The next day, Yuto shadowed Aira like her silent guardian. Every step, every conversation, he cataloged. If the loop reset again, he'd need the details. If it didn't, he'd need the plan.
But something was undeniably… off.
During math class, Aira stared at the window like it whispered to her. During cleaning duty, she accidentally knocked over a bucket—something she'd never done in any previous loop.
"Hey," Yuto said softly, helping her pick up the mop. "You okay?"
She hesitated, then looked him in the eyes.
"You're going to think I'm insane," she whispered, "but I keep seeing flashes. Fire. Screaming. Your face. I think I… died."
Yuto's hands froze mid-motion.
"So it's not just me," he said. It slipped out before he could stop it.
Her breath caught. "Wait… you—?"
They were alone in the hallway now. The late afternoon light turned the dust golden around them. Aira's eyes searched his face, desperate for something to make sense.
"I don't know why," Yuto said, voice low, "but I've been reliving this same week. Over and over. And you—" His voice cracked. "You always die."
Silence stretched long and cold.
Aira didn't scream. She didn't run.
Instead, she did something that shocked him more than any explosion ever could.
She smiled. But it wasn't fear. It was recognition.
"I'm glad I'm not alone in this," she said quietly.
And in that moment, the loop cracked—not broken yet, but weakened. Something had changed.
Together, they would face the repetition.
Together, they might even survive it.