They hit the ground hard enough to knock the air out of their lungs, leaves exploding around them in a dry rush of sound. The pile softened the impact but not by much. Haru twisted instinctively to keep Yui from taking the full force, and the movement sent them both rolling through brittle red and orange foliage that clung to their clothes.
For a few seconds all they could hear was their own breathing and the faint scrape of leaves settling back into place.
Airi pushed herself upright first, brushing fragments from her sleeves. The air was cool against her skin, crisp in a way Limbo never was. It smelled like earth and something faintly sweet, maybe wood smoke drifting from somewhere nearby. Kaito stood more slowly, scanning their surroundings without speaking.
Haru shifted, easing Yui off his back carefully. "Tell me it's not worse," he said quietly.
"It's a little better, still hurts though." she replied, trying not to wince as she tested her weight. The landing had sent a sharp pulse through her injured leg, but nothing felt newly broken.
Wind moved through the trees above them, real branches shivering, real leaves falling. The sound was steady and ordinary. Too ordinary.
Yui reached into her pocket and pulled out her flip phone. The plastic felt colder than usual. When she opened it, the screen flickered weakly and then froze. The time read 11:17. The date was years off from where it should have been. The signal bars were empty, not searching, not fluctuating—just blank. She pressed a button. The display didn't respond. The seconds didn't change.
"It's stuck," she murmured.
Kaito stepped closer and looked over her shoulder. "It's powered. It's just not moving."
"Like it's paused," Airi added.
Yui closed the phone halfway and snapped it open again. The same frozen screen stared back at her.
A distant sound drew Haru's attention—a car passing, tires humming against pavement. He turned toward it automatically. Through the thinning line of trees, he could see the edge of a road.
They moved carefully out from the cover of the leaves and onto a sidewalk dusted with more of them. The world beyond the trees looked steady and intact. Cars drove past at normal speed. A dog barked somewhere down the street. No distortions split the sky. No fractures shimmered in the air.
Across the road, a temporary stand had been set up in a small parking lot. Wooden pallets were stacked into uneven tables holding rows of pumpkins in different sizes and shades of orange. A hand-painted sign leaned against one of the crates, the letters slightly crooked but bold enough to read from where they stood.
Fresh Pumpkins — Fall 2024.
The number didn't register at first. It felt like decoration, like part of the seasonal theme. Then it settled.
Airi's expression changed before she said anything. Kaito looked from the sign to the cars, then back again as if expecting something to contradict it.
Yui stared at the frozen date on her phone and then at the sign across the street. The phone insisted they were somewhere else, some other year entirely. The world around them disagreed.
Haru exhaled slowly. "If that's real…"
No one finished the thought.
The pumpkins were ordinary. The vendor arranging them wore gloves and a thick sweater, adjusting a small chalkboard that listed prices. A couple walked past carrying coffee cups, talking about weekend plans. No one was panicking. No one was running.
If it was fall 2024, then time had moved forward without them. Or around them.
Yui felt something tighten in her chest, something that wasn't fear exactly. If this was the future, and it looked like this—normal, functioning, untouched—then somewhere along the way, they hadn't failed.
Her phone remained frozen at 11:17, the old date locked in place as if it refused to acknowledge what the rest of the world already had.
The wind shifted again, carrying the dry rustle of leaves across the sidewalk, and for the first time since escaping Limbo, the silence between them wasn't about survival.
The leaves crunched under them as they finally forced themselves upright. The armor was gone. No glow, no weapons, no distortion humming under their skin. Just regular clothes, scuffed and dirt-streaked, as if whatever force had thrown them here had decided they didn't need to look like warriors anymore.
Yui brushed dried leaves from her sleeves and glanced down at herself, almost expecting the fabric to flicker back into place. It didn't. Haru noticed too but didn't comment. None of them said it out loud, but being untransformed made everything feel more exposed.
They stepped onto the sidewalk fully now, moving with the kind of caution that didn't match the calm around them. Cars passed in clean, quiet lines. The buildings across the street looked recently renovated, all sharp glass windows and smooth paneling. Even the streetlights were different—sleeker, thinner.
A group of teenagers walked by, laughing loudly. One of them held up a phone to show the others something. The screen was nearly edge-to-edge glass, impossibly thin, bright enough to catch Yui's attention even from a distance.
"That's a phone?" Haru muttered.
"It has to be," Kaito said, but he didn't sound convinced.
Another person walked past wearing wireless earbuds that didn't appear connected to anything. A digital billboard shifted advertisements fluidly overhead, colors changing in seamless animation. Everything looked polished, updated, slightly too fast.
They weren't even near their old neighborhood. The houses here were taller, modern, unfamiliar. The grocery store on the corner had a name none of them recognized. Even the street signs were different.
A middle-aged man slowing his steps glanced at them, probably noticing how out of place they looked. "You kids lost?" he asked, not unkindly.
Yui reacted first. "No," she said quickly, a little too quickly. "We're fine."
Haru nodded stiffly. Airi gave a tight smile. Kaito avoided eye contact.
They didn't wait for another question. They moved down the sidewalk at a faster pace until they turned a corner and kept walking until the street noise felt less direct. No one spoke until they found a small café tucked between two storefronts. It had outdoor tables and warm lights strung under the awning.
"Inside," Airi said quietly.
They slipped in and found a table near the back. The air smelled like coffee and cinnamon. The normalcy of it all pressed in on them harder than any battlefield ever had.
Yui sat near the window, mostly to steady herself. She needed something solid to focus on. The clock in her pocket felt heavier than it should.
Outside, at one of the café's patio tables, a couple sat close together with a little girl, appearing to be their daughter. They were laughing at something on the table between them. The girl leaned forward when she laughed, brushing hair from her face in a way that made Yui's chest tighten. The boy reached out without thinking and steadied her coffee before it tipped.
They looked exactly like her and Haru.
Not similar. Not reminiscent.
Exact.
Same features. Same expressions. Even the way he tilted his head slightly when he smiled.
For a moment the noise inside the café dulled. Yui couldn't look away. The other version of her looked relaxed in a way she hadn't felt in a long time. Unafraid. Unburdened. Alive in a future that didn't look like it had ever fractured.
Haru followed her line of sight. His breath caught softly, but he didn't say anything.
Yui forced herself to blink and turned back toward the table. She folded her hands together so they wouldn't tremble. "We shouldn't stare," she said quietly.
No one argued.
Kaito reached into his bag and carefully took out the clock. Up close, the damage was obvious now. A small chip had broken off the edge of the glass face, leaving a jagged imperfection near one of the hour markings.
"It cracked when we fell," he said.
Yui leaned closer. She hadn't noticed before. The fracture was small, but it hadn't been there earlier.
"That's not good," Airi said under her breath.
Kaito nodded. "It's already unstable. If we push it again, especially across timelines…"
"It could break completely," Airi finished.
Haru looked from the chip to Yui. "And if it breaks?"
Kaito didn't hesitate. "We don't choose where we land next."
"Or when," Airi added. "Or if it even lands at all."
Silence settled over the table. Outside the window, their other selves were still laughing, unaware of anything unraveling beyond their version of the world.
Yui swallowed. "So we don't use it unless we absolutely have to."
"We use it once," Haru said firmly. "To get home."
Kaito gave a small nod. "And carefully."
Airi's gaze flicked briefly toward the window and then back to the clock. "If we overuse it, we could end up stuck somewhere worse than Limbo."
The word hung between them.
Yui resisted the urge to look outside again. Whatever version of her was sitting out there in the sunlight wasn't hers. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
She focused on the chipped edge of the clock instead, on the tiny fracture that could widen if they weren't careful.
For the first time since landing, the future didn't feel comforting.
turned the clock over in his hands again. Up close, the crack along the glass edge looked worse than it had outside. A faint line ran inward from the chip, thin but unmistakable.
Airi leaned across the table and took it from him without asking. "Let me see."
Kaito hesitated but released it.
She rotated the clock slowly, her thumb brushing along the rim. For a second it just looked damaged—scuffed metal, fractured glass. Then her expression shifted.
"Wait a minute."
Haru looked up. "What?"
Airi tilted the clock toward the light coming through the window. "The button."
Yui leaned in. "What about it?"
"The jump trigger," Airi said quietly. "It's not aligned."
Kaito frowned. "That's not possible. I fixed the casing after the second jump."
"I'm not talking about the casing." She pressed lightly against the small side button used to activate the jump. It shifted under her finger in a way it never had before. Not a click. Not resistance.
It wobbled.
All four of them went still.
Airi pressed again, more carefully this time. The button sank in slightly and didn't spring back properly. One side lifted away from the clock's frame as if it were barely attached.
"It's almost falling off," she said.
Haru swore under his breath. "You're kidding."
Kaito took the clock back and examined it more closely. From this angle, the damage was obvious. The metal housing around the button had cracked inward. The mechanism underneath looked loose, like one more impact would snap it entirely.
"If we press that," Yui said slowly, "it might not register."
"Or it could jam halfway," Kaito replied. "Which is worse."
Airi folded her arms. "If it jams mid-activation, we don't just fail to jump. We could split the coordinates."
Haru's jaw tightened. "Meaning?"
"Meaning," Airi said carefully, "we wouldn't control where we go. Or when. Or if we even stay together."
The café felt smaller suddenly.
Yui glanced toward the window again without meaning to. Outside, her other self laughed at something Haru had said. The sound didn't reach through the glass, but she could see the smile clearly.
Kaito exhaled slowly. "We shouldn't touch it until we understand the damage."
"And how do we do that?" Haru asked.
"I need time," Kaito said. "Tools. Stability. If we press it now and the housing snaps, that's it. We're wherever it throws us."
Airi nodded. "Which means we're not jumping again today."
Yui looked down at the clock in Kaito's hands. The chip in the glass. The crooked button. The fragile mechanism holding their only way home together.