The world was silent when Daigo opened his eyes again. His head throbbed, his leg burned, and for a moment he couldn't remember if he was alive or dead. All he felt was the damp grass beneath him and the weight of exhaustion pulling at his chest.
Slowly, he blinked against the soft glow of sunlight filtering through the jungle canopy. His body had been leaned against the trunk of a tree. A strip of torn cloth, bloodstained but carefully tied, pressed against the bullet wound on his leg.
Daigo turned his head. A few steps away, Sawara sat curled in on herself, trembling. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her soft hands covering her face as her shoulders shook.
His heart clenched. He forced himself up despite the pain, moving one slow step after another until he was beside her. His voice came out hoarse, but calm.
"...Hey."
Sawara's head snapped up. For an instant her wide eyes didn't believe him. Then she let out a small gasp, tears spilling fresh, and threw her arms around him. Her warmth pressed against him as her sobs grew softer, but carried more relief than despair.
"You're awake..." she whispered, shaking. "Daigo, I thought—I thought I lost you."
He let her hold him for a moment, his gaze fixed not on his own pain but on her trembling hands. Finally, he said, low and steady:
"I'm not going anywhere. But we can't stay like this forever."
Sawara pulled back slightly, her eyes still glistening. "What should we do now? How do we get home? Who were those people? Why us?"
Daigo's calm eyes met hers. There was weight in his silence before he spoke.
"I don't know who they were," he admitted, "but I know one thing… they weren't just trying to kill us. There's more to their story. Something much bigger."
She looked at him, confused, searching for answers. He tightened the straps of the backpack he'd stolen and pulled out the rolled map. The paper crackled faintly as he opened it.
"We need to figure out where we are first. Come on, walk with me."
Despite her hesitation, she nodded, and together they moved deeper into the jungle. Daigo's limp was obvious, but his sharp gaze missed nothing. He noticed the way the roots twisted like barriers, the way the air shifted with faint currents, almost as if the forest itself was breathing.
After some time, the sound of running water reached their ears. They followed it, breaking through a thicket to find a river. Its waters shimmered crystal clear, catching sunlight like shards of glass. Daigo crouched down, dipped his hand in, and tasted it. Pure.
His eyes flicked down to the map. There was a small marking, just beside a jagged line that matched the river's flow. "We're close," he muttered. "Something's here."
Sawara leaned over his shoulder. "Close to what?"
Daigo didn't answer. Instead, he traced the map and pointed. "There."
They followed the riverbank until Sawara suddenly stopped, her breath catching. Ahead of them, nestled between trees, stood a small hut.
It was wooden, simple, yet not broken down by time or nature. Its walls stood firm, its windows clean, its roof intact. A house in the middle of nowhere.
Daigo's instincts immediately sharpened. He slid the pistol from the backpack's side pocket, holding it low but ready. "Stay behind me," he said firmly.
They approached slowly. The door creaked as Daigo pushed it open, his finger steady on the trigger. The air inside was still… almost too still.
But what met them wasn't decay. It was order.
The tiny house was perfectly arranged: a single bed neatly made, a table with a chair tucked in, a small cupboard, even a bathroom door slightly ajar. On the table lay two plates of food—fresh, untouched. Outside the window, strawberry plants grew heavy with fruit.
It looked less like an abandoned hut and more like a waiting room.
Sawara stepped in cautiously, her eyes widening. "This… this doesn't make sense."
Daigo's grip on the pistol tightened, his sharp eyes scanning every corner. "No dust. No insects. Not a trace of time." He frowned. "Someone prepared this. For us."
Sawara turned toward the bed, and then froze. Her breath hitched, her trembling hand rising to point. "D-Daigo… look."
Pinned to the wall above the bed were photographs. Four of them.
Daigo's eyes narrowed as he stepped closer. The first photo—himself. The second—Sawara. The third—Satsuki. The fourth—Renji.
His body went cold. Sawara's panic broke through her voice, her hands clenching into fists. "Why? Why is my sister here? Why Renji? Who is doing this? Why us?"
Her words echoed, desperate, but Daigo didn't answer. His chest tightened as the world around him suddenly blurred.
The sound of the jungle faded. The room grew dark.
And then—visions.
A massive locked door, rusted chains clinging to it. A cave, its entrance glowing faintly as if something ancient stirred inside. The map he held in his hand, but not the same—it shifted, revealing not one, but three marks that pulsed faintly like beating hearts.
Daigo staggered, his breath sharp, his hand gripping the wall for balance.
"Daigo!" Sawara cried, rushing to him.
His eyes snapped open. Sweat clung to his forehead, his chest heaving. For a moment, he didn't speak. Then finally, he forced the words out.
"I… saw a vision," he said quietly, his voice heavier than before. "A door. A cave. And this map—it's not just a map. It's guiding us. To something."
Sawara's face paled. "Guiding us… where?"
Daigo looked at the photographs again. His jaw tightened, his mind already weaving possibilities, strategies, scenarios.
Finally, his cold voice cut through the air.
"…To the truth."