arc. Or a narrative. Or... whatever this is."
The chamber dimmed.
The auditors froze.
He kept going.
"I asked for lunch."
Mistopher whispered, "He's doing it."
Alex looked at them all—arbiters, judges, silent watchers.
"I don't belong in your structure. I'm not a Chosen One. I'm not a rival. I'm not a redemption arc in sneakers. I'm just a guy who didn't know the rules and stopped pretending they made sense."
The tribunal crackled with code.
"I'm not chaos because I want to be," he said. "I'm chaos because you don't know how to write someone who doesn't play along."
He pulled a marker from his hoodie.
The one Penny gave him.
Walked to the glowing wall behind the tribunal.
And wrote:
"I exist. That's enough."
***
[2:56 P.M. – The System Crashes]
Alarms didn't blare.
They sighed.
The room wilted around the phrase, like a bad line cut from a draft that never worked.
One by one, the auditors flickered.Their clipboards vanished.Their suits unraveled into syntax and silence.
The wall between Alex and his friends cracked.
Then shattered.
Cryflame caught him first.
"You broke the system with a sentence."
Mistopher beamed. "You magnificent narrative spongecake."
Voidica nodded, silently handing him a lemon wedge in respect.
Penny reached him last.
"You good?" she asked.
He looked around at the glitching tribunal.
At the fading laws.
At the collapsing expectations.
Then back to her.
"No."
And he grinned.
"Let's get worse."
***
[3:00 P.M. – Audit Core, Now Listed as "Genre Breach Zone 7"]
The moment Alex finished writing his sentence, the walls of reality twitched.
Not exploded. Not melted.Just… convulsed. Like the multiverse had swallowed a word it didn't know how to pronounce.
Then a new file opened.
Above them.
Projected in midair:
UNSCHEDULED CROSSOVER EVENT DETECTEDCLASSIFICATION: ARC NULLINITIATING CONTAINMENT PROTOCOL: MULTI-ARC FUSION ZONE.
The Tribunal wasn't gone. It had evolved.
Or rather—
It split.
Five portals tore open in the floor.
From each one climbed a version of Alex.
***
[3:01 P.M. – The Arc That Could've Been]
First:A version in golden armor, radiating protagonist energy. Eyes filled with destiny. Heroic theme music playing faintly behind him.
"I am Plot Armor, Defender of Continuity," he declared. "And you—" he pointed at Hoodie-Alex, "—are the rejected prototype."
Second:A ruthless warlord variant, black cloak soaked in metaphorical blood.
"I ruled a thousand timelines before breakfast."
Third:An Alex wearing a business suit, clipboard in hand.
"Narrative Consultant. I end stories before they become liabilities."
Fourth:An adorable anime-style Alex, surrounded by glowing animal companions and friendship beams.
"I just want everyone to smile!~"
Fifth:A hollow-eyed, pixelated version that didn't speak.
It only watched.
***
[3:03 P.M. – Class WTF Reacts Accordingly]
Cryflame: "I knew we weren't supposed to share a braincell across the multiverse."
Mistopher: "I want to date two of them and file restraining orders on the other three."
Voidica: "Can I stab the cheerful one? Please?"
Penny: "Later. Prioritize containment."
Alex stood in the center.
"You're all what I could've been," he said. "If I'd let them finish writing me."
Golden Alex stepped forward.
"We're what you should've been."
***
[3:04 P.M. – They Try to Assimilate Him]
"You are unstable," said Warlord-Alex. "Your existence invites collapse. Become one of us. Merge. Return to function."
"I've been offered a lot of things lately," said Hoodie-Alex.
He looked at Penny.
"None of them were freedom."
Then to the others.
"And none of you got to eat your burger, did you?"
They hesitated.
He saw it.
Even Pixel-Alex twitched.
Hesitation. Doubt. Hunger.
Alex stepped forward.
"You're not my enemies," he said.
"You're drafts."
"And I'm the rewrite."
***
[3:06 P.M. – The Choice That Breaks It All]
Golden Alex roared, charging.
Hoodie-Alex didn't flinch.
Instead?
He opened his hoodie.
Reached inside.
And pulled out a fast-food wrapper.
Grease-stained. Glowing faintly.
Stamped on it:
"THE FORBIDDEN COMBO MEAL – NEVER DELETE A HUNGRY MAN'S DESTINY"
Penny blinked. "That was still in there?!"
"I was saving it for later."
He held it out.
To the other Alexes.
"I'm not fighting you," he said.
"I'm feeding you."
They stared.
The wrapper pulsed.
And they broke.
One by one—cracking, dissolving, folding inward.
Not destroyed.
Just… reabsorbed.
Like lost pieces finding their outline again.
***
[3:08 P.M. – What's Left Standing]
The portals sealed.
The Tribunal desk vanished.
The system buzzed—low and sullen.
Above them, a new notification appeared:
ARC STATUS: CANNOT RESOLVERECLASSIFIED: MULTIVERSAL HAZARD (REDACTED)RECOMMENDED ACTION: LET HIM COOK
Alex blinked.
"…did we just win?"
Penny smiled.
"You fed your other selves a cosmic sandwich and crashed an interdimensional courtroom."
Cryflame punched the air. "We're so getting expelled."
Mistopher held up a name tag.HELLO MY NAME IS: WINNING BY ACCIDENT
Voidica patted Alex's shoulder. "You're still banned from monologues."
Alex looked at them all.
Then up at the system.
And whispered:
"Next time I ask for lunch, just say yes."