Today, upon returning from school, Kazuma's family received the joyous news that his father had won a billion yen lottery.

On the seventh day, due to the Kazuma family's dramatically changed circumstances, he confessed his feelings to Haruka, and she accepted.

On the eighth day, news of Kazuma's relationship with Haruka spread. A group of gangsters, fueled by resentment, confronted him after school. Despite his attempts to avoid conflict, they brutally beat Kazuma, leaving him hospitalized.

On the ninth day, Kazuma's condition began to stabilize, but he still needed rest in the hospital. Haruka visited him. That was the last time he talked to and saw Haruka.

On the eleventh day, Kazuma was discharged from the hospital. Haruka didn't visit, and when Kazuma tried to call her again, the call went unanswered.

On the fourteenth day, Kazuma returned to school but was shunned by all his classmates. Haruka, who didn't respond to Kazuma's calls and messages, was absent from school.

On the fifteenth day, when Kazuma rushed home from school, he found that his house had been robbed. His father was critically injured and in a coma. In a state of panic and sadness, Kazuma rushed to the train station to go to the hospital. While waiting for the train, he was suddenly pushed from behind. He suffered severe injuries and died.

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The simulation is over, your attribute doesn't change, you don't learn new skills, you get something with you before you die.

The frantic drumbeat of my heart began to subside, replaced by a hollow, echoing stillness. The phantom screech of brakes faded, leaving a ringing silence that pressed against my eardrums. I closed my eyes, the darkness behind my lids a temporary reprieve from the empty classroom.

The metallic tang, though faint, still lingered, a ghostly reminder of the simulated carnage.

I took a slow, deliberate breath, trying to anchor myself in the present. The cool, stale air of the classroom filled my lungs, a stark contrast to the thick, acrid scent of burning metal and gravel that had filled my simulated senses. I tried to reconstruct the events, to dissect the simulation, to understand the raw, visceral terror that had seized me.

The train had appeared suddenly, a monstrous steel beast hurtling towards me. I remembered the tracks, the rough, uneven gravel digging into my simulated skin as I stumbled, trying to escape. The roar of the engine, a deafening crescendo, had drowned out everything else. I could almost feel the vibrations, the earth trembling beneath my feet as the train bore down on me.

Then, the impact. A sickening crunch, a tearing sensation, and the world dissolving into a chaotic blur of pain and darkness. I remembered the overwhelming helplessness, the sheer, paralyzing terror of knowing I couldn't escape. The feeling of my body being ripped apart, the crushing weight of the train, the final, agonizing moment of oblivion.

It wasn't just a visual memory; it was a sensory assault. The phantom pain in my ribs, the metallic taste in my mouth, the lingering dread—they were all fragments of a simulated reality that had imprinted itself onto my senses, blurring the lines between what was real and what wasn't.

Before analyzing this simulation, I need to calm down.