The guilt had become a living thing inside him, gnawing at his ribs with every breath.
Ren moved through the school corridors like someone underwater, shoulders hunched, eyes fixed on the scuffed tiles. Four days since Yui had died in his arms. Three days since Mr. Tanaka's skull had cracked open on the stairs like an egg. Two days since the old man had been smeared across the Shinjuku asphalt. He was only seventeen — a boy who should have been sneaking glances at his phone during class and complaining about homework. Instead he felt ancient, hollowed out, and permanently stained with blood he could never scrub clean.
Flashbacks came without warning. Yui's choked gurgle. Tanaka's brain matter leaking across concrete. The old man's final, wet gasp. Each memory hit harder than the last, leaving him dizzy and nauseous. He avoided Yui's desk shrine completely now. The fresh flowers and smiling photos felt like accusations.
During lunch, the classroom buzzed with the usual noise. Ren sat alone at the back, mechanically picking at the bento Sora had pressed into his hands that morning. He hadn't meant to look at anyone.
But Kota Takahashi — loud, energetic, always the center of laughter — suddenly leaned across the aisle to grab a bottle of juice from the windowsill.
Their eyes met by accident.
The vision slammed into Ren like a freight train.
Eleven days from now.
Evening rush hour at the big station. Kota laughing with friends. A sudden fight breaks out nearby. Panic ripples through the crowd. People push and shove. Kota is knocked down. Dozens of feet trample over him — shoes crushing his chest, his face, his ribs. Bones snap like dry twigs. Blood sprays across the platform tiles. He screams until a final heavy boot slams into his throat. His eyes bulge in terror before everything goes black.
Ren jerked back violently, heart hammering against his ribs. He immediately looked away, staring hard at his desk.
No. Not this time. He was done playing hero. Every single time he tried to change fate, reality twisted the knife deeper. He wouldn't touch this. He wouldn't.
But the guilt refused to let him go.
All afternoon the vision clawed at him. Kota joking in the hallway. Kota teasing his friends during break. Kota who had nothing to do with any of this nightmare. By the time the final bell rang, the weight of Yui, Tanaka, and the old man pressed down so hard Ren could barely breathe.
He had to try. Just once more. Maybe this time it would be different. Maybe he could finally pay back some of the blood on his hands.
After school, Ren found Kota near the shoe lockers.
"Hey… Kota," he said quietly, voice rough from lack of sleep. "Listen, you should avoid the big station for the next couple weeks. I heard there might be trouble there. Maybe take a different route home, okay?"
Kota blinked, then burst out laughing. "Dude, what the hell? You've been acting super creepy ever since Yui died. You following me or something? Relax, man. I'm fine."
Ren tried again later, sending a vague warning text. When that went unanswered, he followed at a distance as Kota left school, keeping far enough back to stay unseen. Kota headed toward the small convenience store a few blocks away to grab snacks before going home.
Ren lingered outside on the sidewalk, pretending to check his phone near the large glass windows. He told himself he was just making sure Kota stayed safe. He told himself he wasn't interfering too much.
That was when it happened.
Inside the brightly lit store, two masked men burst through the door. One waved a gun. Shouts erupted. Kota froze near the drink cooler, bag of chips still in his hand.
The first shot cracked through the glass.
Ren watched in helpless horror from outside as bullets tore into Kota. One punched through his stomach, folding him over with a spray of red across the white shelves. The second hit his chest, jerking him backward. The third took him in the head as he tried to run. Blood exploded across the glass door in a bright, wet arc. Kota crumpled to the tiled floor, twitching violently, dark blood pooling rapidly beneath him. His eyes stayed open for a few agonizing seconds, wide with shock and pain, before they finally went dull.
The robbers fled out the back.
Ren didn't scream. He didn't throw up.
He just turned and ran.
His legs carried him blindly through the streets, past blinking crosswalks and evening crowds, until he reached a quiet, faraway alley several blocks away — narrow, shadowed by old buildings, the ground littered with discarded cans and puddles from last night's rain. He collapsed against the cold brick wall, sliding down until he sat on the dirty concrete, knees drawn to his chest.
Tears came fast and hot.
"It's my fault…" he whispered, voice cracking. "It's my fault… I warned him… I followed him… I changed it and now he's dead…"
He cried harder, fists clenched so tight his nails dug into his palms. The worst part wasn't the crying.
It was that he didn't throw up this time.
He was getting used to it. Getting used to watching people die violently right in front of him. The realization made him furious with himself.
"Why am I like this…?" he muttered through gritted teeth, tears streaming down his face. "Why is this happening to me? I'm just… I'm just a normal guy… why do I keep killing people?"
Footsteps echoed softly at the mouth of the alley.
Sora stepped into the dim space, breathing a little fast like she had been running to catch up. Her eyes widened when she saw him curled against the wall, tears still falling.
Without hesitation she rushed forward and dropped to her knees in front of him, the cool evening air carrying the faint scent of her shampoo and distant rain.
"Ren…" she whispered, voice thick with worry and something deeper — something fiercely protective. She reached out and gently cupped his tear-streaked face with both hands, thumbs brushing away the wetness with tender care. "What happened? Why are you crying like this? Tell me."
Ren tried to pull away, but she held him firmly, her touch warm and steady.
"It's not your fault," she said softly, soothingly, her eyes searching his. "Whatever happened, it's not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong."
That broke something inside him.
"You don't understand!" he yelled, voice raw and desperate. For the first time he looked straight into her eyes — really looked, searching desperately for the vision, for the blood, for anything that would explain why everything he touched turned to death.
Nothing happened.
No flash. No screams. No gory final moments. Just Sora's calm, gentle brown eyes staring back at him with quiet intensity. He felt peace in that moment.
He looked deeper, focusing harder, heart hammering against his ribs. Still nothing. No vision at all.
Sora, however, didn't flinch or look away. A faint blush colored her cheeks. Even while they had been arguing, even while he had been shouting at her, she seemed to savor the direct eye contact. Her lips curved into a small, almost blissful smile as she gazed back at him.
"Your eyes…" she whispered tenderly, voice barely audible over the distant hum of the city. "They're so beautiful. Bright orange, like burning embers. I've been waiting for you to really look at me like this."
Ren froze, stunned. The absence of a vision terrified him more than if he had seen her death.
Sora pulled him into a gentle but firm embrace, one hand stroking his hair slowly while the other rubbed soothing circles on his back. Her body was warm against his, her heartbeat steady and reassuring. "It's okay, Ren. You don't have to carry everything alone. I'm here. I'll always be here. Let me take care of you… only me. No one else needs to get close to you. Just me."
Her arms wrapped around him tighter, warm and possessive, as if she never wanted to let go. In that moment, her worry and affection were genuine — but so was the quiet thrill of having him vulnerable and dependent on her alone.
Ren sat there in the shadowed alley, tears still falling, too exhausted and broken to pull away. The distant sound of sirens wailed somewhere in the city, but here it felt far away.
Sora's comfort felt like safety.