Yuto knew the exact moment it would happen: 8:52 PM.
That's when the explosion had taken Aira the first time. That's when the loop seemed to hinge—an anchor in time, pulling everything back.
This time, he wasn't just prepared. He was early.
He had the school festival map memorized, the timing of the fireworks show, the path Aira always took to get to the hill. He had notified teachers anonymously about a "suspicious device" on the east slope. He even snuck out and dismantled the lighting near the detonation zone to reduce visibility for any attacker.
He met Aira at 8:30.
"You're nervous," she said, brushing her fingers against his. "I can feel it through your hand."
"I just want to keep you safe," he whispered.
She leaned in. "I trust you."
They watched the fireworks together from the hill. The bursts of color reflected in her eyes, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to believe it was over.
8:51.
He stood, eyes scanning the area. Trees rustled in the wind. No sign of movement.
8:52.
Nothing.
Relief flooded his chest—too soon.
Because at 8:53, a scream tore through the night.
He spun around. Aira was gone.
A shadow moved behind the trees. He ran—raced—heart a cannon in his chest.
He found her in the clearing.
A hooded figure stood over her, hand outstretched, light gathering in his palm like a collapsing star.
"NO!"
Yuto lunged, tackling the figure. They rolled, fists colliding. The man's face was hidden, but his voice slithered through the dark.
"You're too late, boy. Always one second too late."
The figure vanished in a pulse of static.
Yuto turned back—Aira lay motionless, her skin glowing faintly, like a lantern running out of fuel.
He held her, heart shattering in his chest.
She whispered something, barely audible.
"Yuto… even like this… I remember you."
Then she faded.
And time rewound.