Mt. Kurozawa had gone silent.
After the final confrontation with Shadow Haratu, the winds no longer howled like forgotten spirits. Snow fell gently, covering the broken ground like a fresh page in a long-forgotten book.
But there was no peace.
Haratu stood at the edge of the mountain ledge, his coat fluttering in the cold wind, his eyes fixed on the rising sun. Beside him, Ryoko tightened her gloves, glancing at the scanner Mika had left behind.
"This new timeline Mika discovered," Ryoko said, "the one where you never existed… We have to check it out."
Haratu didn't answer at first. The weight of everything still hung on his shoulders—Shadow Haratu's last words echoed in his mind.
"Why do I still feel like you…?"
"What if he was right?" Haratu finally said. "What if he was the true version of me? And I'm just a branch that survived by accident?"
Ryoko turned sharply toward him. "Stop. I've seen you break cases no one else could. Save lives people gave up on. You didn't survive by accident. You kept going when others didn't."
Haratu gave a faint, crooked smile. "You always were the logical one."
"No," Ryoko corrected him. "I'm the one who believes in people. That includes you."
Before either of them could speak further, a voice crackled from the communication device they'd retrieved from Mika.
"Detectives, are you receiving?" It was Captain Saito, from the Temporal Intelligence Bureau. "We've confirmed a fluctuation in the alternate thread. It's stable enough for brief entry. But I'm warning you—time rules don't apply there. Your memories, your relationships… may not even exist."
"Understood," Ryoko said calmly. "We're going."
Haratu nodded once. "Send coordinates."
---
Within an hour, they were inside the TIB's facility in Tokyo—beneath the city, inside a shimmering vault surrounded by quantum locks and silver glass walls. It looked like something from a science fiction novel, yet here it was—real and functional.
Mika greeted them in a white lab coat far too big for her, sleeves flapping as she ran up.
"I calibrated the bridge using the core fragment we recovered from Shadow Haratu. It allowed me to match a pulse to the corrupted timeline's root—except this one is clean. No anomalies. Just… different."
She tapped a button.
A holographic projection bloomed into existence—a city that looked like Tokyo, but wrong. The skyline was unfamiliar. Some buildings were missing. Others too futuristic. But the oddest part: a statue stood in the city center. A woman.
Ryoko squinted. "That's… not anyone we know."
"No," Mika said grimly. "It's Detective Ryoko Tanaka."
Haratu's head snapped around. "What?"
Mika nodded. "In this version, you don't exist. And Ryoko… you became the world's greatest detective."
Ryoko went pale. "That… doesn't make sense. Without Haratu, I wouldn't even be in the force. He was the one who—"
Haratu held up a hand, staring into the projection. "Someone's playing with memory layers."
Mika added, "Worse. The Ryoko in this version… is dead. But her death started a new pattern. Victims are being killed in the exact reverse of their killer's death. It's like the Reverse Cycle is trying to repeat itself… without you."
Haratu narrowed his eyes. "That cycle wasn't just a curse—it was a design. Someone—or something—is making sure it continues."
Mika hesitated. "There's more. In this timeline… someone took your place."
She tapped again.
A second figure appeared in the hologram. A man in a long black coat. Sharp features. Cold expression. Standing above a body with a familiar symbol carved into the ground—the same sigil seen in the Reverse Cycle murders.
Ryoko gasped. "Who is that?"
Mika frowned. "His name is Takeru Arisawa. No known match to any version we've seen. And somehow… he's not affected by the timeline changes."
Haratu's voice dropped. "A rogue constant."
"Yes," Mika confirmed. "Someone who exists outside the system, but still acts inside it. And the worst part? He's mimicking you. In this world, he's a detective… and he's solving the cycle in reverse. But with every case, someone innocent dies."
Ryoko clenched her fists. "We have to stop him."
Mika opened the portal. "Then get ready. You'll have one week in their time. Any longer, and the system may begin rewriting you to fit."
Haratu looked at Ryoko.
"Ready to walk a world without me?" he asked with a wry smile.
Ryoko smirked. "I already did. Let's change it."
They stepped through the rift together.
---
The air hit different.
Tokyo—this Tokyo—was quieter. The streets were orderly. No horns. No chaos. Everything looked perfect, almost… sterile. Like life had been trimmed of uncertainty.
Ryoko scanned her surroundings and winced. "Even the billboards are AI-controlled."
Haratu looked up and saw one flicker to display: "Tanaka Memorial Foundation – For Justice, For Truth."
He said nothing.
They needed to move fast. The first known murder in this timeline had happened three days ago—mirroring the last case of their world. The victim had died in reverse sequence—strangled before being stabbed, body position inverted, and time of death obscured.
Haratu had seen that pattern before.
But the scene… was already cordoned off.
Security drones floated above, scanning.
Then a voice called out.
"Step back. This is a Tier-Zero investigation."
A tall man approached them. Slick black coat. Gloves. Eyes the color of silver ice.
Takeru Arisawa.
Haratu met his gaze—and for a brief second, it was like looking into a mirror with all the empathy stripped away.
Takeru's eyes narrowed.
"You're not from here."
Haratu didn't blink. "Neither are you."
Takeru tilted his head. "Interesting. You feel… familiar."
Ryoko stepped beside Haratu. "Back off. This isn't your puzzle."
Takeru smiled coldly. "But it is, Detective Tanaka. Or should I say… the version that lived."
Haratu tensed.
Something about Takeru was wrong. He wasn't just a reflection. He was a fracture. A deliberately placed distortion.
And this was only the beginning.
Takeru Arisawa's cold silver eyes lingered on Haratu, as if he were peering through layers of skin, bone, and time itself.
"This investigation is mine now," he said flatly. "You're not registered operatives. Step away."
Ryoko subtly pressed her wristwatch, initiating a low-range temporal cloak. Their TIB identities wouldn't show up on local systems, allowing them to pass as civilians with fabricated records.
Haratu didn't budge. "You're solving murders by killing innocents."
Takeru's expression didn't change. "I'm maintaining balance. The cycle demands sacrifice. Unlike you, I don't cling to false morals."
"You're not solving anything," Ryoko snapped. "You're feeding the loop. Making it stronger."
Takeru glanced at her, almost with disappointment. "It's a shame. In this timeline, you were respected. Revered. Now you're just… a remnant."
A drone hovered overhead. A faint pulse sounded. Takeru turned and strode off, issuing commands to a virtual assistant wired into his neural link.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Ryoko muttered, "He gives me the creeps."
Haratu didn't answer. His mind was elsewhere—caught on a single phrase Takeru had spoken.
"I'm maintaining balance."
Was this man truly an agent of some unknown force? Or something worse: someone who believed he was the force?
They had work to do.
---
Their investigation led them deep into the network grid of the altered Tokyo. With Mika's help from the TIB hub, they traced three reversed murders—all following the same inexplicable progression:
The murderer of Victim A had been found dead before A's death.
Victim B died in the same pattern after killer A's death, but before their own killer was born.
Victim C… had no killer. They simply vanished. The only clue? A burnt sigil of overlapping circles—a corrupted version of the symbol used in the original Reverse Cycle.
Ryoko flipped through the files on her holo-pad. "The timeline is folding on itself. Layers are being erased and rewritten. It's more than murder. It's a recalibration."
"Or an overwrite," Haratu said. "Someone's building a version of reality that needs the cycle. And removing anything that doesn't fit."
Ryoko looked up. "Us."
---
At midnight, Haratu returned to the first crime scene alone.
A cold drizzle darkened the pavement. He crouched where the body had been found—an alley behind a corporate tower.
Suddenly, he felt it.
A ripple in the air. Like a breath held too long.
Then… a presence.
He stood quickly, eyes scanning the shadows. And then he saw her.
A girl—barefoot, wearing a plain white dress. Her hair was silver, falling to her waist, her eyes impossibly wide.
"You're not part of this thread," she said, voice soft as snow.
Haratu stared. "Who are you?"
She stepped forward. "I am Yureha. I watch the strings."
"The strings… of time?"
She nodded. "Of choice. Of fate. Of loops that should not exist."
"Are you part of the TIB?"
She shook her head. "I was born when the first time-knot unraveled. I am not a person. I am a reminder."
Haratu felt a chill deeper than the night wind. "Why show yourself to me?"
"Because the one who believes he is balance—Takeru—has no anchor. But you… you are tied to every version of yourself. That makes you the last variable."
She walked toward him, stopping only inches away.
"Find the one who created him. Not in this world. Not in the next. But between them. The Hidden World."
Haratu's voice trembled. "The what?"
But she was gone.
Vanished into a flicker of static.
---
The next day, Haratu relayed the encounter to Ryoko and Mika via a secure line.
"A being that watches timelines?" Mika sounded both amazed and terrified. "That confirms a theory I didn't dare write down. There are organic constants—creatures born from paradoxes who act as balancing forces. If she spoke to you, Haratu… you're something more than a detective now."
Ryoko frowned. "She mentioned a 'Hidden World.' Is it a metaphor?"
"No," Mika said. "I think it's real. A fracture space. A realm that exists when two timelines resist merging. It's unstable… but it's where origins hide."
Haratu leaned back. "Then that's where we'll find whoever made Takeru."
Ryoko met his gaze. "Let's hope we find them before the cycle completes again."
---
Meanwhile, in a tower of glass and shadow at the city's edge, Takeru Arisawa stood alone before a massive wall of cascading symbols. Runes shifted, twisting into languages no human should know.
A voice whispered behind him.
"You're letting them live too long."
Takeru didn't turn. "Haratu is… useful. He brings the true flaw to light."
A figure emerged—a woman in a dark hood, her hands marked with burning patterns.
"You were made to erase him."
Takeru's eyes glinted. "I was made to perfect him."
The woman snarled. "You forget who you are. You're not a man. You're a mirror."
Takeru smiled faintly. "Even a mirror can learn to reflect differently."
Behind them, the symbols on the wall changed again—forming a single word in blood-red light:
"Yureha."
The woman's face twisted. "She remembers. That means she'll interfere."
Takeru stared at the name. "Then let her. The game's not over."
The night wind howled through the hollow steel veins of the city, an eerie wail that echoed like a warning. Haratu Sota stood at the threshold of an ancient elevator shaft hidden beneath the archives of the old metro station—its entrance disguised behind flickering projectors and false walls. This place wasn't on any map, official or underground. It existed in records only those with clearance beyond top-secret could access.
Yureha had given him the coordinates in a dream.
Or was it something else?
As Ryoko descended beside him, she whispered, "This place… I can't feel time."
Haratu nodded grimly. "Then we're close."
They stepped inside the elevator, and it began to descend—not downward, but outward. The air grew heavier. Gravity twisted sideways. Ryoko's breath misted in reverse.
Suddenly, the walls shattered like glass, revealing a void beyond—filled with floating fragments of realities: cities reversed in time, suns setting before they rose, people aging backward in slow loops.
"We've crossed into the Hidden World," Ryoko murmured, clutching her coat tighter as her eyes scanned the impossible scenery—where cause no longer preceded effect, and the laws of physics bent like softened glass.
Haratu remained composed, though inside, he too felt the dissonance clawing at his mind.
"This place is the anchor," he said, voice steady. "The core from where the cycle began. It was never about the victims… It was about the pattern they formed, the sequence."
Ryoko's gaze flicked to a structure ahead—an ancient shrine floating in the middle of the temporal chaos, tethered by threads of light and shadow. Etched on its worn stone doors were thirteen symbols… and the fourteenth glowed faintly, newly formed.
"One more murder," she whispered. "And the pattern will be complete."
"No," Haratu corrected, stepping forward. "One more decision."
Suddenly, a figure appeared between them and the shrine.
A woman—no, a girl—cloaked in black and crimson, her face hidden behind a porcelain mask. Her presence distorted the space around her, warping time into loops with each step.
"I am Aika," she said calmly. "The Keeper of the Reversal."
Haratu's eyes narrowed. "You're the one manipulating the timeline."
Aika tilted her head. "Not manipulating. Preserving. The cycle was meant to purge the unworthy. You, Detective Haratu, were never supposed to interfere."
"I don't follow scripts," he replied. "Especially not ones written in blood."
Aika extended her hand, and a vision burst into their minds.
A vast table. Thirteen hooded figures. A clock with no hands. A voice whispering from all directions:
"Each killer killed… each sin reversed… until truth is devoured by itself."
Ryoko gasped, staggering back.
"It's not just a cycle of revenge," she realized. "It's a ritual."
Aika nodded solemnly. "To awaken the Fourteenth."
Haratu stepped forward. "Then we stop it. Here. Now."
But Aika's form blurred—replaced by hundreds of mirror-like versions of her, each stepping from a different fractured timeline.
"This is the point of convergence," she whispered. "And only one truth can remain."
As time cracked open around them, and the shrine began to crumble, Haratu clenched his fists.
"Then I'll solve the impossible."
And the final battle for the truth began.