The guilt never left him.
Ren sat at the back of Class 3-A, staring at the blank page of his notebook while the teacher's voice blurred into static.
Two deaths in three days. Yui's blood still felt warm and sticky on his skin when he closed his eyes, and Mr. Tanaka's cracked skull with pale fragments of brain matter leaking across the concrete stairs replayed every time the classroom fell quiet. He was only seventeen. He should have been worrying about mock exams, college applications, or the next volleyball match. Instead he was drowning in blood he could never wash off.
His hands trembled slightly around the pen. I caused it, the thought looped endlessly. I tried to help Tanaka and I made it worse. I tried to be there for Yui and she died staring at me. The weight pressed on his chest until breathing hurt.
He needed to balance the scales. He needed to save someone — anyone — to prove the curse didn't own him completely. If he could pull one life back from the edge, maybe the nightmares would loosen their grip.
Sora Kurosaki's desk had become the center of attention again. A cluster of girls leaned in, giggling over her latest sketch. Two basketball club boys hovered nearby, flexing and laughing too loudly. Sora smiled at them all — gentle, soft, never raising her voice. But her eyes kept drifting toward his desk. Toward him.
When one of the girls tried to pull her into lunch break plans, Sora shook her head with that same sweet firmness. "Sorry," she said quietly, voice carrying just far enough for Ren to hear. "Ishida-kun has been through so much. He needs space right now. I'll make sure he's okay. Soo I'll just stay with him" The others hesitated, then drifted away, leaving her desk noticeably clearer.
Ren felt her gaze settle on him again. It should have felt like kindness. Instead it felt like a soft rope slowly tightening.
After the final bell, Ren headed straight for Shinjuku station during rush hour. The platform was packed with salarymen and students, the air thick with the metallic screech of trains and the smell of rain on concrete. This was his experiment. No classmates. No one who knew his name. Just a stranger whose death he could maybe rewrite.
He spotted the old man near the ticket machines — late seventies, neatly dressed in a grey cardigan, leaning on a wooden cane. Ren positioned himself carefully, pretending to study the departure board. When the old man turned, their eyes met for two full seconds.
The vision unfolded like a gentle whisper.
Two months from now.
The old man in his small, tidy apartment. He takes his evening medicine with a cup of tea, smiles faintly at an old photo of his wife, then settles into bed. A peaceful heart failure sometime after midnight. No pain. No fear. Just the quiet close of a long life.
Ren's chest tightened with desperate hope. This one I can save. The guilt over Yui and Tanaka burned hotter than ever. If he could pull even one person back from the dark, maybe he could start paying back the blood on his hands.
As the old man shuffled toward the platform edge, Ren followed at a distance. When the man paused to adjust his cane, Ren "accidentally" bumped into him — just hard enough to make him miss his usual train. The old man stumbled back, confused, and ended up boarding a later, less crowded service instead.
Ren stepped back into the crowd, whispering under his breath, "I'm sorry… but this should help. I'm trying to make it right. Maybe rule one is wrong, maybe small changes can save lives."
The next morning the news hit like a second punch.
Ren saw the headline on his phone before he even reached the school gates: "Elderly Man Dies in Tragic Hit-and-Run Near Shinjuku Station." The article was brief but brutal. Mr. Hiroshi Sato had become disoriented after missing his usual train. He wandered onto the road in a daze and was struck by a speeding delivery truck. The impact shattered both legs, punctured his lungs with broken ribs, and slammed his head against the asphalt. Witnesses said he was conscious for several agonizing seconds, coughing bright arterial blood and gasping for help before his eyes finally went blank. Brain matter and blood had smeared across the road in a wide, ugly streak under the streetlights.
Ren stood frozen in the hallway, phone shaking in his grip.
The world tilted. He barely made it to the nearest bathroom stall before he dropped to his knees and threw up violently.
His entire body convulsed as bitter acid scorched his throat and nose. He retched again and again until only dry heaves remained, tears stinging his eyes.
He was only seventeen. Why was every good intention turning into fresh corpses? Yui's gurgling scream echoed in his ears. Tanaka's split skull leaked behind his eyelids. And now this old man — dying alone in terror on cold asphalt because Ren had tried to play hero.
He slammed his fist against the stall door, knuckles splitting. "I was trying to save him… I was trying to pay it back…"
Sora was waiting for him at the back gate after school.
She stood beneath the cherry trees that lined the quiet side street, sketchbook tucked under one arm, the late afternoon sun painting soft golden light across her hair. The moment she saw him, her expression softened with that familiar gentle concern, but her eyes held a sharper hunger now — the quiet need to be the only one allowed close.
"Ishida-kun," she said softly, falling into step beside him without waiting for permission. The air smelled of damp leaves and distant rain. "You look exhausted again. Did something happen today?"
Ren kept walking, head down, saying nothing. His throat still burned from throwing up.
Sora tilted her head slightly, studying him. "Your eyes… they look... dead. Like all the light went out of them." Her voice was gentle, almost tender, but the observation landed like a blade. "It makes me worry. I don't like seeing you like this."
Ren's hand shot up instinctively, covering his eyes with his palm as if he could hide the emptiness she had named. His heart hammered. He hadn't realized how obvious it was.
After a long silence he muttered, voice rough and low, "I'm fine."
Sora's face brightened with a small, genuine smile. "That's the first time I've heard your voice properly… I like it. It's quiet, but steady. Like you're holding everything inside so no one else has to carry it." She reached into her bag and pulled out a small bento box wrapped neatly in a blue cloth. "Here. I made extra this morning. You didn't eat lunch again yesterday. You have to take care of yourself… I don't want anyone else worrying about you."
She pressed the box into his hands, her fingers lingering a second longer than necessary, warm against his skin. "The other students keep asking about you, you know. They don't understand what you're going through. They just want gossip or drama. But I do understand. I see how much pain you're carrying. You don't need them. You only need someone who won't leave you alone with all of this… right?"
Ren's grip tightened on the bento. Her words were kind, almost soothing. But the way she said "you only need someone" felt like a door quietly closing behind him, locking everyone else out. Why was she suddenly so interested? He was the broken loner covered in death. She was popular, artistic, surrounded by people who actually smiled. Yet here she was, walking beside him like he was the only thing worth seeing in the entire world. Her presence felt… suffocating. Warm and safe on the surface, but pressing closer with every step, as if she wanted to wrap herself around his isolation until nothing else could reach him.
He remembered Yui's bright, uncomplicated friendship — loud laughs and easy teasing. Sora's version felt heavier. Warmer. And far more dangerous.
"I'm fine," he repeated, voice barely above a whisper.
Sora smiled again, softer this time, but her eyes never left his face. "You don't have to pretend with me. I'll wait as long as it takes. I'm not going anywhere."
She walked beside him the rest of the way home, humming a quiet melody under her breath, occasionally glancing at him like he was the center of her entire universe.
That night Ren sat at his desk, the room lit only by the small lamp that cast long shadows across the walls. The bento sat untouched beside him.
He opened his notebook and wrote with shaking hands:
Rule #2: Even good intentions create monsters.
Below it he added:
I tried to save someone today. I thought I could pay back what I did to Yui and Tanaka. Instead I killed an old man on the street.
Tears blurred the page. He was seventeen. He should have been playing games or staying up late studying. Not deciding who lived and who died with a single glance.
And now Sora… she was slipping deeper into his life, offering exactly what he needed while quietly closing every other door. Her kindness felt like safety. Her attention felt like chains. What was her problem?
Ren closed the notebook and buried his face in his arms.
The curse wasn't just killing people.