Chapter 192: Part 1 Ends, and the Audience's Fury Ignites!
The story had now plunged into total chaos.
With two consecutive D-mails sent into the past, massive shifts in history occurred—everything began to unravel.
Rintaro Okabe found himself overwhelmed as countless small details around him no longer aligned with his memories.
Ever since he helped Lukako send that D-mail, the IBN5100 vanished without a trace. The sacred machine that once lay dormant at the shrine had now been erased from existence.
And Kiryu Moeka—though she had disappeared in the previous world line—was somehow once again connected to the lab in this one, without rhyme or reason.
The lab members continued progressing on their experiments, though each at their own pace. Still, no matter how you looked at it, the process of sending D-mails had diverged wildly from how things had unfolded in earlier world lines.
Caught in a mire of confusion and helplessness, Okabe eventually made a decision: he needed to locate the IBN5100.
Recalling that the computer had originally been donated to the shrine by Faris's father, he turned to her for clues.
But during their conversation, Faris accidentally learned the truth—about the time machine, about the D-mails.
Then, with a gleam in her eye, she made a bold proposition.
She'd tell him what she knew about the IBN5100.
In exchange… she wanted to send a D-mail.
Okabe hesitated. His gut screamed at him not to go through with it—but he had no other leads, no other hope.
After a painful silence, he gave in.
There was no other way.
However, Faris refused to tell him the contents of the D-mail she intended to send.
Even so, Okabe still agreed.
He called Kurisu and asked her to prepare the PhoneWave, and once everything was set, Faris stood before the machine, phone in hand.
Just before she pressed the send button, she froze.
Only after Okabe reminded her did she finally snap out of it and tap the screen.
Click
Everything went dark again.
When Okabe came to, a sharply dressed man in a suit stood before him.
Faris burst in from outside and threw her arms around him with a radiant smile.
"Papa!!"
"Papa…?"
Okabe froze.
In his memories, Faris's father had died in an accident years ago.
But now… now he was alive, standing here in front of them.
The D-mail had rewritten reality again—on a scale far greater than he'd anticipated.
He stood there in stunned silence, then cautiously spoke:
"You're… Faris's father, right? Do you happen to have the IBN5100?"
"Oh, that old thing? I sold it a long time ago. Can't even remember who I sold it to."
"—What?!"
It was gone.
In this world line, the IBN5100 had vanished into the wind.
Okabe stood frozen, shaken to the core.
He left Faris's home in a daze, intending to return to the lab, but somewhere along the way, he got lost.
The streets around him were unfamiliar. The storefronts looked wrong.
One after another, he peered into the nearby shops, only to find nothing he recognized.
The entire street had changed.
All because of one email.
Everyone's fate had been twisted.
And it was in that moment—standing alone in an unrecognizable cityscape—that Okabe finally grasped just how far his actions had gone.
Suddenly… from the edge of the movie screen, a butterfly fluttered in.
It danced through the air—and stirred up a massive storm.
A narrator's voice echoed across the cinema, calmly explaining the concept of the Butterfly Effect.
After all, for the people of this world, this was their first real encounter with the genre known as "science fiction."
Even the simplest concepts filled them with wide-eyed wonder.
"So this is the Butterfly Effect… Makes perfect sense, honestly."
"Even if we don't get into how it works in the real world, in Steins;Gate, every D-mail the protagonist sends is like a butterfly flapping its wings—no matter how minor, each change triggers a massive shift in fate."
"Right? I don't get everything that's going on, but this movie still feels crazy cool somehow."
"Still, I wonder what kind of conflict this is all leading to. Are they just going to keep hopping between world lines with D-mails? Isn't there gonna be a direct showdown with SERN?"
"Eh? That'd be a letdown. I was hoping for some awesome action scenes later on."
"…"
The audience buzzed with conversation, some excited, some skeptical.
A portion of viewers clearly felt the plot was dragging—too little action, too much theory—but even they continued watching, their curiosity refusing to let them leave.
. . . . . . . . . . .
The Imperial Mage Academy.
Within its vaulted halls, the mages sat in stunned silence. The theory of the Butterfly Effect, as presented in Steins;Gate, had shaken even them.
Though many had encountered fragments of the idea before, this was the first time they'd seen it laid out in such vivid, narrative clarity.
And now, the room was alight with discussion:
"A butterfly's wings stirring a storm… even the tiniest tweak in history can cause waves across the entire timeline. When you think about it, the analogy is eerily accurate."
"The theory of the butterfly's wingbeat—it's uncannily similar to the principles behind wind-element magic. Instead of overwhelming the world with brute force, true mastery comes from subtle magical vibrations… using just the right touch to summon a storm."
"Exactly. Wind spells have always relied more on precision than power. It's almost like this theory is made for wind mages."
"Who would've guessed that a concept tied to chaos theory could actually apply to time travel and temporal mechanics too? It's kind of mind-blowing."
"Now I really want to know what other kinds of magical theories this movie might reveal…"
Meanwhile, at the peak of the Mage Tower—
Administrator Hohenheim stood motionless, eyes fixed on the screen, lost in thought.
Only after a long silence did he finally speak, his voice quiet but full of weight:
"Had this theory been introduced earlier… wind-elemental spells might have evolved far beyond their current state. Until now, due to the chaotic and volatile nature of wind magic, we've failed to develop even a single, purely wind-based sixth-level forbidden spell. The only existing high-tier samples are messy, hybrid enchantments that rely on multiple elements. But this… this Butterfly Effect theory shows me a path to true wind-based forbidden spells."
"Wait, seriously?"
The other Arch Mages exchanged glances, puzzled.
After all, of everyone in the magical world, only Administrator Hohenheim had pursued the path of pure elemental magic to its peak.
Most of the others dabbled in hybrids, constructs, or focused on the more practical, mainstream schools.
And wind magic? It had always been the odd one out.
Compared to fire's overwhelming destructive force, water's versatile healing properties, or earth's stalwart defenses, wind lacked punch, lacked control, lacked… utility.
Unless combined with other elements, it had little worth in battle or industry.
This stigma ran deep—even recent graduates specializing in wind magic struggled to find meaningful roles in society.
That was exactly why Picole, once a dedicated wind-elementalist, had chosen to abandon the path entirely and turn toward Magitech Alchemy.
He had understood, bitterly, that a mage's worth was ultimately judged by their ability to contribute.
Even the noblest title—mage—meant nothing without value.
And now, Hohenheim's words sent a ripple through the council chamber. For the first time, the Arch Mages wondered—
Was wind magic truly the weakest element…?
Or had they just failed to see its potential?
. . . . . . . . . . .
Back in the cinema, Steins;Gate picked up speed once more.
The narrative spiraled forward, chaotic and intense.
Having realized the world lines were now tangled beyond recognition due to the barrage of D-mails, Rintaro Okabe could only sink deeper into confusion.
His journey had only just begun, and already, reality was crumbling beneath his feet.
To make matters worse, a shocking truth emerged—
By pure chance, Rintaro Okabe discovered that Lukako's gender had actually changed.
The D-mail he sent back then… it had worked.
It had truly rewritten the past.
Lukako, once a shy boy, had now become a gentle, blushing girl.
So many changes.
One after another, dominoes falling in ways Okabe hadn't anticipated.
The sheer weight of it all made him want to run. To hide.
It was while taking a walk—hoping to clear his head—that he unexpectedly ran into the warrior girl from downstairs: Suzuha Amane.
From her, he learned something surprising.
She hadn't just come to the city for part-time work. She was here on a mission—to find her father.
If she couldn't locate him by tomorrow, she'd leave.
Moved by her resolve, Okabe—almost without thinking—blurted out a proposal:
"If you want, I could send a D-mail. Help you search for your father… in the past."
But Suzuha refused.
"No," she said, firmly. "I'll find him myself."
And so the hours ticked by.
Okabe couldn't shake his concern for her, but thanks to Kurisu and the others gently persuading him, he eventually—if reluctantly—chose not to pursue her.
During this time, he learned more about Kurisu Makise's past.
She wasn't just a genius; she had worries, burdens, vulnerabilities.
Realizing that, Okabe quietly promised her something:
"No matter what happens… I'll be your ally."
Those words, simple as they were, reached her.
And just like that, the distance between them began to shrink.
The next night, Okabe waited for Suzuha downstairs.
His plan was simple—if she failed, he would force her to send a D-mail to find her father.
But she never came back.
Not that night. Not the next morning.
It was as if she'd vanished from the face of the Earth.
Frantic, Okabe searched everywhere. Desperately.
But Suzuha was gone.
Out of options, he did the unthinkable, he sent a D-mail to his past self:
"Don't listen to anyone. No matter what happens—find Suzuha."
The world line jumped.
Suddenly, he found himself in a reality where he had tracked Suzuha down—Where he had forced her to stay.
Relief washed over him.
For the first time, Okabe saw the upside of world line shifts.
The lab resumed its D-mail experiments.
But then a new problem emerged.
The grumpy repair shop owner downstairs had had enough.
The noise, the tremors, the strange energy pulses—he was furious.
The "PhoneWave" was rattling his whole building.
So, in order to keep the experiments running, Okabe volunteered to distract the man, leaving Kurisu in charge upstairs.
Unfortunately, it turned into a one-sided fight.
Okabe never stood a chance against the burly mechanic.
And amid the scuffle… he accidentally turned off the man's massive CRT television.
At that precise moment, the D-mail experiment above suddenly stopped.
It hit Okabe like a thunderbolt.
The D-mails only worked because of the CRT TV below—It was acting as a makeshift lifter, a crucial part of the system!
Even though he was half-crippled from the beating, he limped back upstairs, excitement flaring in his eyes.
He and Kurisu dove into a new line of thought—Compressing a person's memories into data.
If they could encode the brain's synaptic pulses into a signal small enough to be transmitted…
"If we can compress a person's memories into a D-mail-sized signal, we could send it back in time," Okabe proposed.
"The body wouldn't time travel, but the mind… the mind would jump across time."
And thus, a new possibility was born.
Not just D-mails, but time travel through memory.
With the theory in place, the lab wasted no time.
They dove straight into research, aiming to create a time machine that could transmit memories—A machine that, in a sense, could truly travel through time.
But just as progress was being made, Rintaro Okabe received several unsettling emails.
"I'm watching you."
"You know too much…"
The cryptic, chilling words sent shivers down his spine.
A creeping sense of being watched clawed at the edges of his mind, gnawing into him with icy dread.
Then came a bigger blow—Itaru Hashida, their plump but brilliant hacker, made a disturbing discovery.
The lab's computer had somehow connected to SERN's database—Forcefully.
In a way they couldn't control.
The signs were unmistakable.
Something was terribly wrong.
And then the final straw—
Okabe's phone buzzed.
A new email.
He opened it, and immediately felt his heart lurch.
It was just a photo.
But the image was horrific—A blood-covered face staring straight into the camera.
"A-ah…"
Terror gripped his heart.
Still, Okabe bit down the panic, forced himself to focus.
He ordered everyone in the lab to push forward.
No more hesitation.
The time machine had to be completed—now.
Time passed.
With Makise Kurisu unwavering support, the machine—capable of transmitting compressed memory data to the past—was finally completed.
Okabe decided that he would be the first to use it.
The first to leap.
The experiment was scheduled for that night.
Before that… A celebration.
One last gathering before crossing the threshold of fate.
Everything was ready.
Okabe breathed a sigh of relief.
And yet, that sense of being watched…
It hadn't faded.
It had only grown stronger.
He couldn't shake the feeling that something—someone—was closing in.
He kept his guard up the entire day.
And then, as the evening arrived, so did the small party at the lab.
"If the experiment succeeds…"
He whispered the words to himself, scanning the faces gathered in the room.
Mayuri.
Daru.
Kurisu.
Even Suzuha had come.
Everyone was there.
Okabe was just about to announce the beginning of the celebration when—
BANG!
The lab's door exploded open.
A group of masked men burst in, armed and threatening, weapons drawn.
"Don't move! Hands in the air!"
The leader barked the command.
And behind him, stepping in with measured calm, is a woman in a black leather coat.
Everyone froze.
Their eyes widened in disbelief.
It was her.
Kiryu Moeka.
The same woman who had vanished from this world line long ago.
"SERN will be reclaiming the time machine," she declared coldly.
"Rintaro Okabe. Itaru Hashida. Kurisu Makise. You three—come with us. The others… will be executed on the spot."
No one had time to react.
With those final words, Moeka raised her gun, and shot Mayuri.
A gunshot. A cry. And then, silence.
Okabe broke.
His mind shattered.
But in that split second of devastation, a new force burst into action—
The part-time warrior, Suzuha Amane, leapt forward.
With fluid, lethal strikes, she knocked down several attackers, buying precious seconds.
Kurisu seized the moment, helping Okabe reach the machine.
Together, they activated it.
The machine roared to life.
Heat and light surged outward, and Okabe's memories were launched into the past.
Just like that, the true, despair-filled chapter of Steins;Gate had begun.
. . . . . . . . . . .
Meanwhile, in the real world, the audience was on the edge of their seats.
Finally—finally—the action had exploded.
They were burning to see what would happen next.
But then…
A black screen.
White text.
"Part 1: Steins;Gate – The Butterfly's Flap of Fate Part II will premiere next early spring."
The crowd erupted.
Just like with Fate/Zero, the story had ended right at the best part.
Another cliffhanger.
Another wait.
Disbelief turned to outrage—The audience was in an uproar.
<+>
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