EPISODE - 12 - The First Step Forward (SERIES-CHAPTER)

[MA 18+ - Contains extreme graphic violence, blood and gore, suicide, brutal combat, and severe psychological trauma]

The return to consciousness was different this time.

Not the violent convulsions of previous resets. Not the desperate gasp of someone drowning. Not even the numb acceptance of someone who'd died too many times to register surprise. Just... clarity. Sharp and clean as a blade edge, cutting through the fog that usually accompanied resurrection.

Mahitaro's eyes opened to familiar horror: the park bench. Afternoon sun filtering through leaves. The taste of bile coating his throat—present but manageable, his body having expelled it while unconscious. And sitting beside him, watching with eyes that held too much knowledge for their apparent age—

Gekidō. Child Gekidō. Red hair catching light like arterial spray.

But this time, Mahitaro didn't attack. Didn't lunge or scream or demand explanations. He simply sat up slowly, wiped bile from his lips with the back of his small hand, and met those too-knowing eyes with something that hadn't existed in previous iterations.

Resolve.

Not hope—hope was still too fragile, too easily crushed by the weight of accumulated failures. But purpose. Cold and sharp and forged from the message teenage Gekidō had burned his last reserves of power to deliver. Understanding that suffering hadn't been random cruelty but calculated teaching. That every death, every loop, every moment of despair had been building toward this: the strength to reject fate entirely.

"You okay?" Gekidō asked, his child voice carrying none of the cruel edge Mahitaro had learned to associate with that red hair. "You looked like you were having a nightmare."

More than nightmare. Lived nightmare. Died through it. Came back carrying weight of futures you orchestrated and suffering you endured to give me this chance.

"I'm fine," Mahitaro said. His eight-year-old voice came out steady—no trembling, no breaking, just calm certainty that surprised even him. "Better than fine, actually. I understand now."

Gekidō's expression flickered—confusion, curiosity, something that might have been concern. "Understand what?"

Everything. Why you tortured me. Why you sent me back. Why suffering was necessary. Why you gambled your existence on me being strong enough to do what you couldn't.

"What I need to do," Mahitaro said instead. He stood, his small body moving with adult precision, and looked toward the horizon where his house waited. Where Yasuke existed, alive and whole but teetering on the edge of the breakdown that would destroy everything.

Five days until February 22, 2007. Five days to prevent the tragedy that would echo across decades.

But I know now—preventing the classroom incident isn't enough. The pressure will find other outlets. Fate demands its pound of fleshy death. I have to address the root, not just symptoms.

"I should get home," Mahitaro said, his child's voice carrying weight it shouldn't. "My brother needs me."

He walked away from the park bench, from Gekidō's confused expression, from the beginning of a timeline he intended to rewrite completely. His small legs carried him forward with purpose that felt almost physical—not the desperate scrambling of previous loops, but measured determination of someone who'd finally understood the game's rules and was ready to break them.

The days passed in careful observation.

Mahitaro watched Yasuke with the clinical attention of someone cataloguing symptoms for diagnosis. The forced smiles when their parents discussed his grades. The tension in his shoulders during homework sessions. The way his hands clenched when teachers called him out in class. Every sign of pressure building toward explosive release.

And Mahitaro intervened—small adjustments, careful words, emotional support delivered through child vocabulary but carrying adult understanding. Telling Yasuke he didn't have to be perfect. Sitting with him during difficult homework. Being present in ways the original timeline hadn't allowed because eight-year-old Mahitaro hadn't known to look for signs of fracture.

But he could feel it—temporal resistance, like pushing against bone that wanted to snap back into original configuration. The loop had momentum. Yasuke's breakdown had already been written into fate's ledger.

It's not enough. I'm delaying the explosion, not preventing it. Need to do more. Need to—February 22, 2007 arrived with the weight of prophecy.

Morning classes passed in tense normalcy. Mahitaro kept Yasuke in his peripheral vision constantly, watching for the moment pressure would exceed tolerance. Fourth period came—the critical classroom where fate had scheduled tragedy.

The teacher began discussing grades, future prospects, the usual bureaucratic measurements that reduced human complexity entirely. Mahitaro saw Yasuke's jaw clench. Saw the flush creeping up his neck.

Here. This is the moment. I have to—"Sensei," Mahitaro stood abruptly, his eight-year-old voice cutting through the rising tension. "Before you continue, can I say something?"

The interruption was calculated—pulling attention to himself, disrupting the pattern that led to violence. The teacher frowned, clearly annoyed by the interruption, but nodded.

"My brother works harder than anyone I know," Mahitaro said, words flowing with conviction pulled from thirty-seven years of accumulated understanding. "Measuring him only by test scores ignores everything else he does. His effort. His character. His—"

"That's very sweet," the teacher interrupted, tone suggesting condescension, "but this is adult business. You're too young to—"

"I'm old enough to see when someone's breaking!" The words came out louder than intended, carrying emotional weight that made several students flinch. "I'm old enough to know that pressure kills people! That sometimes pushing harder doesn't help, it just—it just—"

Mahitaro's voice broke. Tears burned in his eyes—not manipulation, but genuine anguish at watching his brother suffer while adults dismissed it as immaturity. "Please. Just... ease up. Before something terrible happens."

The classroom had gone silent. The teacher stared at him with the expression caught between surprise and something that might have been shame. And Yasuke—

Yasuke was staring at him with eyes that glistened, that carried gratitude and confusion and the beginning of emotional release. "Mahitaro..." His brother's voice was soft. "Thank you."

The moment crystallized. Mahitaro felt the timeline shift—small adjustment, pressure valve opening, the immediate crisis diffused. I did it. Changed the classroom incident. Prevented the pencil attack. Saved the teacher's life.

The class dismissed early, tension broken by eight-year-old's unexpected eloquence. Students filed out with whispers and backward glances. Mahitaro felt relief beginning to settle, felt the first stirrings of something that might have been hope—

And then Yasuke stood. Moved not toward the door but toward the window. His expression had shifted into something distant, hollow, like someone making calculations that led to dark conclusions.

"Yasuke?" Mahitaro's voice carried alarm he couldn't suppress.

His brother turned, and the smile he wore was wrong. Too calm. Too resolved. The expression of someone who'd decided something and found peace in the decision.

"You tried, little brother. I see that. I appreciate it." His voice was gentle, carrying affection layered over something final. "But you can't fix this. The pressure... it's not just school. It's everything. Mom and Dad. The future. All of it pressing down until there's no room left to breathe."

No. No, this is wrong. I stopped the classroom violence. He's not supposed to—Yasuke walked toward the door, but not the one leading to the hallway. The one leading to the stairs. The ones that went up.

To the rooftop. "Yasuke, wait—" Mahitaro lunged forward, but his eight-year-old legs were too short, too slow. Yasuke was already through the door, already climbing.

Mahitaro chased him, heart hammering against ribs too small to contain adult panic. Stairs blurred beneath his feet. His lungs burned with exertion his child body wasn't designed for. And above, the rooftop door was already swinging open, already granting access to the space where tragedy waited with da ifferent face but the same ending.

The rooftop stretched gray and empty under overcast sky that promised rain. And there—at the far edge, where fence separated solid ground from five-story drop—Yasuke stood with hands gripping the metal barrier.

"YASUKE!" Mahitaro's scream tore from his throat as rain began to fall. Light at first, then heavier, turning the rooftop tiles slick. "Don't—please don't—"

His brother turned. That same wrong smile. "I love you, Mahitaro. Remember that. But I can't—I can't keep pretending I'm strong enough for this. For any of this."

He started climbing the fence.

Mahitaro's small body moved on pure instinct. He ran, shoes skidding on wet tiles, rain already soaking through his uniform. Reached the fence as Yasuke's leg swung over the top rail—

And grabbed his brother's arm with both hands. "NO! I won't let you! I won't—"

"Let go!" Yasuke tried to shake him off, but Mahitaro's grip—strengthened by adult determination compressed into child muscles—held firm. "Mahitaro, you'll fall with me! Let GO!"

"Then we BOTH fall!" The words came out as sobs, as screams, as desperate refusal to accept loss. "I'm not losing you! Not this time! Not EVER!"

They struggled. Yasuke trying to pry his brother's hands loose. Mahitaro clinging with strength born from watching this exact scenario play out with Eruto, with others, knowing exactly how it ended and refusing to allow repetition.

The rain intensified. Thunder rolled overhead. And Yasuke—face twisted with something between gratitude and anguish—made his decision.

He didn't try to pry Mahitaro's hands loose anymore. Instead, he grabbed his little brother's wrists and pulled. Hard. Using the leverage to boost himself over the fence completely while dragging Mahitaro with him.

They toppled together over the barrier's edge.

Five stories. Enough height for terminal velocity to become academic discussion. Rain fell with them, creating the illusion of flying through water. Mahitaro saw Yasuke's face—eyes closed, smile peaceful, accepting the fall as release from pressure he could no longer bear.

I tried. Changed everything I could think of. And we're still falling. Still dying. The ground rushed up to meet them. Impact—consciousness returned with bile and blood.

Mahitaro woke on the park bench, body convulsing as it expelled the contents of his stomach. The vomit was darker this time, flecked with blood from internal injuries that had existed seconds ago but were now erased by reset. His small hands pressed against wood that felt too solid, too present, mocking him with the certainty that suffering would continue regardless of intervention.

Gekidō sat beside him, expression cycling through confusion and concern. "You're sick again? Should I get—" "Leave me alone." Mahitaro's voice came out hollow. "Just... just leave me alone."

I tried. Did everything differently. Prevented the classroom violence. Addressed the emotional pressure. And he still died. We both died. Because fate doesn't care about intervention. It just finds new paths to the same ending.

The resolve that had burned so bright felt dimmer now. Flickering. The first cracks appearing in determination that had seemed absolute.

Maybe Gekidō was wrong. Maybe I'm not strong enough. Maybe fate is inevitable and all I'm doing is prolonging suffering before accepting the inevitable.

But he forced himself up. Forced his small body to move through familiar motions. Five days until February 22. Five days to try again, to find the intervention that would actually work, to—

Who am I kidding? I'm just repeating Gekidō's failure. Thousands of loops, all ending the same way. Why would this I different? The days crawled forward under the weight of creeping despair.

Mahitaro went through motions—school, meals, conversations with Yasuke that felt increasingly hollow. His resolve was fracturing, each interaction reminding him of the fall, of his brother's peaceful smile while they plummeted toward concrete.

I can't save him. The loop won't allow it. Every intervention just reshapes the tragedy without preventing it.

February 22 arrived again. This time, Mahitaro barely tried. Went to school in numb autopilot. Sat through classes without intervening. Let the timeline play out with the fatalistic acceptance of someone who'd stopped believing change was possible.

The classroom incident unfolded exactly as the original timeline—teacher pressuring Yasuke, his brother's control fracturing, the pencil driving into flesh with wet sound that made students scream.

Mahitaro watched with dead eyes. Felt nothing as blood sprayed. Felt nothing as Yasuke ran. Felt nothing as his brother disappeared toward the rooftop where—

Wait.

Something was different. Yasuke had headed to the rooftop, yes, but this time Mahitaro hadn't intervened in classroom. Which meant different timeline, different variables, different—

Mahitaro stood abruptly, moving not from hope but from stubborn refusal to sit idle while tragedy repeated. He climbed the stairs with legs that felt like lead, pushed through the rooftop door expecting to find Yasuke at the fence—

And found him collapsed in the center of the rooftop instead. Hands covered in teacher's blood. Body shaking with sobs that sounded like something being torn apart from inside.

Rain fell. Heavier this time. Yasuke looked up as Mahitaro approached, and his expression held no peace. Just horror at what he'd done, at the violence his hands had committed. And Mahitaro understood to, at that moment. That fate had changed this timeline just a bit. Thanks to him being by Yasuke's side this time. Throughout the entire school day. And by speaking and actually having meals with him like they always do as a family. And for some reason that seemed to lower his emotional factures, and Mahitaro could tell just by looking at his now even more empty eyes then. And that Mahitaro being his close brother in those moments had helped.

"I killed him," Yasuke whispered. "I actually—I killed—" "No." Mahitaro knelt beside his brother, rain soaking them both. "You hurt him. That's different. He might—"

"He's DEAD!" The scream carried anguish that made Mahitaro flinch. "I felt it! The pencil went in and something broke and he fell and there was so much blood—"

His hands shook, still stained red despite the rain trying to wash it clean. "I'm a monster. I'm—I can't—" His eyes found the fence. The drop beyond. "I can't live with this. Can't—"

He lunged toward the edge.

Mahitaro grabbed him, but this time Yasuke fought back. Fists swinging, connecting with Mahitaro's face hard enough to split his lip. They grappled in the rain, two brothers wrestling over whether one deserved to live.

"Let me GO!" Yasuke's voice broke between sobs and rage. "I don't deserve—I killed someone! I'm a KILLER!" "Then kill me too!" Mahitaro screamed back, tasting blood. "Because I'm not letting you go alone! If you jump, I jump! If you die, I die! That's the DEAL!"

They fought. Brutal and desperate. Mahitaro's small fists connecting with his brother's stomach. Yasuke's hands grabbing his shoulders, trying to throw him aside. Both slipping on rain-slicked tiles, both bleeding from split skin and the violence of their mindless hurting struggles.

And then—from behind—another voice cut through the rain. "Stop this." Gekidō stood in the rooftop doorway.

Red hair clung to his face, rain-soaked and heavy, his expression twisted into something that almost looked like fear. Almost. Mahitaro sensed it immediately—not the kid version, but the thoughts of Teenage Gekidō bleeding through.

And with his sharpened awareness, Mahitaro understood exactly what he was seeing. This wasn't the adult mind he'd been facing.

The consciousness of teenage Gekidō was surfacing now, projected through the child's body—laid foward by Gekidō himself. He was still the young version, but the awareness no longer was.

For the first time, the past was looking directly at itself. Because nothing could actually get rid of, the true and only real Gekidō.

"GEKIDŌŌŌ!" Mahitaro's voice came out as growl. Something in him snapped—all the accumulated rage at being tortured, at being sent back, at watching people die while the teenage version of Gekidō smiled—and thus he abandoned Yasuke to lunge at the red-haired figure in a mindless rage.

Gekidō didn't dodge. Just stood there as Mahitaro's small fist connected with his jaw. The impact sent pain shooting up Mahitaro's arm, but he didn't care. Hit again. And again. All the frustration, all the failure, all the flickering resolve trying to reignite itself through violence.

"You did this!" Each word punctuated with strike. "You made me suffer! Made me watch them die! Made me think I could save them and then—and then—"

Gekidō caught his wrist. Twisted. Mahitaro gasped as his arm was forced into angle that threatened to break bones. "And you're giving up that easily?" The voice held contempt. "After everything I endured to give you this power? You're just going to surrender?"

"What?" Mahitaro screamed. "I've tried! I've—"

"WELL TRY HARDER!" Gekidō shoved him back. Mahitaro stumbled, his small body barely keeping its balance on the slick tiles. "You think I didn't fail?" Gekidō snapped. "You think I didn't collapse a thousand times? That I didn't want to quit?"

His voice cut deeper with every word. "But I kept going—because the alternative is worse. Accepting that suffering is inevitable. That giving up is the truth."

He stepped closer. "That's the real death." Gekidō's eyes narrowed, sharp with recognition. "I knew this moment would come. I knew your resolve would start rotting into blind rage. And that's why I prepared for it. Even though I failed... REMEMBER! I DIDN'T GIVE YOU THIS RESOLVE FOR NOTHING!"

He tapped his temple. "One of the Loop's higher functions—an override. I allowed my consciousness to inhabit my younger self at this point in time." A grim smile.

"So don't worry. I'm not an echo. Not a projection. I'm the real thing." He leaned in, voice low and forceful. "And I'm here to snap you out of it. You silly old friend. Of course I only made it happen once. So after this you'll never see more of me Mahitaro."

Mahitaro's rage reignited. He charged again, this time not with fists but with his whole body. Tackled Gekidō at the waist. Both of them went down hard on wet concrete, impact driving air from their lungs.

They grappled. Mahitaro—eight years old, small, but carrying adult fury. Gekidō—young to, but also carrying older fury, stronger, but pulling punches like he wanted Mahitaro to land hits. Rain pounded them. Thunder cracked overhead. And behind them, Yasuke watched in horror as his little brother and his best friend tried to kill each other.

Mahitaro got on top, fists raining down on Gekidō's face. Blood mixed with rain—couldn't tell whose. His knuckles split on teeth. Gekidō's nose crunched. But the teenager just kept smiling, kept taking the hits like they meant something.

"That's it!" Gekidō shouted between impacts. "Get angry! Get furious! Use it! Channel it into—" The sky opened.

Not just rain anymore. Hail. Ice chunks the size of marbles falling with force that bruised skin on contact. Both of them cried out, hands flying to protect their heads—but the violence didn't stop.

They rolled across the rooftop, still fighting. Hail beating them, cutting skin, drawing blood. Mahitaro's small fists found Gekidō's throat. Squeezed. The teenager's hands grabbed his wrists but didn't pull them away—just held them there, letting Mahitaro feel what it was like to actually kill someone.

"Do it," Gekidō rasped. "If you're giving up—if you've decided suffering wins—then finish it. Kill me. Kill your brother. Kill yourself. Let fate win completely. Are you so much of coward, that you're going to give up that easily!"

"I HATE you!" Tears mixed with rain and blood on Mahitaro's face. "I hate you for making me suffer! For making me think I could save them! For—"

"For giving you the only chance anyone's ever had to reject fate completely," Gekidō finished. His expression softened despite the hands crushing his throat. "I didn't torture you because I'm cruel. I tortured you because I love you. Because you're the only person I ever believed in enough to—"

His words cut off as Mahitaro's grip tightened. The teenager's face went purple. His eyes bulged. And Mahitaro felt it—the moment of choice. Kill him and end the loops forever. Or release him and try one more time.

Behind them, Yasuke's scream: "MAHITARO, STOP!"

But Mahitaro couldn't hear anything except his own heartbeat, his own mindless rage, his own flickering resolve trying to follow through with violence that felt better than helplessness.

He squeezed harder.

Gekidō's struggles weakened. His grip on Mahitaro's wrists loosened. Life starting to fade from eyes that had watched thousands of loops and were ready to finally rest—

Mahitaro then hurled himself forward, driving Gekidō back toward the fence where Yasuke stood. The impact came all at once. Three bodies collided. Metal shrieked. The fence gave way.

The metal barrier—weakened by rust, by weather, by the violent impacts of two bodies slamming against it—simply snapped.

They fell together. Still struggling. Still connected. Mahitaro's hands still wrapped around Gekidō's throat as they plummeted through hail and rain toward ground that waited five stories below.

Mahitaro saw Yasuke's face at the rooftop edge—horror-struck, reaching out uselessly. Saw students gathered below, pointing upward, screaming. Saw the ground approaching with impossible speed.

And in his final second, felt Gekidō's hands shift from his wrists to his shoulders. Felt the teenager push—trying even in death to reposition so his body would take primary impact.

Trying to save me. Even now. Even when I'm killing him. Silly fool. Were dead now anyways.

And then they hit the floor. And landed on one another. Mahitaro felt his ribs crack. Felt something inside tear. Tasted blood flooding his mouth from internal bleeding. And beneath him, Gekidō's body lay broken, red hair matted with rain and blood and hail.

"I'm sorry," Mahitaro whispered through blood. "I'm sorry I—" "Don't be," Gekidō's voice was barely audible. "You tried. That's... all I wanted. Someone who'd... try... Now... go save... Every... one... Now that you've snapped... out... of it-"

His eyes closed. His breathing stopped. And Mahitaro—feeling his own life draining through broken ribs—closed his eyes too. I failed. Killed my friend. Couldn't save my brother. The resolve was never enough. I was never—

Consciousness returned without bile or blood.

Mahitaro's eyes opened to the park bench. Afternoon sun. Gekidō sitting beside him with an expression of gentle concern. No teenage version trapped in a younger body. Just the eight-year-old child, innocent and whole, watching him with those red eyes that held nothing but friendship.

But this time—for the first time—Mahitaro didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stared at the sky with eyes that held nothing. Empty. Hollow. The flickering candle of his resolve had finally guttered out completely.

"Mahitaro?" Gekidō's voice was soft, trembling with worry. "Are you okay? You look right now. Should I get your parents?" No. I'm not okay. I've never been okay. I killed you. Watched my brother die. Failed again and again. Became the monster. And I don't—I can't—

The tears came. Silent. Steady. The kind of crying that came from somewhere too deep for sobs. Mahitaro sat on the bench and wept while Gekidō watched in confusion, while the sun painted everything in gold that mocked the darkness consuming him from within.

It's over. I give up. Fate wins. Suffering wins. Death wins. I lose.

Gekidō shifted closer, his small hand hovering near Mahitaro's shoulder but not quite touching, as if afraid contact might shatter something already broken. "Mahitaro... please. You're scaring me. What's wrong?"

Everything. Everything is wrong. I've lived lifetimes of suffering compressed into weeks. I've died in every way possible. I've watched everyone I love die. I've become the villain trying to be the hero. And I'm so tired. So, so tired.

But the words wouldn't come. His throat was closed, his voice stolen by despair too profound for articulation. And then—impossibly—Gekidō's small arms wrapped around him.

The eight-year-old kid pulled Mahitaro into a hug that felt too warm, too genuine, too real to be manipulation. His red hair brushed against Mahitaro's cheek. His voice whispered close: "I don't know what you're going through. Don't understand why you're so sad. But... you don't have to go through it alone. Whatever it is. I'm here."

The words were simple. Childish. Exactly what an eight-year-old who knew nothing of loops or suffering would say. And they shattered something in Mahitaro's stomch.

Not his heart—that had broken across multiple loops. But the wall he'd built around it. The armor of cynicism and despair that had convinced him caring was pointless because everything ended in loss anyway.

He doesn't know. This version of him—child Gekidō, innocent and untouched by loops—he genuinely wants to help. Just like Yasuke wanted to live before pressure broke him. Just like everyone I've tried to save deserves a chance that doesn't end in tragedy.

Something flickered in the emptiness. Not resolve—not yet. But the faintest spark. A dying ember that refused to be completely extinguished. A tiny ember of the remaining resolve that needed to be seen.

Mahitaro pulled back from the hug, his face wet with tears, his small body trembling. He tried to speak, to thank Gekidō, to say something—anything—but a different urge took hold.

Without thinking, his small fist swung out. Not hard. Not meant to hurt. But connecting with Gekidō's shoulder in a weak, pathetic attempt at... what? Rejecting kindness? Pushing away comfort? Testing if this was real?

Gekidō stumbled back slightly, confusion crossing his features. "Mahitaro?"

"I can't—" Mahitaro's voice came out broken. He swung again, even weaker this time, his fist barely grazing Gekidō's gut. "I don't deserve—you shouldn't—"

His third swing didn't even connect. His arm fell to his side, too heavy to lift. Too tired to fight. Too defeated to even properly reject the comfort being offered.

Gekidō's eyes filled with tears—not from the weak hits, but from witnessing his friend's complete breakdown. "Stop," he whispered, stepping forward again. "Please stop hurting yourself like this."

"I'm not—I can't—" But Mahitaro had no energy left for violence, not even the pathetic attempts he'd just made. His small body sagged, and Gekidō caught him, holding him up while Mahitaro's legs finally gave out completely.

They sank to the ground together, two eight-year-old children sitting beside the park bench. Gekidō held Mahitaro while he cried, while the sun continued its indifferent descent, while the world moved on around their small tragedy.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. Time had lost meaning again. Eventually, Mahitaro's tears slowed. His breathing steadied. And in the quiet that followed, a thought formed—clear and sharp as broken glass:

The teenage Gekidō is gone. Used the last of his power to send that message. Which means... which means there's no one stopping me from speaking the truth anymore. No shadow hand crushing my heart. No supernatural force silencing me. Just... nothing. Just me and the choice of whether to keep suffering in silence or finally, finally let it out.

"Gekidō," Mahitaro's voice came out hoarse, damaged from crying. "Can you... can you get Yasuke? Bring him to the school rooftop. I need to tell you both something. Something important."

Gekidō pulled back, studying his friend's face with concern. "Are you sure? You don't look—" "Please." The word came out as desperate plea. "I need to tell someone. I need you both to know. I can't—I can't carry this alone anymore."

Something in his expression must have convinced Gekidō, because the red-haired child nodded slowly. "Okay. I'll get him. But Mahitaro... whatever it is, we're here for you. You know that, right?" Mahitaro nodded, unable to speak past the despair in his mind.

The school rooftop at sunset was painted in shades of dying light.

Mahitaro stood at the center, away from the fence, away from the edge where tragedies had played out across multiple timelines. Behind him, the door opened. Yasuke emerged first—thirteen years old, confused about why his little brother had summoned him here. Then Gekidō, red hair catching the orange light, his expression worried.

"Mahitaro?" Yasuke's voice carried concern mixed with the exhaustion of someone who'd been carrying too much pressure for too long. "What's this about? Gekidō said it was important, but—"

"I need to tell you something." Mahitaro's voice was steady, but his hands trembled at his sides with hollowed beaths. "And I need you to listen. Both of you. All the way through. Even when it sounds crazy. Even when you don't believe me to. Please."

The brothers exchanged glances. Yasuke nodded slowly. "Okay. We're listening."

Mahitaro took a breath. And then another. His heart hammered against his ribs, adult consciousness screaming that this was madness, that they'd never believe him, that speaking the truth would change nothing—

But the teenage Gekidō's final message echoed through his mind: You have what I lost. The ability to hold onto humanity while wielding inhuman power. The strength to reject fate instead of surrendering to it.

And underneath that, a deeper realization: The only way to reject fate is to stop playing by its rules. To do what it doesn't expect. To be human in the face of inhuman suffering.

"I've been dying," Mahitaro said. The words fell like stones into still water, creating ripples that would either save or damn him. "Over and over. I've lived through loops of time that reset every time I fail. Every time someone I love dies. Every time tragedy strikes."

Yasuke's expression shifted toward alarm. "Mahitaro, what are you—"

"Let me finish!" The words came out louder than intended, carrying desperation that made both older kids flinch. "Please. I know it sounds insane. I know you won't believe me. But I have to say it. I have to finally tell someone the truth or I'll—I'll—"

His voice broke. He pressed on anyway.

"I was thirty-seven years old. Living a miserable life. Working at a supermarket where my boss tortured me daily because he knew I'd been framed for murder as a teenager. I had no hope. No future. No reason to keep living. So I—I hung myself."

The confession hung in the air. Gekidō's eyes had gone wide. Yasuke looked like he wanted to interrupt but something in Mahitaro's expression kept him silent.

"And when I died, I woke up here. In the past. As a child. And I thought—I thought it was a second chance. A way to fix everything. To save people. To prevent the tragedies I remembered."

Mahitaro's hands clenched into fists. His voice grew stronger, fueled by the dam finally breaking.

"But every time I tried, fate found a way. Different deaths. Different tragedies. Always ending the same way. I watched—" His voice broke. "I watched you die, Yasuke. Multiple times. Stabbing a teacher. Hanging yourself in despair. Jumping from this rooftop. Different ways but always—always dead."

Yasuke had gone pale. "That's not—I wouldn't—"

"And Gekidō—" Mahitaro turned to the red-haired child, tears already forming. "In the future, you tortured me. A teenage version of you. Put me through suffering I can't even describe because you'd lived thousands of loops yourself and needed to forge me into someone strong enough to break the cycle you couldn't. Even if the reason I could not break the some loops was because of your doings. Eventually it was just fate rejecting me. And those moments deep inside, I knew it was fate that was eventually doing it from this gut feeling inside my heart. Not from future you."

His small fist came down on the rooftop concrete. Once. Hard enough to split skin across his knuckles.

"I watched friends die!" Another strike. Blood welled up, bright red against his pale skin. "I watched strangers frame me for murders I didn't commit!" Strike. "I watched my parents turn to alcohol and hate because they lost hope, Yasuke, and even me at times, and couldn't cope!" Strike. "I watched myself become a monster, attacking an innocent person because I couldn't separate him from the demon his future self became!"

His knuckles were bleeding now, skin torn open, but he couldn't stop. The words were pouring out like poison being purged from a wound that had festered too long.

"I died by hanging! By stabbing! By falling! By being shot by flying knifes to! By being beaten to death! Over and over and OVER until I couldn't remember what it felt like to live without knowing death was coming!"

"Mahitaro, stop!" Yasuke lunged forward, grabbing his little brother's wrists before he could strike the concrete again. "Your hands—you're hurting yourself—"

"I'M ALWAYS HURTING!" The scream tore from Mahitaro's throat, raw and primal. "Every loop! Every reset! Every time I try to save someone, fate just reshapes the tragedy! Different deaths but the same ending! And I'm so TIRED! I'm so tired of dying! Of watching people I love die! Of failing no matter what I do!"

His legs gave out. Yasuke caught him, lowering them both to the rooftop tiles from sliding knees slowly falling to ground while Gekidō rushed over, his young face streaked with tears.

"And you wanna know what I meant by teenage you, I meant a teenage Gekidō," Mahitaro continued, his voice hoarse but unable to stop now that the dam had broken. "He used the last of his power to send me a message. To tell me he'd orchestrated everything—the suffering, the torture, all of it—because he believed I was strong enough to do what he couldn't. To reject fate. To save everyone."

He looked up at Yasuke's face, at Gekidō's terrified expression, and felt something crack open in his hollowed heart.

"But I'm not strong enough," he whispered. "I've tried everything. Changed every variable I could think of. And it always—always—ends in death. In loss. In me waking up on that park bench with bile in my throat and the memories of how everyone died this time."

His bleeding hands clutched at Yasuke's shirt, leaving red stains on the fabric.

"February 22. That's the day everything ends. You snap, Yasuke. You stab a teacher with a pencil. And then you try to kill yourself because you can't live with what you've done. And I've watched it happen so many times in so many different ways and I don't know how to stop it and I'm—I'm—"

The words dissolved into sobs. Mahitaro's small body shook with the force of them,years of compressed trauma—no, thirty-seven years, no, lifetimes worth of suffering—finally finding release.

"I just wanted to save you," he wept. "Both of you. Everyone. I just wanted the loops to stop. I just wanted to not hurt anymore."

He felt arms wrap around him. Yasuke holding him from one side, Gekidō from the other. Both of them probably thinking he'd lost his mind, that this was some kind of psychotic break, that their little brother and friend had cracked under some invisible pressure—

But they held him anyway.

"It sounds crazy," Mahitaro continued through tears, his voice muffled against Yasuke's shoulder. "I know it does. Time loops and dying and future versions of people who tortured me. It sounds like a nightmare someone made up. But it's real. It's all real. And I've been carrying it alone because the teenage Gekidō wouldn't let me tell anyone—he'd squeeze my heart if I tried, make me feel like I was dying from the inside—"

And even now, I can tell the truth. Because he's gone. Because he used everything he had left to give me this final gift: the ability to speak. To share the burden. To stop carrying everything alone. To let me finally speak. And I could see that. But I never considered this in the first place as nobody would believe me if I said everything aloud.

"But he's gone now," Mahitaro whispered. "Used the last of his power to tell me goodbye. To tell me I was strong enough. And I realized—I realized that maybe the only way to reject fate is to do what it doesn't expect. To stop suffering in silence. To tell the truth even when it sounds impossible."

He pulled back enough to look at both of them—Yasuke's face wet with his own tears, Gekidō's expression lost between belief and disbelief.

"I don't know if telling you changes anything," Mahitaro said, his voice steadying even as tears continued to fall. "I don't know if fate will just reset again, erase this conversation, make me start over. But I had to try. I had to let someone know. Because keeping it inside was killing me worse than any of the actual deaths. And even if now teenage Gekidō is letting me speak. And I only know that because he's no longer in a timline to stop me. You guys would probably think I'm insane. And you probably do right now. After all... it sounds insane. Which is why I never thought of doing so."

His bleeding hands reached up, one touching Yasuke's face, the other Gekidō's. "I love you both. In every timeline. In every loop. You're the reason I kept trying even when I wanted to give up. And I needed you to know that. Even if you think I'm crazy. Even if tomorrow you've forgotten this conversation. I needed to say it out loud at least once. Oh and some friends, Eruto and Barisu to. They were also another core reason I kept striving to save the people I care for. But my main focus... were you two."

Silence settled over the rooftop. The sun had nearly finished its descent, painting them in shadows and dying light. Mahitaro's confession hung in the air between them, impossible and earnest in equal measure.

Then Yasuke spoke, his voice rough with emotion: "I don't... I don't understand most of what you just said. Time loops and dying and future versions of us. It sounds like something from a manga."

Mahitaro's heart sank. Of course. Of course they don't believe—

"But," Yasuke continued, his hand coming up to cover Mahitaro's where it rested on his cheek, "I believe that you're in pain. I believe that you're carrying something heavy. And I believe that you needed to tell us."

Gekidō nodded, his hand gripping Mahitaro's small hand super tightly. "I don't know what's real and what's not. But you're my best friend. And if you're suffering, then we need to help. Even if I don't understand it."

"You believe me?" Mahitaro's voice came out small, disbelieving.

"I believe you're not lying," Yasuke said carefully. "Whether it's time loops or something else—a nightmare, trauma, something we don't have words for—you clearly experienced something that's tearing you apart. And that means we need to help carry it. Something that's worse then anything I've ever carried for sure."

He pulled Mahitaro into a tighter hug, Gekidō squeezing in from the other side.

"Whatever happens on February 22," Yasuke whispered, "whatever pressure I'm under, whatever breaking point I'm approaching—I promise I'll talk to you first. I promise I won't... won't do whatever it is you've seen me do across these loops. Because you've suffered enough for both of us."

Gekidō's voice was muffled against Mahitaro's shoulder: "And I promise I won't torture you. Ever. No matter what future version of me you think you met. This me, right now, would never hurt you. You're my brother. And just know. I'm sorry for any pain my older versions caused."

Brother. The word hit Mahitaro like a physical force. Because in that moment, it was true. More true than blood, more true than fate, more true than any loop or reset or predetermined tragedy.

He had told them. Had spoken the truth that fate had tried to silence. Had shared the burden instead of carrying it alone. And even if they didn't fully believe, even if they thought he was suffering from delusions or trauma.

They believed he was suffering. And they chose to help anyway.

That's what I was missing, Mahitaro realized as fresh tears fell—but these were different. Not tears of despair but of relief, of release, of the overwhelming emotion that came from finally being heard.

That's what teenage Gekidō wanted me to understand. Not that I needed to be strong enough to save everyone alone. But that I needed to be strong enough to let others help me save them.

He'd been so focused on preventing tragedies, on changing variables, on being the solo hero strong enough to defy fate through sheer determination. But fate didn't fear strength. It feared connection. Feared the bonds between people that made suffering shared instead of isolated.

Feared three brothers—blood and chosen and forged through impossible circumstances—deciding together that tragedy would not be their story.

"Thank you," Mahitaro whispered, his voice breaking on the words. "Thank you for listening. For believing me enough to help. For not thinking I'm crazy."

"Oh, we definitely think you're a little crazy," Yasuke said, and there was the ghost of his old humor in the tone. "But you're our crazy little brother. And we're not letting you carry this alone anymore."

They sat together on the rooftop as night fully descended. Mahitaro's hands still bled, his knuckles raw from striking concrete. His face was wet with tears. His body trembled with exhaustion from finally purging the poison he'd been carrying.

But he wasn't empty anymore. Wasn't hollow. Because the burden had been shared, the truth had been spoken, and two people—two precious, irreplaceable people—had chosen to help carry what he couldn't hold alone.

Fate had demanded silence. Had required isolation. Had needed Mahitaro to suffer alone where bonds couldn't strengthen him.

But he'd rejected that final rule. Had screamed his truth into the dying light. Had bled his pain onto concrete while the people he loved listened and believed and promised to help.

And in that rejection, in that sharing, in that moment of radical vulnerability—something shifted.

Not dramatically. Not with visible signs or supernatural confirmation. Just a subtle loosening, like a rope that had been pulled too tight finally developing slack.

The loops weren't broken yet. February 22 still loomed ahead with all its potential tragedy. But the pattern had been disrupted in a way it never had before.

Because Mahitaro wasn't fighting fate alone anymore. He had told the truth. The whole truth. And they had listened.

That was the first real step toward freedom. Not preventing death through clever intervention. Not suffering in noble silence. But speaking, sharing, allowing others to help shoulder the weight. That's what you wanted me to learn. Not how to be strong enough to save everyone alone. But how to be strong enough to let others help me save them.

Time passed. And Feburary 22 went past without damage. Aside from the struggles of Mahitaro almost messing things up. But Yasuke didn't do what Mahitaro told him would happen, and that was enough of a sign. That Mahitaro, the kid who looped through time. Had just passed his biggest challenge yet. Preventing a fate far to big for him to handle.

Six years in the salvaged timeline passed. Mahitaro grew from eight to fourteen, carrying memories of loops but telling no one except through his closest friend and older brother—being present for Yasuke during difficult moments, maintaining friendship with Gekidō that felt earned through shared suffering only one of them remembered.

Yasuke graduated high school, went to university, became someone who'd faced the edge of violence and chosen differently. He knew something had almost happened on February 22—could feel the ghost of the moment even though only details had guided him. And he was grateful to his little brother for reasons he couldn't fully articulate.

Gekidō's parents—their pain documented by teachers Mahitaro had carefully alerted—lost custody for being bad parents. The Yasachiru family adopted him officially, making the red-haired kid Mahitaro's brother in law as well as in heart more than ever.

On a Saturday in summer, they stood at Tokyo's roller coaster park. The three of them—Yasuke, Mahitaro, and Gekidō—arguing about who got front seat with the easy camaraderie of people who'd weathered storms together, even if only one remembered the full scope of the tempest.

Mahitaro's eyes drifted across the crowd and found a familiar face. Eruto—alive, laughing, unmarked by death loops Mahitaro had prevented by saving the core tragedy. Their eyes met briefly. Eruto didn't recognize him, but Mahitaro saw his younger brother standing beside him, alive and happy. And Barisu working at this amusement park as an employer. Also first discovering his love for supernatural theories. Just by seeing a poster about the stuff on for a ride.

In the timeline I failed to prevented, Eruto lost his brother to suicide. Grew up understanding loss too well. That's why his smile was so devastating when he died—he knew what it was like to lose someone and didn't want me to carry that weight for what I did. As he never blamed me for his death. Even though I basically caused it.

But here, his brother lives. And Eruto never has to understand that particular grief. And his brother only died. Because I became his older brothers best friend. And his younger brother felt so much hatred towards me. He killed himself after his older brother told him to stop bothering his life. A life where he always followed him around out admiration. And I got in the way of that. A sin I also bascially still blame myself for today. At least that's what I would say but. But not anymore. And you Barisu. Take care. I'm sorry we never actually became proper friends.

Across the platform, barely visible in the crowd, Mahitaro thought he saw red hair. Teenage Gekidō's smirk. A hand raised in acknowledgment—not wave, but salute between soldiers who'd fought the same war across different timelines.

And then gone. Ghost finally at rest. And for real this time. Maybe... But time will never tell.

Mahitaro smiled—small, genuine, the expression of someone who'd earned peace through blood and refusal and stubborn determination to reject fate's demands.

"You coming?" Yasuke called. "Last one on the roller coaster buys everyone lunch!"

Mahitaro ran to join them. His brothers. His proof that loops could break and lives could be saved and suffering—while inevitable—didn't have to be the final word.

The roller coaster climbed toward its first drop. Mahitaro sat between Yasuke and Gekidō, their hands gripping the safety bar, their voices raised in anticipation.

And as they crested the peak and plummeted toward the drop that was chosen rather than fated, Mahitaro thought one final message toward the friend who'd damned him to save him:

The only answer was never death. It was living anyway. Fighting anyway. Choosing love despite knowing it makes loss hurt worse. That's what you taught me. That's what made all the suffering worth it.

Thank you. And goodbye.

The descent was exhilarating. The climb back up was joyful. And the cycle of rising and falling continued—but this time by choice, with laughter, surrounded by people who mattered.

The loop was broken. The curse was lifted. Life—ordinary, beautiful, fragile, precious life—continued.

THE END