Mid-combo, the ghost grabbed him by the throat. “The disc ID isn't random,” it hissed. “30359. Add the digits. Twenty. The age you were when you started this. Subtract the three. Seventeen. The age you stopped feeling fear. Add the nine. Twenty-six—the age you'll be when you finally admit: you liked the war. ”

He remembered Xiao's hand on his shoulder before the final mission. He remembered the weight of the G-Corp pendant Lars gave him for luck. He remembered that, for one second after Azazel fell, he didn't hear screaming. He heard rain.

Inside the simulation, the world was a perfect replica of Fallen Colony. The sky was a bruised purple. And standing in the middle of the rubble was him —a Jin Kazama from an aborted timeline, his eyes hollow, his Devil form barely contained under cracked skin.

Jin’s eyes flashed gold. “No.”

The Ghost of BLUS30359

Jin stood slowly, his eyes calm. “An old ending. I'm writing a new one.”

The ghost screamed as its form dissolved—not from damage, but from contradiction. Jin Kazama was no longer just the sum of his worst days. BLUS30359 shattered into a cascade of zeros and ones, the loop finally broken.

He didn't punch. He remembered .

“I came to delete you,” Jin replied.