The sun sank behind the buildings, painting the streets in bruised oranges and deep purples. Mahitaro walked slowly, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders slumped. The cut from the alley yesterday throbbed faintly across his cheek, a dull reminder that the red-haired student was real—and that he would not relent.
He had a plan today. A careful one. A fragile one.
Barisu Vultari.
The name echoed in his mind like a promise, a lifeline. A student famous since childhood for talking about time loops and the impossible. Mahitaro had followed him from afar, memorized every interview, every offhand comment, every clever insight. If there was anyone who could help him—anyone—it was Barisu.
Scene 2: The Approach!
The library smelled of old paper, dust, and the faint copper tang of blood in Mahitaro's imagination. He spotted Barisu immediately, hunched over a thick textbook, scribbling diagrams furiously. His hair was black, messy, his eyes darting from page to page with feverish intensity.
Mahitaro swallowed.
He opened his mouth to speak, to finally ask for help, to explain everything—the loops, Eruto, the red-haired student. The words were there, ready to spill.
And then it happened.
A shadow pressed against his heart.
He gasped.
A hand—or something like one—gripped his heart. Not flesh, but a dark, pulsing, unnatural shadow in the exact shape of the red-haired student. It squeezed, twisting, as though warning him. As though saying, Do not speak. Not a word.
Mahitaro froze. His knees almost twitched. The shadow lingered, coiling around his ribs, and he realized—he wasn't just scared of the loops anymore. He was being watched, manipulated, stopped before he could even move.
He clutched at his stomach, trying to steady his breathing. The shadow dissipated as quickly as it came. A ghost. A warning. A threat.
And Mahitaro's words never left his mouth.
Scene 3: The Alternative...
He forced himself to breathe. No time loops had stopped him before from thinking outside the box. He had survived, failed, and risen again in countless iterations. He would do it differently this time.
He approached Barisu cautiously, smiling the faintest, most practiced smile he could manage. A smile to hide the void.
"Hey," Mahitaro said, voice quiet but steady. "I... I think you might be able to help me with a... project."
Barisu looked up, eyes narrowing slightly, suspicion flashing across his features. "Project?"
"Yeah," Mahitaro muttered, lowering his voice. "I... I've been studying patterns, historical events... odd stuff. Things... people don't usually notice. And I think... I think you might know more about it than anyone."
Barisu raised an eyebrow. "You mean... time theory?"
Mahitaro nodded, careful not to say the words that would summon the shadow again. Not a single hint about the loops, the deaths, or the killer. "Something like that."
Barisu's eyes softened just slightly, curiosity creeping in. "Show me."
Scene 4: The Night Work!...
That night, Mahitaro's room became a war room. He spread maps, diagrams, and scribbled notes across the floor. He didn't sleep. He didn't eat. The depression still tugged at his limbs like chains, but now there was focus. There was purpose.
Barisu came once, carefully, hesitantly, examining Mahitaro's work. He didn't ask too many questions, didn't press too hard. And Mahitaro didn't give answers. He couldn't. The shadow of the red-haired student was still there, lingering in every corner of his mind, reminding him: don't tell.
Instead, Mahitaro led Barisu down trails of logic and anomalies, patterns in disappearances, timings, strange coincidences. He showed numbers, maps, old reports, anything that could convince the kid he was worth helping without revealing the loops themselves.
Barisu nodded slowly, impressed, leaning closer to examine a series of graphs. "You've done... remarkable work. Whoever you're chasing—if this is accurate—they're smart."
Mahitaro swallowed, keeping his heart from tightening too much. "Yeah... smart... dangerous."
He wanted to say more. He wanted to scream the truth into Barisu's ears. But the shadow still pressed, still whispered in the dark recesses of his mind: don't tell.
Scene 5: Determination in Spite of Despair!?...
By the time Barisu left that night, Mahitaro sat on the floor, surrounded by notes and ink-stained hands. His stomach ached, his mind screamed, and his body trembled—but he didn't cry.
He whispered to himself, almost as a prayer:
"I'll solve this. No matter how many loops, no matter how many deaths, no matter how much pain... I'll find the red-haired student. I'll stop him. I'll save them all. Even if I die a thousand more times, I won't... give up."
And this time, it wasn't an empty promise.
Because he had a thread—a single thread of trust, of logic, of someone willing to help.
Even if he couldn't tell the truth yet... it was enough to begin.
Scene 6: Shadows Watching...
He layed down that night, staring at the ceiling, exhausted. The red-haired shadow lingered at the edges of his mind. It waited. Patient. Cruel. Watching. Waiting for him to fail. Waiting for him to slip.
But Mahitaro's thoughts were no longer hollow. He imagined that shadow, gripping his heart, and he imagined standing up to it. Not fighting with fists. Not with screams. But with resolve.
No more hiding. No more running. This ends differently.
The weight of the loops, the deaths, the despair—he carried it all, but he also carried hope now. A fragile, trembling hope, but it was his.
And for the first time in countless resets, he didn't feel like a victim.
He felt like someone ready to fight.
Scene 7: Crimson Reset!
The night was still, but the tension was electric. Mahitaro and Barisu crouched behind the edge of the overpass, watching the empty intersection below. Every shadow seemed alive. Every gust of wind carried the memory of Eruto, of deaths, of loops.
"We're ready," Mahitaro whispered, his hands trembling around the rolled-up plans. His depression clawed at him like sharp teeth, but he pushed it down. Not now. Not yet. This ends today.
Barisu nodded, adjusting his glasses. His usual calm demeanor was strained. "We follow the directions exactly. He'll appear where the timelines intersect. Don't deviate."
Mahitaro swallowed. The red-haired student's ambush had always been perfect, inevitable, cruel. But this time, they had a plan. Or so they thought.
Scene 8: The Strike?!
They moved in silence. Every step measured. Every breath calculated. Mahitaro's heart hammered, pain and fear coiling inside him like fire and ice.
And then—
The sky tore open for an effect by the lightning.
A streak of crimson descended, impossibly fast. The red-haired student. Arms crossed. Smiling. Perfect.
Mahitaro's stomach turned, but he didn't freeze. He had to react. He had to survive.
Barisu whispered: "Mahitaro, he's—"
Before he could finish, the red-haired student's words cut the air like a blade.
"Your spiritual reset is pretty high... like my Mahitaro here."
Barisu froze, eyes widening in horror. "What—"
The red-haired student moved faster than thought. A dart, strange and metallic, embedded itself into Barisu's skull. A sickly green glow coursed through him instantly. His body convulsed. He screamed, but it was cut short as his body erupted violently, scattering fragments of bone and blood into the cold night air.
Mahitaro's heart heaved. He wanted to scream, to move, to strike—but his legs were lead. His mind couldn't process the carnage.
The red-haired student turned to him, crimson eyes gleaming. "I thought you would understand better with this whole reset thing," he said, voice smooth, almost mocking.
Mahitaro staggered backward, shock freezing him.
"But it seems... this far in the past wasn't far enough."
Before Mahitaro could react, the student's hand shot forward. A dart, glowing differently this time—deep crimson—pierced Mahitaro's skull. His vision flared. Pain exploded in his brain like molten iron.
He screamed, choking, convulsing. The world bent, twisted, shattered around him. His body ignited in crimson agony, everything turning white-hot as the dart injected its venom into his mind.
And then—silence.
Scene 9: Reset but further back...
When Mahitaro opened his eyes, nothing was as it had been.
The pain had vanished, but the world felt smaller, softer, and terrifyingly alien. He blinked. His hands... tinyer. Him... smaller. Eight years old.
Eight.
The city loomed around him like a giant playground. The street smelled of wet pavement and summer heat. But that wasn't what froze him.
The red-haired kid.
Sitting on the curb, tossing a small wooden toy into the air, eyes flashing with that unnatural crimson hair and the same impossible grin. The one who had haunted his loops, his life, his nightmares... right there.
Mahitaro's stomach constricted. His fists clenched. His mind spun, trying to comprehend: How is this possible? How am I here? And... why is he here?
The toy hit the ground with a soft thunk, and the red-haired kid's gaze locked onto young Mahitaro.
And in that single instant, every death, every loop, every scar, every despairing tear, every horror he had endured—all of it converged into one unbearable, icy, hollow weight pressing down on him.
He couldn't scream. He couldn't move. He could only stare.
The child in front of him smiled. Too knowing. Too cruel.
And the chapter ended there.
TO BE CONTINUED...