The world felt quieter. Not the silence of fear or tension—but a true, aching quiet, like a city breathing out for the first time in years.
Haratu stood on the roof of the underground lab, now a collapsed crater of rubble and ash. The sky above Tokyo shimmered in hues of amber and rose. No more glitches in time, no sudden loopbacks. Just stillness.
"I almost forgot what peace felt like," Ryoko murmured beside him.
Haratu didn't respond at first. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, where the skyline no longer flickered with anomalies. He finally said, "It won't last forever."
She looked at him sharply. "You think something else is coming?"
He nodded slowly. "We've broken the loop. But the loop wasn't the disease—it was a symptom. Someone built it to trap something far worse."
From below, the sound of soft footsteps reached them.
Mika emerged from the ruined stairwell, wrapped in a worn blanket. Her skin was pale, eyes weary, but she walked with purpose.
"You both need to see this," she said.
Ryoko and Haratu followed her into the remains of the server room. Most of the tech was fried beyond recognition—but Mika had recovered one terminal. Its screen flickered with residual data, barely holding onto power.
She tapped a few commands.
A 3D projection appeared: a sphere of light representing Earth's timeline. But it was cracked—fractured into hundreds of slivers, like a broken mirror.
"This is what's left of the timeline structure," Mika explained. "We fused them when the shard exploded. But it wasn't perfect. The loop's core was destroyed… but not all of the branches collapsed. Some versions of the world still exist. Pockets of broken reality."
"Other timelines survived?" Ryoko asked, stunned.
Mika nodded. "Yes. Most are dying on their own. But some… are fighting back. One in particular."
She zoomed in on a red-highlighted shard pulsing with unstable energy.
"This version contains a divergent Haratu Sota."
Haratu's eyes narrowed. "Another version of me?"
"This one didn't survive the original loop—but he remembers. And he's angry."
Ryoko stepped back. "Are you saying… we've created a mirror version of you?"
"Not exactly a mirror," Mika replied. "More like… a shadow. A version twisted by loss, by rage, who believes the only way to fix the multiverse is to take full control."
Haratu's voice was low. "And he's coming here, isn't he?"
Haratu stared at the crimson fragment glowing on Mika's projection. It pulsed with an irregular rhythm—like a heartbeat, except… unnatural. Artificial. Angry.
"How long until he reaches this timeline?" Ryoko asked, breaking the quiet tension that gripped the room.
Mika didn't respond immediately. Her eyes flicked across lines of code and temporal simulations. "It's hard to say. Time doesn't move at the same pace between fractured realms. But if the energy spikes are anything to go by, he's already begun opening a path."
Haratu folded his arms. "And what does he want?"
"You," Mika said bluntly. "And everyone who broke the cycle."
Haratu's expression didn't change, but Ryoko stepped forward. "Why would he care about us?"
"Because he sees you as thieves," Mika replied. "In his eyes, you took his resolution, his sacrifice, and his justice. Remember—he died in his timeline. Alone. Forgotten. But his consciousness remained trapped in a closed loop. He watched versions of you solve what he couldn't. Now, he wants to erase all branches where others succeeded."
Haratu turned to Mika. "So he's not just coming for me. He's coming for everyone who broke free."
Mika nodded. "Exactly. He wants to 'purify' the multiverse—leave only one truth, his own."
Ryoko narrowed her eyes. "Then we need to prepare."
But Mika shook her head. "You don't understand. He's not bound by logic anymore. The loop warped him. He doesn't operate by our rules. He's learned to manipulate time, causality, even perception. If he arrives in this world—he could alter the memories of people, rewrite their identities, or worse… collapse this timeline entirely."
Ryoko paled. "You mean… erase us?"
"Yes," Mika said grimly. "Completely."
Haratu walked toward the screen and stared into the shifting shard. As if somehow… it was staring back. He clenched his fists.
"Where do we start?"
Mika bit her lip and then tapped a few more commands. The hologram expanded to reveal a temporal gate forming in an isolated mountainous region of Japan—remote, yet historically significant.
"The rift is already forming. He's anchoring himself at Mt. Kurozawa—the site of an ancient battle that never occurred in our timeline but did in others. It's a convergence point of possibilities. That's where he'll step through."
Haratu nodded. "Then we go there."
But before anyone could move, an alarm blared from Mika's tablet.
Ryoko flinched. "What now?"
Mika's eyes widened. "Something just breached the Kurozawa perimeter."
She pulled up security footage—a black-and-white feed from a drone. Trees swayed violently in the wind as an unnatural shadow slithered across the land. Then, through the distortion, a figure emerged.
Tall. Cloaked. Face obscured.
But there was something unmistakable in his posture—the cold, calculating stillness.
"Is that…?" Ryoko began.
Mika whispered, "It's him. The shadow of Haratu."
As they watched, the figure raised a hand toward the drone.
The feed cut out.
---
The journey to Mt. Kurozawa was tense.
Haratu, Ryoko, and Mika traveled in an unmarked van through narrow roads, leaving the city behind. The air grew colder. The sky dimmed unnaturally, even though it was still afternoon.
"Why did he choose this place?" Ryoko asked, clutching her coat tighter.
Mika responded from the passenger seat. "Because it's a fixed point in some timelines—a place where fate was once rewritten. Shadow Haratu feeds on paradoxes. He's using the mountain as a staging ground."
Haratu didn't speak. His thoughts swirled.
Would he really have become like that if he had failed? Bitter? Vengeful?
The thought disturbed him more than he cared to admit.
---
They arrived by dusk. The mountain loomed before them—quiet, except for the low hum in the air, like the mountain itself was breathing.
They climbed on foot, boots crunching over leaves and stone.
As they neared the summit, strange symbols began to appear carved into the trees and rocks. They glowed faintly—red, like dying embers.
Mika knelt beside one and frowned. "These aren't ancient. They're fresh. Etched into the time-fold itself."
Suddenly, a voice echoed through the mountain air. Cold. Metallic. Yet familiar.
"You've come, as expected."
They turned.
There he stood.
Shadow Haratu.
He looked like Haratu—same build, same sharp features—but his hair was longer, wild, and his eyes burned red with unstable time energy. His coat flickered as if made of smoke and memory.
Ryoko instinctively stepped in front of Mika.
Shadow Haratu tilted his head. "You protect the girl who chained time. Interesting."
Haratu narrowed his eyes. "You've done enough damage. End this now."
Shadow Haratu laughed. "End? No. This is only the beginning. You fixed your world, but left the rest to rot. I will cleanse what you abandoned."
"We didn't abandon anyone," Ryoko snapped. "We couldn't fix every reality!"
Shadow Haratu's smile faded. "Then you should have destroyed them. Instead, you let them suffer."
He took a step forward—and the mountain shook.
"You don't understand yet," he said. "But soon you will."
With a wave of his hand, a rift tore open behind him.
From within, creatures spilled forth—beings of fractured memory, half-human shadows born from collapsed timelines. Their forms flickered, unfinished. Their eyes were voids.
Mika gasped. "He's weaponized corrupted realities!"
Haratu stepped forward, his voice steely. "Then I'll stop him. Not just for this world—but for every world he threatens."
Shadow Haratu's eyes narrowed. "Then come, version of me. Let's see whose truth is stronger."
The corrupted beings emerged like mist molded into flesh—echoes of lives that never fully existed. Their limbs were distorted, stretching and retracting unnaturally. Some whispered fragments of sentences, others screamed soundlessly. They surged forward as Shadow Haratu extended a hand.
"Face the guilt of forgotten timelines," he said. "Let their suffering become your penance."
Haratu didn't flinch. "No. Their suffering ends here."
He stepped forward, drawing the time-engraved blade Ryoko had discovered months ago—a relic formed during their earlier case, forged in a timeline collapse. Its edge shimmered not with light, but clarity—as if slicing through confusion itself.
"Ryoko," he said calmly. "Guard Mika."
"But—" she began.
Haratu cut her off with a glance. "I'll hold him. Just keep her safe. She's our anchor."
Mika's hands trembled as she whispered, "Be careful… he's not bound by causality anymore."
Haratu charged.
The corrupted swarm met him head-on, but each swing of the blade dissipated them like fog in morning sun. Yet they didn't stop—they kept coming, fragments of tragedy stitched into soldiers.
Shadow Haratu moved only when his counterpart neared. Then, suddenly, he was gone.
"Behind!" Mika shouted.
Haratu turned just in time to block a strike. The two blades—one real, one born of paradox—clashed with a thunderous crack that shook the mountaintop.
"You fight well," Shadow Haratu said, sneering. "But you're still limited by reality."
"You're lost," Haratu growled. "Trapped by your failure."
Shadow Haratu grinned wider. "Failure was my teacher. Pain, my ally. And now, vengeance, my sword."
He swung again, faster than light. Haratu barely parried as the corrupted shadows tried to overwhelm him from all sides.
Below them, Ryoko held off several corrupted figures who had broken past. Her bullets weren't enough—these creatures didn't bleed or fall. She resorted to a combination of tactical traps, flash charges, and even hand-to-hand. Her training as a detective had never prepared her for this, but she adapted, like always.
Mika was trying to hack the temporal stream using a handheld device, muttering, "Just a little longer… I need to break his anchor…"
Haratu was tiring. Each strike of Shadow Haratu forced him to relive echoes—faint glimpses of deaths he had never experienced. Worlds where he failed. Timelines where Ryoko died. Realities where the case remained unsolved forever.
"You feel it, don't you?" Shadow Haratu hissed. "The weight of infinite versions of yourself, all broken."
Haratu's grip faltered. His knees buckled.
Shadow Haratu lifted his blade. "Time to erase this weak branch."
But before he could strike, a searing golden light exploded from behind him.
A figure descended from the rift.
Clad in a glowing white-and-gold combat suit, her hair whipping like flame—Himari Kurobane.
Mika gasped. "What?! I didn't call her—how is she here?!"
Ryoko's eyes widened. "She was supposed to be in the Netherwatch dimension!"
Himari landed between Haratu and his shadow. Her arm snapped up and launched a blast of radiant energy that burned through several corrupted echoes. They disintegrated, crying out in languages no longer spoken.
Shadow Haratu staggered back. "You…"
Himari didn't give him time to recover. "You don't own the past, or the future. Your obsession ends now."
Haratu managed to rise to his feet. "You always show up in style."
She smirked. "I like to make an entrance."
Together, they attacked in tandem. Haratu's blade struck from the shadows, while Himari's magic light forced the darkness back. Shadow Haratu began to falter.
"You… can't stop me. I am the true self. You are just… remnants," he growled.
Mika's voice echoed through the battleground.
"I've found it!" she cried. "His anchor—it's inside the paradox core!"
She held up the device and slammed a sequence into it.
Above them, the sky split again—this time, not from Shadow Haratu, but from Mika's hack. A golden vortex opened, pulling at the corrupted entities. They screamed as they were dragged into it.
"No!" Shadow Haratu roared. "I built this! I am this!"
Himari turned to Haratu. "One last hit. Together?"
He nodded.
Their blades—one of paradox, one of light—synchronized, striking through Shadow Haratu's chest.
He gasped—not in pain, but disbelief. "Why… do I still feel… like you…?"
Haratu stared at him, emotion flickering in his eyes. "Because no version of us deserves to be alone."
And then Shadow Haratu shattered into fragments of light and dark—dissolving into time.
---
The rift sealed behind them.
The corrupted echoes were gone.
Silence fell over Mt. Kurozawa, now peaceful for the first time in centuries of broken history.
Haratu stood beside Ryoko, Mika, and Himari.
"It's over?" Ryoko asked.
Himari nodded. "For now. But fragments of him could still remain in timelines we don't see. You'll have to stay vigilant."
Haratu exhaled, long and slow. "Then I'll be ready."
Mika stepped forward, holding her tablet. "There's something else… Before he faded, I traced a memory signature from him."
Everyone turned to her.
"It led to a new timeline. One I've never seen before. A version where you, Haratu… never existed."
Ryoko frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Mika said cautiously, "someone's rewriting the core cycle again. But this time—not from revenge… from desperation."
Haratu looked to the horizon.
"I guess the cycle… isn't done with us yet."