The rope's bite had been so sharp, so final, that when Yasakchiru Mahitaro's eyes shot open, his mind refused to accept that he was alive again.
The tatami was damp with spit and bile, his body convulsing like a fish out of water. He gagged, coughed until his lungs ached, and spat a thick wad of mucus streaked with blood onto the floorboards from biting his lips as this continues from last episodes ending scene.
For a moment, he didn't even move. His face stuck to the mess, his eyes wide open. His lips trembled. Then it hit him.
He had died. And still... he was here.
The rope hadn't freed him. Death hadn't freed him.
The loop had dragged him back.
A sound escaped him—not a scream, not a sob, but something between the two, a raw choke that came from deep in his stomach. His vision blurred with tears as he staggered upright, falling back against the wall. His fingernails clawed into his throat, expecting rope burns, but his skin was smooth. His body had been reset. But his mind? His heart? They were rotting.
He whispered to himself, voice emotional:
"...Why... why again?"
The morning sun pierced through his curtains, harsh and merciless. The day was beginning anew, like nothing had happened. But everything had happened. And this was only the second time.
The Best Friend Loop
School felt like walking into a graveyard.
Mahitaro sat in class with his head low, every scrape of chalk and every laugh from classmates like a hammer against his skull. He replayed the first loop in his head—the stranger's murder, the false accusations, his parents' hatred. He thought, This time, I'll change it. This time, I'll stop it before it happens.
But the air felt wrong.
He caught glimpses of Eruto Kaiju—his best friend. Eruto's hair was a little messy as always, his grin soft, his eyes sharp in the way only someone who cared could make them. He slapped Mahitaro's back during homeroom, whispering:
"Hey, bud. You look like a ghost. Didn't sleep again?"
Mahitaro forced a smile. It was the same fake smile he'd been practicing ever since he returned to the past. He hated it. But what else could he give?
Eruto's brow furrowed. "You're lying again."
Mahitaro's stomach twisted. Eruto's words cut deep. He wanted to tell him everything—the loops, the pain, the deaths. But he couldn't. Instead, he muttered, "Just a bad dream, that's all."
Gym class came. The basketballs echoed against the hardwood floor, students running, laughing, shoving. Mahitaro stayed back, pretending to tie his shoes longer than needed. Eruto noticed, approached, crouched beside him.
"You're hiding something. I can tell. You always chew your lip when you're lying."
Mahitaro froze. He had forgotten that Eruto knew him better than anyone.
"I said I'm fine," Mahitaro forced out.
Eruto narrowed his eyes, his voice lowering. "...You don't look fine. You look like you're about to break."
Mahitaro's heart clenched. His throat closed. He wanted to beg—Don't die, Eruto. Please, don't be the one this time because it always seems to be some random person and I'm always framed... But all that came out was a broken laugh. "I'll be okay. Just... depression. It started recently."
That lie almost killed him to say. Eruto studied him for a long moment, then nodded, though doubt still clouded his face. He didn't push further.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Mahitaro walked home with Eruto, each step heavier than the last. He thought if he stayed close, he could prevent whatever was coming. He thought if he watched carefully enough, he could finally see the murderer's face.
But fate was cruel.
At twilight, as they crossed the overpass, it happened.
A flash of movement. A shadow darting. Then—Eruto stumbled. Mahitaro turned just in time to see blood burst from his throat. The world slowed. Eruto's eyes widened in shock, his hands clutching the wound, his knees giving out.
"No—NO!" Mahitaro caught him, his hands drenched in blood instantly. His heart stopped, his vision tunnelled. "Stay with me! Please—please don't leave me—"
But Eruto's eyes glazed, his mouth trembling with words that never came. The life drained out of him in Mahitaro's arms.
And then the voices rose.
"It was him!"
"He stabbed him!"
"Mahitaro killed him!"
Hands grabbed him. Sirens wailed. His own voice howled into the night as he screamed, "IT WASN'T ME!" But no one listened.
He saw Eruto's body carried away, his best friend gone forever, and his soul shattered.
Back home, the cycle repeated: his parents' disgust, their venomous words, the spit, the fists. Their son was gone to them.
And that night, with hands trembling and vision clouded with tears, Mahitaro tied the rope again. This time, he didn't hesitate. He let gravity take him, let the rope tear at his throat until blackness came.
The Mental Loop
He woke again. Alive. Alive when he didn't want to be.
A scream tore from his lungs. He ripped his room apart—desk overturned, glass exploding, shards slicing his skin. He punched the wall until his knuckles split, blood dripping. He wanted to smash his skull open, to end it in a way the loop couldn't reset.
His parents burst in, shouting, restraining, dragging. His screams didn't stop until his throat bled. He begged for it to end, begged for death, begged for freedom. But the loop had no mercy.
They sent him away—to a mental school, a place that reeked of disinfectant and despair. He thought maybe here, away from the script of his life, he could escape the curse.
But the whispers followed.
"Murderer."
"Psycho."
"Don't go near him."
Because—it happened again. Another staged scene. Another victim and another random at that this time a student who was dealling with cancer named Najo Hina. Another frame. The murderer had followed him even here. The cycle would never end.
That night, Mahitaro lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, hollow. He didn't move. He didn't cry. His stomach rose and fell shallowly, his eyes empty.
When the loop pulled him under once more, when he opened his eyes on the tatami for the third time, he didn't even flinch.
He just whispered, broken and monotone:
"...Even if I try... even if I change everything... it doesn't matter. It'll never matter. to these loops or ever to these random deaths which are different everytime all because of me probably being there around those killed people with my useless existance..."
His body shook violently. Vomit rose again, bile burning his throat, mucus spilling from his lips as he retched. His face twisted into a mask of horror so raw it looked inhuman. Tears streamed without sound. His nails dug into his skin until blood seeped out.
The world outside went on. Birds chirped. The wind blew. Students gathered for school.
But Yasakchiru Mahitaro was no longer alive in spirit. He was nothing but despair with bandages covering those carved blood wounds.
TO BE CONTINUED...