The bile again.
The stench again.
The tatami mat pressing against his cheek again.
Mahitaro didn't scream. He didn't cry. He didn't even bother to move. He just stayed there, breathing, listening to the sound of his own heart beating against his ribs like a drum of punishment.
Eruto's smile was still there. That bloody, broken smile. His words still burned like fire through Mahitaro's skull.
You don't have to carry everything alone.
He knew why he smiled because he was worried but to him... Why did he have to smile like that? Didn't he know how much that would hurt? He knew he didn't know what he was going through. But it still hurt just to see his wiped from the face of the planet.
Mahitaro pressed his palms to his face, nails digging into his skin. He wanted to rip his head open just to silence those words. He wanted to scream until his throat tore apart. He wanted to break everything in the room.
And he almost did.
Scene 2: The Rage!
That night, two days into the loop, Mahitaro stood in his room, his body shaking, his hands gripping the desk so hard his knuckles went white. The walls seemed to close in on him, Eruto's bloodied face painted across every corner of his sight.
"Why did you smile?!" he shouted into the emptiness, slamming his fists against the desk. "Why didn't you just stay scared, stay angry, stay—stay ALIVE!"
The desk rattled. His books fell, scattering across the floor. His ribs heaved, sweat dripping from his forehead. The tears burned his eyes, but he didn't let them fall. Not yet.
He raised his hand to smash the desk apart, to let the rage tear him apart—
And then he froze.
Because from the hallway outside, he heard it.
A voice.
His mother's voice.
"...Mahitaro?"
Scene 3: His Mother...
She slid the door open carefully, her eyes filled with hesitation, with something he hadn't seen in so long—genuine worry. Her face was pale, drawn from stress. Her hands twisted at her side as if she were holding herself back from reaching out.
"I heard you shouting," she whispered softly. "I... I know things have been hard since your grandparents died. But you can't keep breaking yourself like this. It seems really bad—like, really bad—and you know your mother can always tell when you're sad. Just... just know that everything will be okay."
Mahitaro didn't turn. He didn't want her to see his face, twisted in fury and despair.
"You wouldn't understand," he muttered.
Her voice trembled, but she stepped forward anyway. "Maybe I don't. But I don't want to lose you too."
The words cut deeper than he expected. His fists clenched tighter, his shoulders shaking. He wanted to shout back, to tell her she already had lost him. That the son she thought she had was already dead, over and over again.
But when he finally turned, her eyes caught him. They weren't the eyes of the world accusing him. They weren't the eyes of classmates whispering blame over another students death. They were just his mother's eyes—tired, scared, but still trying to love him.
For a moment, his anger faltered.
"I don't..." His voice hoarse. "I don't know how much longer I can keep going."
Her breath caught. She stepped closer, placing a trembling hand on his arm. "Then don't do it alone."
The words echoed Eruto's dying voice. And for the first time, Mahitaro felt his heart collapse inward as the tears finally broke free.
He sank down, knees hitting the floor, and she knelt with him, holding his shaking body. He wept into her arms like he hadn't since he was a crying child, broken sobs tearing out of him, raw and ugly.
And she didn't let go. Not this time. One single bit...
Scene 4: A Different Morning!...
When morning came, Mahitaro's eyes were swollen, his body heavy. But something felt different. Not lighter—no, the weight was still there, crushing him—but steadier.
Eruto's words still hurt. His mother's words still stung. But they were anchors, not blades. For once, he didn't want to lie in bed forever.
At school, the whispers followed him as always. The stares burned holes in his back. But instead of dragging his feet, he walked with his head bowed, fists clenched, his mind racing with questions.
If Eruto told me I didn't have to carry this alone... then who else is there?
If my Mother says not to destroy myself... then what should I destroy instead?
The murderer.
The truth.
The thought scared him. Because every time he got close, he lost more than he could bear. But he couldn't let Eruto's words be wasted. Not again.
Scene 5: Research...
By the second day, he was in the library.
Stacks of old newspapers.
Whispers of rumors.
Clippings about unsolved cases.
His fingers trembled as he traced names, dates, places. Always near him. Always just close enough to matter. The same unseen hand reaching through time, cutting lives apart.
His pen scrawled furiously across the paper, ink smudging under his grip. He didn't have the strength of a detective, or the skill of a hunter, but he had desperation. And for the first time, desperation was enough to move him.
Hours passed, his eyes bloodshot from poring over case after case—stories of murders tied to paranormal events, strange loops, and shadowy individuals who hunted their victims only to frame them in the end. Unsolved mysteries eerily similar to his own situation blurred together as fatigue weighed heavy on his mind, but he didn't stop. Each word he read was a tiny act of defiance against despair, and every note he scribbled was a silent promise—not just to himself, but to Eruto.
You don't have to carry everything alone.
But he would carry this. For now.
Scene 6: The Walk Home!
The evening sun cast the streets in orange again, a color he had come to dread. Every step reminded him of Eruto's body collapsing in his arms, of the blood soaking his uniform, of the smile that broke him.
But this time, he didn't turn away. He clenched his fists and kept walking. His stomach still hurt. His heart still screamed. But under all of it, for the first time since this nightmare began, there was something else.
Not hope.
Not yet.
But maybe the shadow of it.
And that shadow was enough to keep him moving forward.
That night, as he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, Mahitaro whispered into the silence:
"Eruto... Mother... I'll try. Just one more time. I'll try."
The words hurt. They always did. But for once, they weren't followed by the desire to die.
And when his eyes closed, sleep came—not peaceful, not kind, but bearable.
For now.
TO BE CONTINUED...