The city slept lightly, but Haruya's mind didn't. The notebook lay open in front of him, pages fluttering in the gentle night wind like they were alive. He traced the lines of the train station again, the same one from the fight, the one where Miyuki had been in danger.
"I have to get this right," he whispered, finger pressed on the paper. "If I mess up, she could… disappear. Again."
Kaito, leaning against the wall, groaned. "You're obsessed. You can't even sleep. It's the middle of the night, Haru."
Haruya didn't reply. He was focused, brows furrowed, lips moving as if whispering instructions to the pencil. The lines glowed faintly under his fingers, spreading like soft light across the page.
"Something's happening…" Kaito muttered, eyes widening.
Before they could react, the air shimmered. The world around them blurred, colors twisting, sounds bending. Haruya felt his stomach lurch, his body weightless, yet grounded at the same time.
"Here we go," he said, voice calm but firm. "Hold on."
The ground beneath them fell away—or maybe it was the sky rising up. Everything twisted, stretched, and in one blink, they were somewhere else.
The air smelled different. Not bad, not good… just strange. Old. Heavy with memories they hadn't lived yet.
Haruya blinked. They were on the roof again, but it wasn't the roof they knew. The city below looked older, worn, streets empty except for faint shadows moving in the distance. The neon signs were dull, faded, like ghosts of what was to come.
Kaito stumbled. "Where… are we?"
Haruya didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on the train station far ahead, identical to the one they had just drawn, yet… wrong. Subtle differences—broken windows, different posters, a tree that wasn't there before.
"This is… the past," Haruya finally said. His voice was soft, almost reverent. "And we're here because she's there. Miyuki… she's in trouble."
Kaito followed his gaze. "So… you're saying that pencil… actually works?"
Haruya smirked faintly, but his eyes stayed serious. "Yeah. It works. But only if I draw it right. One mistake… and we could end up somewhere we don't belong. And she… she could get lost forever."
Kaito shivered, suddenly aware of how quiet the city was. The shadows felt alive. Every alley, every flicker of light, every rustle in the distance could be danger.
"Then let's move," he said, determination sharpening his voice. "We have to find her before Reiji's men do."
---
Below, the train station waited, silent and empty. Miyuki had wandered there instinctively, drawn by something she didn't understand—a tug, a whisper, a memory half-formed. She clutched her sketchbook tightly, feeling the strange warmth of the pages beneath her fingers.
"I… I have to protect it," she whispered. "I don't know why… but I have to."
Her eyes flicked toward the shadowed platform. A figure was there, tall, broad, and unmistakably dangerous. Reiji.
Her heart froze.
Haruya and Kaito moved silently across the rooftops, landing softly on a ledge above the station. Daichi followed, calm, eyes scanning every corner.
Haruya peeked over the edge. Reiji's men were fewer than the night before, but their presence was heavier, more focused. They weren't just after a fight now—they were hunting a key.
"That's her," Haruya whispered, pointing. Miyuki's figure was pale in the moonlight, clutching her sketchbook like a shield.
"Stay behind me," he told Kaito, drawing his weapon for the first time—a small but sharp knife, perfectly balanced. "No one touches her. Not a single step closer."
Kaito nodded, fists tightening.
The fight was inevitable.
Haruya jumped down first, landing in a roll, and charged. Reiji's men barely had time to react before he was among them, weaving, ducking, laughing, and hitting with precision. His movements were unpredictable, almost chaotic, yet perfect in rhythm.
Kaito followed, brutal and fast, knocking down one man after another. Daichi stayed back, guarding Miyuki, eyes sharp, ready to intervene if anyone dared approach.
Miyuki watched, frozen, feeling both fear and awe. She didn't know how Haruya moved like that, but something deep inside whispered: he would never let anyone hurt her.
---
Suddenly, one of the men lunged toward Miyuki. Time seemed to slow. Haruya's eyes widened. He moved faster than thought, intercepting the strike.
"You don't touch her," he said softly, voice almost dangerous, yet calm.
The man stumbled back, shocked, and Haruya laughed. "Try again if you want. I'll wait."
Miyuki's eyes filled with tears. Not just fear—something else. Recognition? Connection? She didn't know, but she felt a warmth spreading from him, like the world itself was protecting her.
Then, a faint shimmer appeared around the sketchbook. Lines glowed faintly, almost alive. Miyuki blinked. The faces in the drawings shifted slightly, as if trying to show her something, guide her, warn her.
Haruya noticed it. "It's responding," he whispered, pressing his hand on the book. "You're ready… almost."
Kaito glanced at him, puzzled. "Ready for what?"
Haruya didn't answer. He focused on the gang in front of them, fighting like the city depended on it. But inside, his mind was elsewhere—on Miyuki, on the drawings, on the strange pull that had brought them here.
The night stretched, a tense bridge between past and present. Every punch, every dodge, every shout seemed to echo not just across the station but through time itself.
And somewhere, just out of sight, Reiji's plan was unfolding faster than they knew.
The ink of time had begun to move in ways even Haruya could not predict.