After returning from Mount Itomori, night had already fallen.
The mountain’s air still lingered on Yukima Azuma’s skin—a mix of pine, soil, and the ghost of autumn wind. The soft, steady scent of tatami grounded him back in the Miyamizu household, but his heart felt strangely adrift.
He quietly stepped into Mitsuha’s room. For the final ti.
This small, ordinary room—neatly arranged, girlish in its touches, humble in its decor—had beco sothing of a second ho to him during the swap. Now, standing within its silence, he could feel the end approaching.
He didn’t turn on the light.
Instead, he sat cross-legged on the futon, folding his hands in his lap.
"Tonight... it ends."
Ti passed slowly.
The town beyond the window fell silent.
The air cooled. Insects chirped less frequently.
Midnight crept closer.
And with it ca the drowsiness.
Sleep tugged at him with velvet fingers, soft and insistent.
He yawned once.
Twice.
Almost closed his eyes—
But then he rembered. He couldn’t let himself fall asleep.
Not this ti.
If he drifted off naturally, the transition might blur—he wanted to be aware. Present. He wanted to witness the exact mont the connection was severed.
So—
He summoned a skill.
"Shogi: Awakening Between Moves".
A sharp pulse of clarity cut through his mind like a drawn blade. His thoughts, once heavy, straightened like iron rods.
The skill forcibly cleared his fatigue.
But even so, it wasn’t easy.
He teetered on the edge several tis—blinking hard, clenching his fists, breathing deep.
Stay awake... just a little longer.
Then—
Darkness fell.
Not the darkness of the night, but sothing deeper.
A total erasure of space and form.
The world vanished.
Yukima Azuma floated in it, weightless. Silent.
Until—
A single butterfly entered the void.
Its wings were luminous—shimring through every hue in existence and so that weren’t.
Blue into crimson. Erald into gold. Athyst into starlight. Its colors shifted with no pattern, no logic—just an endless dance of beauty.
It fluttered toward him.
He didn’t move.
The butterfly landed lightly on his forehead.
And as it began to flap its wings—
Light rained down.
Multicolored, dreamlike powder fell over him. The mont his body was fully covered in its dust—
The world changed again.
Gone was the black void.
Gone was Mitsuha’s room.
He was back.
Yukima Azuma sat up slowly in the familiar warmth of his own apartnt. The city outside was still sleeping, the faint red tint of early morning just starting to brush the window.
"...So I made it back."
His voice was hoarse, like it hadn’t been used in days.
He rubbed his face, letting reality settle in.
The swap was over.
He reached for the nearby light switch—but froze.
On his wrist—
A braided cord.
Red-orange.
The kumihimo Mitsuha had made.
He held up his wrist in surprise.
"You ca back with ...?"
But that wasn’t supposed to be possible.
In previous swaps, no physical object had ever crossed over. Only the self—mind, soul, consciousness. No notebooks. No food. Not even a borrowed phone.
And yet—
Here it was.
Tied neatly. As if it belonged on him.
As he stared—
A faint voice seed to rise.
A girl’s voice, light as breath and full of warmth. The words were unintelligible, soft as a whisper from a dream.
"Is that... Mitsuha’s voice?"
He didn’t know. But it had to be.
His fingers tightened around the cord.
He gazed at it for a long ti—then untied it carefully and walked to his drawer.
He found a brocade-lined jewelry box, the kind used to store delicate rings or heirloom pendants.
He placed the cord inside, closed the lid, and tucked it gently away.
"I’ll keep you safe."
After a mont’s pause, he picked up his phone.
Not to check the news—not yet.
First, he opened Line.
He typed a na into the search bar:
Izumi Sagiri.
To his surprise, her contact still existed.
He opened their chat history—and blinked.
Every previous ssage had changed.
The once playful, flirtatious tone had vanished. Now, the two spoke with formal politeness, referring to one another only by pen nas. The chats were strictly professional—editorial revisions, deadline coordination, project updates.
It was like reading a stranger’s DMs.
Ah... I see. So the butterfly effect’s stronger than I thought.
Still, he hadn’t expected to retain contact at all.
The fact they were even working together in this altered tiline—
Was almost miraculous.
Yukima gave a wry smile and moved on.
Now it was ti to see the consequences.
He searched for: Itomori Town Cot Impact.
The results popped up instantly.
But the headlines were different.
Completely different.
"Cot Fragnt Crashes in Remote Construction Site, No Casualties Reported."
"Area Under Developnt Miraculously Spared: Evacuation Days Before Impact Credited."
"New Resort Plans Announced on Cleared Land Zone."
Yukima scrolled through article after article.
The na Itomori was barely ntioned.
Instead, the impact had been reported in a rural resort developnt zone—one which, curiously, had been fully evacuated just weeks before the incident.
Casualties:
Zero.
No deaths. No destruction of a town. No schoolchildren lost. No shrine swallowed by fire.
Just... nothing.
"Yuki... you did it."
A heavy weight eased in his chest.
Suou Yuki had followed through. She had bought the land. Cleared the town. Ensured everyone was safe.
The plan had worked.
All of it.
Itomori lived.
Yukima turned off the screen and exhaled slowly.
Then he lay back against his pillow, eyes heavy now with true fatigue.
"Ti to sleep."
Tokyo — Izumi Household
At that very sa mont—
In a quiet apartnt in the heart of Tokyo, the blue glow of a drawing tablet softly illuminated a girl’s face.
Izumi Sagiri, wearing an oversized hoodie and holding her stylus, was hard at work.
Her fingers danced quickly, drawing a poster illustration filled with soft highlights and delicate linework.
Suddenly—
Knock knock.
"Co in," she said without looking up.
The door opened.
A woman entered—strikingly beautiful, with flowing hair and features that bore an unmistakable resemblance to Sagiri.
"Sagiri, it’s late again. Go to bed soon, okay?"
"Just a bit longer, Mom! I’ve got to finish this by tomorrow morning!"
"Is that for the Bunny Girl Senpai movie?"
"Mhm. The promo poster. The schedule’s brutal."
Mrs. Izumi walked over and sat beside her daughter, glancing at the screen.
Sagiri tensed—
Then relaxed, realizing this project was PG-rated.
"This corner here looks empty," her mom said, pointing. "Try pulling the composition out a little."
"Oh, you’re right..."
They worked together in peaceful rhythm.
Mrs. Izumi, the first-generation Eromanga-sensei, was far more experienced than her daughter. She often helped as an assistant—though she insisted she was just "lending a hand."
After a few brushstrokes, she turned and asked casually:
"So... how are things with Azuma-kun? Get along well?"
Sagiri nearly dropped her pen.
"Wh-What do you an?! It’s just work! He’s my editor. I barely talk to him!"
"But you did a video call with him the other day."
"That was a work eting! He wouldn’t stop calling!"
Mrs. Izumi laughed.
"That’s a sha. I think he’s a good kid. It’d be nice if you two beca friends."
"I don’t need friends!"
But her pouty denial sounded... unconvincing.
Because truthfully—
She didn’t dislike Yukima Azuma.
In fact, there was sothing oddly familiar about him.
Their creative pace matched perfectly. Their feedback loop felt natural. And sotis, even just reading his ssages...
Made her heart beat faster.
Sagiri quickly shook her head.
Nope. Nope nope nope. I’m imagining things. We’re not even close!
Mrs. Izumi stood and ruffled her hair affectionately.
"One day, you’ll make a friend you’ll want to draw with forever."
"Don’t say stuff like that!"
But her cheeks were glowing pink.
Outside the apartnt, the night remained still.
But sowhere high above the city—
A golden speck of light, faint as a star, glided over the rooftops.
A lone snitch, still on its journey.
Still rewriting fate.
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