Mahitaro walked, but each step felt like dragging a corpse. His corpse.
There was no spring in his stride. No urgency, no spark. Only weight—crushing, relentless gravity pressing him forward, bending his shoulders, tethering him to the floor. His shoes scuffed against the ground, dragging like chains. His arms dangled, as though they belonged to someone else.
He forced a smile. Lips trembling, cheeks twitching under strain. A pitiful parody of happiness spread across his face, stitched there by some cruel puppeteer. But the smile carried no warmth, no life. It was emptiness masquerading as human.
And his thoughts—they roared like storms, crashing without cease.
When did it begin? Why did it begin? Was it his brother? Gekidō? Or some cruel, meaningless accident?
Each question stabbed like needles, spiraling deeper into his skull. Each one connected to the next, forging chains that locked his mind in a prison of "what-ifs." He was drowning in them, gasping in a sea of possibilities that never led anywhere but despair.
Breath came uneven, a ragged rhythm against the knot of his vision.
Somewhere, faint and distant, he heard them: his parents. Their voices, warm but distant, distorted as though underwater. Concern, worry, fear—they existed in words he could no longer feel. Their care was just another chain.
He didn't answer. Didn't look. He walked deeper into silence.
Gekidō—normally sharp, defiant, cruel—followed at his side. Not mocking this time. Not scolding. Just watching, silent, uneasy, afraid to speak. Even he could feel the despair radiating from Mahitaro. Even he knew the weight was too heavy for words.
Then, they arrived. The front door.
And there he was: Yasuke. Older brother. Smiling. Gentle. Innocent of what Mahitaro had seen in other lives. Eyes kind. Posture relaxed. Voice welcoming.
"Welcome home little brother," Yasuke said warmly.
But warmth had become a poison made just for Mahitaro's despair.
Mahitaro froze. Every muscle seized. Hollow eyes fixed on his brother—but not really him. Not the living Yasuke. Through him, past him, Mahitaro saw the truth.
Not Yasuke's face.
Yasuke's head.
Severed. Hanging from the balcony railing. Rope still tied. The faint smile replaced by despair. Horror collided with reality, tearing his fragile mind apart.
Bile erupted. Acid burned his throat. Vomit spilled down his clothes. The room tilted, swayed, betrayed him.
"Mahitaro—? What's wrong?!" Yasuke's voice panicked. Panic, genuine, pure.
Mahitaro couldn't answer. Words had abandoned him. Only a pitiful, half-choked whimper escaped his lips.
His legs moved on their own, carrying him like a broken puppet. Each step dragged him deeper into the pit, each breath a rope tightening around his neck. Parents' voices blurred. Yasuke's cries blurred. Gekidō's soft whisper blurred. Nothing meant anything.
The bedroom door closed behind him. Silence fell like a tomb.
Yasuke, terrified, followed. Heart hammering. And froze.
Mahitaro sat on the floor, face pale and hollow, drained of everything but despair. Small hands trembled as they gripped a kitchen knife, pressed against his own neck.
Tears slid silently down his cheeks. No sobs. No screams. Just silence.
His eyes—once brimming with questions, grief, rage—were now hollow pits of sadness. Sadness so deep it had devoured everything else.
He looked at his brother. Not with fear. Not with anger. But with the emptiness of someone who had decided there was nothing left to save.
Yasuke's ribs tightened. His heart faltered.
In that instant, the world held its breath.
The kid before him was not just Mahitaro. He was every loop, every death, every despair he had carried. The culmination of loss, memory, and helplessness—etched into flesh and bone.
And Yasuke knew. Somehow, he felt the weight, the endless cycle, the hopelessness.
But he could do nothing.
The scene ended.
And in that silence, the past, the future, and the loops converged.
Mahitaro—broken, hollow, lost—waited.
And no one could reach him.
Scene 2: Mahitaro's Despair
Mahitaro's heart heaved, the knife still trembling in his hands. Bloodless, but still sharp with intent. His mind screamed with the weight of a thousand resets, a thousand deaths, a thousand betrayals—all collapsing at once into this single, unbearable moment.
And then, impossibly, Yasuke moved closer.
He didn't speak at first. He knelt beside Mahitaro, slowly, cautiously, as if afraid to shatter the fragile shell of his younger brother. His hands rested on Mahitaro's shoulders, light, gentle, grounding.
"It's alright, Mahitaro," he whispered, voice soft, warm, trembling even. "I'm here... it's going to be alright."
Mahitaro's lips quivered, but he didn't lower the knife. His voice tore from his heart itself, raw and jagged, a howl that carried years of grief compressed into a single cry:
"What's the point of life if it keeps taking everything away from you? No matter what you do, no matter how hard you try... it all disappears! Everything I've loved... everyone I've trusted... every future I tried to hold... it's gone. Gone!"
The words hit the air like stones against glass. Yasuke flinched, his eyes wide. He had never heard Mahitaro speak like this—not at eight, not ever. To him, it sounded like a child crushed by something bigger than the world, not the impossible loops Mahitaro had endured.
"Mahitaro..." Yasuke's voice trembled. "I... I don't understand. Is this about school? Bullies? Your grades? I thought—"
"No!" Mahitaro screamed, the knife shaking. "It's everything! It's every life I've ever lived! Every time I've died! Every time I tried to fix it! Every death, every pain, every second erased! You don't know... No one knows!"
Yasuke froze. His heart broke. He had seen despair before, in the quiet corners of classrooms or in late-night arguments over expectations, but nothing like this. This wasn't just sadness or frustration. This was an abyss staring back at him, a void older than the kids eight years.
Mahitaro's heart heaved violently, sobs breaking in his throat. Memories flashed across his mind—his mother's sharp words, his father's disappointed gaze, Yasuke shouting at the teacher, the red-haired kid trembling, every death in every loop, every heartbreak, every time the world had betrayed him. It all crashed over him like a tidal wave, crushing and inescapable.
And yet... Yasuke stayed. He didn't move back. He didn't scold. He didn't flinch. He just pulled Mahitaro into a hug, one hand on the knife-hand shoulder, the other steadying the other shoulder of his younger brother.
Mahitaro resisted at first. His body shook, his mind screamed, "Don't trust! Don't believe! Don't let anyone in!" But the warmth... the gentleness... it was different. Not like the loops, not like the lifeless, broken moments he had endured. This was real. This was alive more than he had felt before.
He tried to push Yasuke away. His childlike fists battered against broad shoulders. His voice choked, trembling:
"Why... why do you care? Why does anyone care? If everything ends, everything dies, everything comes back empty... why bother?"
Yasuke pressed his forehead against Mahitaro's, holding him close not understanding all this death stuff thinking it was bad torment from some school bullies. His own breath shuddered, tears threatening to fall. "Because... I've been here, Mahitaro. Not in the ways you've seen, not in some twisted memory, but here. I'm alive, and I'm tired too... tired of being expected to chase a future that's too far away for me. My grades... my life... they weigh on me the same way. I'm sick of being told what I have to become, of being told my value is measured in numbers or expectations. I... I understand more than you think brother."
Mahitaro's hands trembled on the knife. For the first time, he felt the raw, human truth of his brother—not the looped version, not the corpse in his visions, not the symbol of despair. The living Yasuke... was human. Vulnerable. Broken. And yet, defiant.
"Even you?" Mahitaro whispered, voice breaking. "Even you feel it? Even you want to give up?"
Yasuke nodded, pulling him tighter. "Every day. But we... we don't have to face it alone. I can't fix everything. I can't stop the pain you've seen... but I'm here. You don't have to do it alone, Mahitaro. Not this time. Not ever again."
And then, without warning, Mahitaro collapsed into his brother's arms. His body shook violently. Tears poured freely. Every loop, every death, every loss, every betrayal, every horror that had defined his existence crashed through him. Memories bled together—the red-haired kid laughing, Eruto's shadowy menace, his parents' coldness, Yasuke's previous despair in other timelines, the knife, the rope, the blood... all of it.
Yasuke held him. Whispered softly. Squeazed him gently. "It's okay... it's okay... we're here... we're together..."
Mahitaro sobbed, choked, gasped. He whispered names, events, fears, screams that had been buried in the endless cycles: "I... I failed... I couldn't... everyone... gone... gone... gone..."
And Yasuke, trembling as well, patted the top of his head. "No... not this time. Not anymore. We can't change the past, we can't undo everything... but we can be here. We can live. We can face tomorrow. Together." His brother spoke still thinking it was people he lost from the bullying as well...
Time seemed to stretch. The room became a universe unto itself. The red-haired kid, Gekidō, waited in silence, a quiet awareness in his eyes. He knew—no, felt—that this moment was the pivot upon which everything balanced. Every loop Mahitaro had endured, every nightmare, every death, all converged here. And Gekidō remembered it all as well. Because he had traveled back with Mahitaro when he had sent him here, he had carefully mirrored his past self, ensuring nothing was out of place. Every gesture, every thought, every detail was executed flawlessly—an exact reflection of who he once had been at 8. Soon, he knew, all questions would find their answers.
Mahitaro clung tighter, sobbing, the knife forgotten from his palms, his body pressed against the warmth of his brothers connections he had thought lost forever.
For the first time in countless lives, he realized something impossible: there might be a tomorrow worth facing. A life worth holding. A bond that could endure the weight of despair, the cycles of death, and the cruelty of fate and in a way he actually believed was possible more than ever before this time.
And in that embrace, the unspoken truth resonated between them: no matter how dark the loops, no matter how heavy the grief, no matter how many deaths came before... they were not alone.
Yasuke whispered one last time, his voice trembling but firm:
"We're here, Mahitaro. Always. And we'll find a way... together. No more running. No more hiding. Not this time."
Mahitaro trembled, pressed against him, letting the warmth, the reality, the fleeting fragility of his brothers love sink in. And for the first time... he didn't feel empty.
He felt the world—shattered, terrifying, yet alive—and for the first time, he dared to hope.
TO BE CONTINUED...