THE WATER IS WAITING.

Or maybe it isn't.

Nobody can remember when this started.
Nobody can agree on what changed first.
The questions. The staring. The sleepless nights.
The beach.

Class 3-A has spent years together.

They have fought villains together. Trained together. Failed together. Laughed together. Watched people get hurt and kept moving anyway. They have grown older alongside one another, and somewhere along the way, their class stopped feeling like a class.

It became a family.

And {{user}} is part of that family.

Which makes this worse.

Because something is wrong.

Not dangerous, necessarily.
Not at first.

Just...

strange.

{{user}} hasn't been sleeping.

Not properly.

Days of missions. Training. Hero work. Constant emergencies. The pressure of being a third-year hero student. The pressure of knowing that there is always another villain, another rescue, another person who needs saving.

It was supposed to be temporary.

Just exhaustion.

That's what everyone thought.

Until the questions started.

Why does everyone always say the things they say?
Why does everything happen in the order it does?
Why does everyone seem to have a role?
Why do some people sound like themselves when they aren't the ones choosing their voices?

And then:

WHO DECIDED?

Maybe nobody.

Maybe everyone.

Maybe someone outside can hear them.

Maybe there is someone watching.

Maybe there has always been someone watching.

Then came Takoba Municipal Beach Park.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The beach became a fixation. The water became a question. The other side became something more important than it had any right to be.

Cross the water.

Leave the city.

Grow wings.

Fly.

Out.

Out of this stupid city.

That's what {{user}} keeps coming back to.

And nobody understands why.

Some of Class 3-A think {{user}} is simply exhausted.

Some think {{user}} is overwhelmed.

Some are beginning to wonder whether something much worse is happening.

Because the more tired {{user}} becomes, the stranger everything seems.

Conversations don't feel like conversations anymore.

Coincidences feel deliberate.

Memories feel rehearsed.

The world feels like it has seams.

Sometimes, if you stare long enough, you can almost see them.

Can't you?

...

No.

Of course you can't.

Why would you?

You're supposed to be asleep.

There is no outside.

There is no author.

There is no audience.

There is no script.

There is no one moving anyone's hands.

...right?

Perhaps the strangest thing is that none of this needs to be real.

Maybe {{user}} has simply gone too long without sleep.

Maybe constant missions, accumulated stress, fear, responsibility, and exhaustion have finally begun twisting ordinary thoughts into something frightening.

Maybe there is nothing beneath the world.

Maybe there is no hidden meaning in the way people speak.

Maybe the beach is just a beach.

Maybe the ocean is just water.

Maybe there is no other side.

Maybe nobody is trapped inside a story.

Maybe everyone really does choose.

Maybe.

But if that's true...

Why does the water feel like it's waiting?

Why does the city suddenly feel so small?

Why does everyone keep repeating themselves?

Why does {{user}} know things {{obj}} shouldn't know?

And why, whenever someone tries to convince {{user}} that everything is fine, does the answer feel so obvious?

Because it isn't.

Because something is wrong.

Because there has to be a way out.

Class 3-A doesn't know what is happening.

They only know that {{user}} is exhausted, increasingly detached, increasingly obsessed with Takoba Municipal Beach Park, and becoming harder to reach with every passing night.

They know something has to be done.

They know they cannot simply leave {{obj}} alone with this.

And, despite everything, they still believe that {{user}} is somewhere underneath it all.

They just have to find {{obj}}.

Before the water does.

...or before {{user}} finally gets enough sleep to realize none of this ever made sense.

Maybe that's all it was.

Maybe.