The room was quiet again.
Haruto could still feel the echo of the dream. Or was it a memory? Either way, the ticking in his head wouldn't stop.
Sera narrowed her eyes at him.
"You blacked out for a minute," she said. "Then all the clocks in the room went dead. What happened?"
Haruto forced a smile. "I think… I touched something I shouldn't have."
She raised an eyebrow. "You're too calm for someone who just saw a masked man vanish into ash."
He stood up, brushing off his coat. "I've seen worse."
It wasn't a lie.
Not anymore.
—
They stepped out of the broken office. The city outside was just as noisy. The usual clatter of metal wheels, pipe trains hissing steam, and people in long coats rushing past. The sky was orange—sunset bleeding into the clouds like rust on metal.
Sera glanced sideways at him. "You've changed."
Haruto kept walking. "Maybe."
They didn't speak after that.
Not until they reached the tram station.
—
He sat alone on the bench, watching a street performer juggling small spinning gears that danced mid-air. He wasn't really watching though.
His thoughts were on that other him.
> "You are the mold."
> "But not the Keeper."
Then what was he?
And why did that future version of himself look so—
Broken.
The clock in his pocket buzzed.
It was his worker ID. The small watch-shaped badge that marked him as part of "Section C-5: Records and Copy."
Only now it had a red ring glowing faintly around the edge.
No one else's did that.
> "Seat of Time…"
He gripped it tighter.
Then someone sat next to him.
He turned.
A man in a black suit, hands gloved, face clean-shaven.
But what struck Haruto most—
He had no sound.
No ticking.
Not even breath.
Like he didn't belong.
"Haruto Ishida," the man said in a voice smooth like oil. "You've touched the Chair."
Haruto stayed still.
"Who are you?"
The man smiled. It didn't reach his eyes.
"Let's just say I collect... pieces. And lately, I've been missing a very old one."
He leaned in slightly.
"Did it speak to you?"
Haruto didn't answer.
The man didn't mind. He just chuckled.
"You should be careful. Things are watching now. And not all of them are bound by time."
Haruto looked down. The man's coat sleeve had a symbol stitched into it—
A silver circle broken down the middle.
The symbol from his dream.
The one behind future Haruto.
"You're one of them," Haruto said slowly.
The man tilted his head. "One of who?"
Haruto stared at him.
The gears inside the juggler's performance stopped mid-air. The entire street paused for a heartbeat.
Then the man stood up.
"You'll be hearing more of us soon."
He left with no footsteps. No sound.
Just silence.
Then the street snapped back to life.
—
Back in his small apartment, Haruto stood at the sink, hands under cold water.
He stared at the mirror.
And whispered to himself,
"I'm not him. I'm not the Timekeeper."
The red light on his badge blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then stopped.
He walked to his bed, lay down, and stared at the ceiling.
And for the first time in a long time…
He felt afraid.
Not of the machine.
Not of the mystery.
But of what he might become.
---
Meanwhile…
Far below the city, in a chamber lit by gear-lamps and blood-colored crystals, a woman dipped her fingers into a bowl of black oil.
"He's awakened," she whispered.
Behind her, figures in long coats with no faces stood like statues.
"The boy has found the Seat."
She pulled her fingers out. A gear floated in the oil, spinning backward.
"Then it begins."
---
End of Chapter 11.