Lin Xing's first "disconnect" was at 11:47 PM.

The last train sped through Line 3's tunnel. He leaned against the corner by the door, eyes fixed on his phone screen—on a game he had never downloaded, called Save Point. The list showed it had been there for three days, yet he hadn't opened GoGBA once in those three days.

His thumb hovered over the title for a long time. For some reason, he hesitated.

He tapped it anyway.

A black startup screen. No company logo, no copyright notice. Only one line of white pixel text, slowly fading in:

Do you believe saves can change reality?

Lin Xing almost laughed. Edgy copy. He skipped the intro and selected new game.

The screen cut to a pixel town—gray houses, winding dirt roads, a tower in the distance. Stage 1 · Homeward. He steered the little silhouette on screen forward. The feel of virtual buttons was all too familiar. Back when he worked as a game designer, he'd argued in countless meetings that the A button should sit where the thumb naturally falls.

The figure walked for over ten seconds. No enemies, no puzzles. Nothing.

"That's it?"

The figure stopped suddenly. He hadn't stopped it.

Lin Xing froze. His thumb mashed the D-pad. The figure didn't move. Then two blood-red words appeared at the center of the screen:

Game Over

What the—

Everything went black. Like someone had pulled the plug, or the whole world had been muted. Lin Xing heard his heartbeat slowing, one beat, two, then—

His body grew light. Not floating—dissolving. Like sand in an hourglass, slipping through his fingers. He tried to lift his hand but couldn't feel where it was. The train's hum, the smell of disinfectant, the plastic cup in his grip—all fading away.

Fear should have surged. But it didn't. Only a strange calm, as if he could finally let go.

Fragments surfaced in the darkness. Faded. The road he used to walk after school as a child. A blurry figure's back, him chasing a few steps then stopping. A hand—his own—reaching toward someone, halfway, then clenching into a fist and drawing back.

He'd almost forgotten. What year was that?

Then—

Light pierced through. Abruptly.

Lin Xing's eyes snapped open. He gasped for air.

His back slammed against the door. Right hand—phone still there. Left hand—plastic cup still there. The carriage swayed, seven or eight people scattered about: an office worker dozing, students on their phones, a couple whispering. The last train sped through Line 3's tunnel, light and shadow flickering past the windows. The smell of disinfectant. Exhaustion.

Everything exactly as before. Identical.

He looked down. On GoGBA's interface, Save Point sat quietly. No Game Over. No blood-red words. The screen showed the town from above, the figure's silhouette standing on the dirt road, motionless.

Lin Xing's palms were soaked. His heartbeat hammered against his eardrums.

What—what had just happened?

"Next stop, Jiangwan. Passengers preparing to alight…"

The announcement played. He looked up. The office worker across from him was staring with an odd expression.

"You okay?" the man asked. "You look pale. Did you just… jerk?"

Just now.

Lin Xing stared at him. "Just now… what did you see?"

"See?" The man frowned. "I saw you close your eyes and suddenly open them, like you'd been startled. Low blood sugar? I have candy—"

He remembered Lin Xing closing and opening his eyes. He didn't think anything special had happened.

Lin Xing took the candy and thanked him. His fingers were trembling. He looked down at the screen again.

Below the Save Point title bar was a line of small text he hadn't noticed before:

Save point recorded. Slots remaining: 2.

Two. Only two left.

He'd used one—without knowing. In those few seconds just now, he'd "disconnected," then been "loaded" back by something. And in this world, except for him, no one remembered that blank.

Lin Xing stared at that line for a long time.

Then he turned off the screen and slipped the phone into his pocket. The train ran through the tunnel, light and shadow flashing past the windows. He didn't open the game again.

But he knew he would.