Kaito Fujimura never wanted to be a part of anyone's story—especially not hers.
Not the perfect student council president.
Not the girl who held time in her earrings.
Not the girl who could rewind embarrassment, shame, or death like pressing a button.
But now he was more than a footnote in Arisa Kanzuki's story.
He was a consequence.
And he was tired.
The day after the uncontrolled rewind, things at Seiryuu High felt… off.
Subtly, eerily off.
The vending machine in the main hall spat out cans with the wrong labels.
A first-year student swore she saw her homeroom teacher walk into class twice.
Someone lost thirty minutes and thought it was Tuesday.
Another girl forgot her best friend's name mid-sentence.
The rumors changed tone.
Less about scandal.
More about fear.
"Something weird is happening at this school."
"Ever feel like… we've done this before?"
"It's like time's skipping."
"I swear I had a different memory of yesterday."
Arisa avoided everyone that day. She walked the halls with her head high and her eyes distant. She didn't look at Kaito once.
But he saw the strain in her smile.
He saw the tension in her jaw.
He saw the way her hands curled too tightly when no one was watching.
He skipped the last two classes.
Climbed the stairwell. Sat on the rooftop alone.
Stared at the sky until the bell rang, then long after.
And when the final silence stretched across the horizon, he said out loud:
"I can't do this anymore."
Later, Arisa found him by the rear gate of the school, leaning against the fence where the sakura trees were just beginning to bloom.
He didn't look at her when she spoke.
"You skipped class."
"I needed air."
"I can reset it if you want."
"Don't."
She stood still. "I know what you're thinking."
He finally looked at her. "Do you?"
"You're thinking of quitting."
There was no accusation in her voice. Only pain.
He nodded. "I wasn't built for this, Arisa."
She stayed quiet.
"I don't have magic. Or poise. Or purpose. I just… carry your earrings and panic quietly when things spiral."
"You're more than that."
"I'm tired," he said softly. "I feel like I'm holding a bomb with no timer."
She looked away, the silence between them humming with the things they wouldn't say.
Finally, she whispered, "Please don't leave me."
He flinched.
"I know I'm cold," she said. "And I know I've pulled you too deep. But if you walk away now…"
She swallowed, voice shaking.
"…I won't be able to fix it."
Kaito blinked. "Fix what?"
"Myself."
That silenced him.
"I've been rewinding since I was twelve," she continued, her voice thinner now. Whenever I failed. Whenever I broke. Whenever something hurt too much to bear.
She looked at him then. Looked.
"But I never rewound the people who left."
Kaito stared, breath caught.
"I let them leave," she said. "Because I thought it was easier. Cleaner. But with you…" Her voice broke. "I don't want to lose you. Even if this power consumes me."
His heart twisted.
For all the strength she wore like armour, she looked so small now.
So human.
But he still didn't answer.
Not with words.
He simply turned and walked away.
And she didn't follow.
That night, unable to sleep, he wandered back to the school grounds.
Something pulled at him—something deep, irrational, and strange.
He climbed the rooftop stairs one last time, unsure what he was expecting.
But what he found—
Shattered him.
Arisa Kanzuki sat on the edge of the rooftop wall, her knees drawn to her chest, the earrings dangling from her fingers like fragile pendulums.
And she was crying.
Silently.
The kind of crying that doesn't move your shoulders.
The kind that's practised.
The kind you hide.
Kaito froze in the doorway, heart in his throat.
She didn't see him.
She stared out at the city like it was burning.
The wind tugged at her hair.
She wiped her face with the sleeve of her uniform. No gasps. No sobs.
Just… tears.
Like she was mourning something invisible.
Something was broken that couldn't be reset.
And Kaito realised—
This wasn't about power.
Or pressure.
Or even time itself.
This was about a girl carrying the weight of rewinding the world on her shoulders…
…with no one left to rewind for.
He stepped forward.
She heard his footsteps and stiffened.
When she turned, her eyes were red—but she didn't look away.
She didn't mask it.
For once, she didn't pretend to be perfect.
She just whispered, "I didn't expect you to come back."
He sat beside her.
"I almost didn't."
She nodded slowly. "I understand."
He looked out at the city, then back at her.
"I'm still scared," he admitted.
"Me too."
"I still think this will break me."
"It might," she whispered.
"But…"
He hesitated.
Then reached over and, for the first time, gently took her hand.
"…If you fall, I'll catch you."
She trembled.
Then, silently, she laced her fingers through his.
No rewind.
No illusion.
Just time—moving forward.
Together.