The past was never kind to him.
But this wasn't the past he remembered.
Mahitaro's hands trembled at his sides as he walked the narrow street, the evening sun painting the rooftops gold. He was lighter, childlike again, and every step felt wrong—like he'd been forced into a past that didn't belong to him.
Beside him walked the red-haired kid.
Mahitaro couldn't stop staring at him. The same flame-colored hair, the same sharp outline of features—there was no mistaking it. It was him. The same one who had tormented him in loop after loop, who had mocked his weakness, who had smiled as he bled.
But this kid... this kid was different.
He laughed at little things. He sat down to pet stray cats. He skipped ahead, turning back with a grin as if the world was nothing but playgrounds and summer days. His voice carried none of the venom Mahitaro knew. It was open. Gentle. Friendly.
And most terrifying of all—he called Mahitaro friend.
The word made bile rise in his throat. His memory told him it was impossible. They had never been friends. Their first meeting had been in the library—cold, sharp, unforgettable. And yet here, in this warped past, the kid smiled at him with all the ease of a bond that should have been real.
Why?
Why couldn't he remember? Why didn't any trace of this kid exist in his memory, except in blood and cruelty?
He felt like he was being played with—like reality itself was lying to his face.
When the kid said, "Come on, let's go to my house," Mahitaro snapped.
His stomach seized. His fists clenched. And before he knew it, he was lunging.
"Shut up!"
His small fists struck the kids stomach, shoulders, arms—wild and weak, the blows of an eight-year-old who hadn't yet learned what fury could do. He wanted to break his face, to rip away the smile that mocked him, to force him to become the monster Mahitaro remembered.
But the kid only staggered, blinking in shock, then laughed nervously.
"Whoa, you're strong today! Are we... playing?"
The words were knives. Mahitaro's anger was real, but here it was seen as nothing more than childish play.
His parents rushed from the doorway, their voices younger, lighter than he remembered. His mother's hair was dark and tied back, She was filled with youth. His father's voice was calmer, filled with laughter.
"They're just playing rough," his mother said, tugging Mahitaro back with a warm smile.
"Kids will be kids," his father chuckled, ruffling Mahitaro's hair.
The red-haired kid laughed along, rubbing his cheek where Mahitaro's fist had landed. "See? He's just kidding!"
But Mahitaro wasn't. His fury was real. His hands shook. His heart screamed.
And yet the world refused to see it.
Later, when the kid came over again, Mahitaro felt his stomach churn. He didn't want to see him. Didn't want to feel that false warmth pressed against the truth he carried. But he couldn't refuse. He had to understand.
He had to know why this past existed.
When the knock came and the door slid open, Mahitaro expected his mother, maybe his father.
But instead, a stranger stood there.
A teenager—older, tall, confident. His features were sharp, his presence heavy, his eyes cutting into Mahitaro with a familiarity that made his lungs seize.
The stranger smiled. Calm. Certain.
"Don't just stand there," he said. "Come inside, little brother."
The world tilted. Mahitaro's throat went dry.
"...Brother?"
The teen's smile widened, easy and natural. "Of course. Yasuke Mahi. Don't tell me you forgot me already."
The name struck him like lightning.
Yasuke. Mahi. His family name. His supposed brother.
But his memories screamed denial. In every loop, in every version of his life, in every moment of suffering and despair—there had never been a Yasuke. Not once. Not a word, not a shadow, not even a trace.
And yet here Yasuke stood, flesh and blood, as real as the parents who now smiled from behind him, as real as the red-haired friend who grinned at his side.
"Mahitaro?" his mother called gently. "Don't be shy. Your brother's waiting."
Brother.
Friend.
Family.
All of it twisted around him like chains.
Mahitaro's breath came shallow, his stomach tightening with panic. His parents looked so happy, so young. The kid beside him smiled like the world was whole. And Yasuke's hand rested on his shoulder like it had always been there, steady and protective.
But Mahitaro's heart howled with grief. None of this was real. None of it matched what he had lived, what he had lost.
So why did it feel so real?
Why did it hurt so much?
Tears stung his eyes, but he didn't let them fall. He couldn't.
His mind spun with questions.
Why didn't he remember Yasuke?
Why didn't he remember being friends with the red-haired kid?
Why did the past bend and warp until it no longer belonged to him?
The shadows whispered at the corners of his vision again, faint and cruel. Watching. Mocking.
And in that moment, Mahitaro understood—this loop wasn't just about survival anymore.
It was about memory. About truth. About everything stolen from him.
And the thought of what he might uncover terrified him more than dying ever had.
Scene 2: The Bonds That Never Were...
Morning light spilled through the window, soft and golden, painting Mahitaro's room in a glow that felt too gentle for him. He sat on the edge of the futon, staring at his small hands again. The air carried the faint smell of rice cooking from the kitchen. His mother hummed. His father's footsteps echoed lightly across the wooden floor.
It should have been comforting.
It should have felt like home.
But it wasn't his home. Not the way he remembered it.
And Yasuke.
That name. That face. That impossible brother who smiled as though nothing were out of place. Mahitaro could still feel the weight of Yasuke's hand on his shoulder, steady and warm, a touch so natural it made his heart ache.
Yet his memories screamed silence.
No Yasuke. No bond. No brother.
Just emptiness where he apparently had someone who once meant everything.
As he walked to school that morning, the world around him only grew stranger. The streets were familiar but painted in softer colors, details blurred like a half-forgotten dream. The laughter of children echoed sharper in his ears than it ever had before. He caught glimpses of classmates—faces younger, brighter, untouched by cruelty or despair.
It was as if the world itself had been reborn, not as he knew it, but as it should have been.
And yet it was all foreign to him.
When he arrived at school, his heart pounded as though he were walking into a trap. His eyes darted, waiting for something to break—the sky to shatter, the floor to give way, the cruel loop to bare its teeth again.
Instead, he saw them waiting.
Yasuke, his so-called older brother, leaning casually against the wall by the gate, waving when he spotted him. His red-haired "friend," the kid Mahitaro knew only as a tormentor in the future, standing beside him with an eager grin.
The two of them together, laughing, calling his name as though he belonged between them.
Mahitaro froze.
"Mahitaro!" the red-haired kid waved, jogging up and clapping him on the shoulder. "Come on, you're late again. We were waiting for you."
Yasuke smirked, folding his arms. "Honestly, little brother. You never change. But that's fine. That's what makes you you."
The words should have been comforting. But they dug into Mahitaro like thorns.
Brother. Friend. Warmth. Belonging.
All words he had no right to.
Yet he was dragged into their orbit all the same.
Through the day, whispers followed them. Mahitaro caught them in fragments between classes, drifting through the halls:
"There they go again—the three of them..."
"...the closest trio in the school's history, you know."
"Always together. It's almost unfair, isn't it? Like fate tied them from the start."
He couldn't breathe.
At lunch, Yasuke sat on one side, the red-haired kid on the other. Their laughter filled the air. They teased him, nudged him, pulled him into jokes that seemed so natural he almost forgot to resist. Students passing by smiled, nodded, some even whispered in awe.
Apparently, the three of them weren't just friends—they were inseparable.
So inseparable, in fact, that teachers and classmates alike recognized it. Mahitaro, Yasuke, and the red-haired kid—three names etched together as if carved into the school's very history.
But how?
Why?
How could he have forgotten this?
When the final bell rang and the school emptied into the streets, Mahitaro watched from a distance as Yasuke and the red-haired kid walked ahead together, laughing with the ease of brothers. The red-haired kid looked at Yasuke with a closeness that felt... wrong.
He wasn't just Mahitaro's friend.
He wasn't just Yasuke's friend.
He was both.
And Mahitaro couldn't deny it: they were closer than he had ever thought possible. Yasuke treated him like a sibling by blood, yes, but so did the red-haired kid, as if he too were part of the family. And together, the three of them were bound by a closeness that no one questioned.
Except Mahitaro.
Because in his world, in his memory, in his endless cycles of despair—none of it had ever existed.
He walked behind them that evening, staring at their backs. They moved in step, as though they'd been born to walk side by side. Every laugh they shared, every look they exchanged, was a blade to his bones.
Why had he forgotten them?
What had stolen these bonds from his memory?
And why, if this world was only a lie, did it hurt so much to see what he had lost?
The red-haired kid turned suddenly, grinning back at him, his face open, unguarded, full of trust. "Hurry up, Mahitaro! Don't fall behind. You're part of us, remember?"
Mahitaro's throat burned. His vision blurred. His heart ached like it was tearing apart.
Because no—he didn't remember.
He remembered pain, betrayal, suffering, endless death.
Not this warmth. Not this family. Not this love.
And for the first time, he wished—desperately, hopelessly—that his memories were wrong.
That maybe, just maybe... this world was the real one. Even if someday no matter what he did he would never understand all this kinda thanking the Future Red Haired Kid...
TO BE CONTINUED...