1
Seeing her outside of a screen felt like an editing mistake.
Angel Kurozawa walked down the sidewalk with her bag on one shoulder and a cram-school folder wedged under her arm, frowning at a watch that probably cost less than the shoes of the newscaster who said her name every year.
No stone.
No flowers.
No title under her face.
Just a teenage girl annoyed at the time.
For a second my brain tried to put the hospital photo on top of her, like a transparency: the same mouth, uncracked lipstick now, the same line of her nose. The version in front of me had more colour, less damage.
The bank clock across the street held steady at 19:38.
The date flickered underneath: 11 / 08.
Nineteen years ago for everyone else. Exactly twenty for me.
I checked my phone by reflex. Black screen. No startup buzz, no nothing.
Fine.
I put it in my pocket and stepped off the curb.
2
I followed from half a block away at first.
Close enough to keep her in sight. Far enough that I was just another person heading in the same direction.
Nobody looked twice. The street buzzed with students spilling out of cram schools, salarymen in rumpled shirts heading home, housewives carrying bags of discounted groceries. A normal weeknight.
Angel moved fast, like someone who'd been scolded for being late before and didn't want it again.
She cut across an intersection with the light, eyes on the crossing signal, not on the cars.
A group of boys in uniforms called something to her. I didn't catch the words, just heard the tone — casual, teasing. She waved them off without breaking stride.
From the case file, I knew the outline.
Last seen on a camera near the station at 19:45.
Witness report near the old shopping street around 19:50.
After that, nothing until midnight noises around the factory.
The timeline sat in my head like a skeleton. Now it had muscle and skin moving over it.
I shortened the distance between us.
3
She stopped at a convenience store.
The same chain I worked for in my time, different logo colours.
Fluorescent glare washed over the sidewalk as the automatic doors parted. She went in. I waited outside, standing by the vending machines, pretending to read a poster about bus route changes.
Through the glass, I watched her move.
Grabbed a drink from the refrigerated section. Picked up a rice ball. Stared at the snack shelf like she was negotiating with herself, then put everything back and chose the cheapest one.
My throat tightened at the stupid, ordinary nature of it.
She paid, bowed to the cashier in that quick, habitual way, and came back out with a plastic bag.
On the way past me, she tore the top off the drink container with her teeth.
"Teacher really hates me," she muttered under her breath, like the pavement was a friend who'd asked.
No one answered.
I wanted to.
4
I stepped forward before I could stop myself.
"Excuse me," I said.
She flinched a little, then turned, shoulders stiffening.
Up close, she came up to my nose. Her hair clip was cracked along one side. The dark circles under her eyes were faint but there.
"Yes?" she said, polite, wary.
Right. To her, I was a stranger, slightly older, male, addressing her on a city street at night.
Every warning poster ever made flashed through her mind, I could see it.
I hadn't thought this through.
"Do you know what time it is?" I asked.
My mouth had moved before my brain had supplied anything better.
She glanced at the bank clock from habit, then checked her own watch.
"Almost twenty to eight," she said. "There's a big clock just there."
"I left my glasses at home," I said automatically.
I was not wearing glasses.
Her eyes flicked over my face, taking in that detail.
She didn't call me out. Just shifted her weight so there was more space between us and said, "You should buy a strap next time."
Not unkind. Just done with the conversation.
She nodded once, small and formal, and started walking again.
I watched her go.
My palm itched to reach out and grab her sleeve.
Don't go that way. Take a different route. Go home with those boys from earlier. Turn around and scream at me until I back off, anything but what you're about to do.
I stayed where I was.
5
I forced myself to think.
If I lunged out of nowhere and told her I'm your son from the future and you're about to be kidnapped, best-case scenario she'd walk faster and avoid me forever. Worst case, she'd call a cop and I'd have a very long, awkward conversation in a time period where my ID didn't exist.
Even if she believed me for some reason, the file had been clear: the abduction happened when she was alone.
Drag someone else into it and they'd just be one more target.
I fell back into step behind her, closer now, using other pedestrians as cover.
She ate the rice ball as she walked, taking efficient bites, not savouring them. The drink followed, gulped down fast like she needed the sugar more than the taste.
The street started thinning out.
Fewer students. More shuttered shopfronts. The distance between pools of light stretched.
The part of town she had to pass through to reach the station was the bit everyone told kids not to linger in, even in my time.
Graffiti on the walls. Vending machines with half the lights out. A stray cat darting into an alley.
My heart rode higher in my chest.
This was the zone.
6
I scanned every doorway and parked vehicle.
The case file had mentioned a van. Witnesses had disagreed on the colour, the make, the number of people near it. Memory is kind when it doesn't feel responsible.
Ahead, on the side street leading toward the old shopping arcade, a white vehicle sat under a flickering streetlight.
Doors closed. No markings.
My eyes snagged on it like a hook.
Angel didn't react. She walked past the mouth of the alley without looking in.
If this was the van, in the original timeline she'd seen nothing. No reason to fear it until someone gave her one.
My hands went cold.
I stepped up my pace, closed the gap, and came level with her.
"Sorry," I said.
She glanced sideways, startled. "What?"
"Do you mind if I walk with you for a minute?" I asked, keeping my tone breezy, like I was asking for a light. "I just realized this street is creepier than I expected."
Stupid line. True sentiment.
Her frown deepened. Suspicion warred with her own unease.
"I live near here," she said. "It's fine."
"Familiar places are where most bad things happen," I said. The words came out flatter than I'd intended.
Her steps shortened.
"Are you trying to scare me?" she said.
"No," I said. "I'm trying to be scared with you."
That sounded worse out loud than in my head.
We both heard it.
Her mouth twitched like she wanted to smile and clamp down on it at the same time.
"Terrible line," she said.
"First draft," I said. "I can edit."
"You should," she said.
But she didn't tell me to leave.
7
We walked side by side for half a block.
I kept my hands visible, my gaze ahead, my pace matched to hers. Her posture stayed tight, but some of the rigidness eased.
"Which school?" she asked suddenly.
It took me a second to realize she meant my uniform.
I looked down at myself.
I was wearing the same clothes I'd had on in my room: hoodie, T-shirt, jeans. No blazer, no crest, nothing that would answer her question.
"Dropped out," I said. "Trying out the exciting world of part-time employment."
"Already?" she said. "You look my age."
It was a guess, generous at that.
"Bad at classrooms," I said.
She made a small approving noise.
"I can understand that," she said. "I'm still going whether I like it or not. Makes me feel like a coward sometimes."
"You're coming back from cram school after dark," I said. "That already puts you ahead of most people I know."
"Does it?" she said.
She adjusted her bag strap, eyes on the road. A smile ghosted across her face and vanished.
I stored that expression away.
8
We reached the part of the route where the file said a witness saw "an argument with unknown male" near a vending machine.
The machine in question stood on the corner, plastered in old promotional stickers.
Nobody else was nearby.
"Here," Angel said, slowing. "I'll be fine from this point. You don't need to walk me the whole way."
Her tone was firmer now. Polite dismissal.
The air felt thicker.
The van I'd noticed earlier sat now at the far end of the block, half-turned toward us, idling. Somewhere inside the cabin, someone watched the two of us.
If I stayed, I might derail whatever they had planned. Or I might make them act sooner, less predictably.
If I left, I'd be handing her back to the script I already hated.
"Right," I said.
We stopped.
She turned to face me fully for the first time. In the convenience store light she'd looked washed out. Here, under the streetlamp, her eyes were very dark.
"Thank you," she said. "For walking with me this far, weird dropout stranger."
"You're welcome, endangered cram-school girl," I said.
Her mouth curled. Genuine this time.
"Angel," she said. "Not 'girl.'"
The name hit harder spoken by its owner.
"Demon," I said before I could stop myself.
Her eyebrows climbed.
"Seriously?" she said.
I spread my hands. "I didn't pick it."
"Good," she said. "Your taste would be even worse than your jokes."
She shifted her bag on her shoulder, gave me a short, almost formal bow.
"I'll remember you," she said.
No, you won't, I thought.
"Good night, Demon," she added, then turned and walked away.
I stood there until the sound of her footsteps started to fade.
Then I moved.
9
The van's engine revved slightly.
It began to crawl forward, matching Angel's pace, staying just far enough back to not be obviously following to a casual glance.
A man stepped out of a side street ahead, pretending to check a payphone that probably hadn't worked in years.
My skin crawled.
This was it. The net closing.
I started walking again, faster now, heart hammering.
I didn't have a plan beyond stay between her and them and hope that being inconvenient would be enough.
Angel turned the next corner toward the quieter part of the route that led under the tracks.
The man at the payphone straightened and stepped into her path, smiling too quickly.
The van rolled closer from behind.
My stride lengthened.
"Angel!" I called.
She half-looked back at me, half-watched the stranger in front of her.
He said something with his hands up, palms visible, the universal sign for I'm harmless, see?
The side door of the van started to slide.
Every muscle in my body lit up.
I broke into a run.
10
The air thickened as if I'd hit invisible water.
My legs pumped; the ground didn't feel like it moved the way it should. Sound dulled. The rumble of the van, Angel's startled intake of breath, my own footsteps — all of it turned flat and distant, like I was hearing it through someone else's ears.
Not now.
Not yet.
I forced myself forward.
The gap narrowed by agonizing inches.
The man near her reached out, not quite touching, speaking in a soothing tone that set my teeth on edge.
Angel's shoulders hunched. Her hand tightened on her bag strap.
The van's door slid wider, a dark mouth opening beside her.
I stretched my hand out, fingers numb, trying to grab anything — her wrist, her sleeve, the stranger's collar, the edge of the door.
The world leaned hard.
The street slipped sideways without moving. Colours washed out. The light from the streetlamp above us thinned until it was just a pale stain on the dark.
My outstretched hand met nothing.
Angel, the man, the van — all of it smeared away, not like they'd run or driven off, more like someone had lifted them from the scene and left me grasping at the empty space where they'd been.
My stomach lurched.
I shut my eyes on reflex.
Concrete vanished under my feet.