Why? Just why did you make me write this, universe? Wasn't it bad enough watching her die the first time? You couldn't just let me get away with reading feel-good fan fiction that undoes it and have me go about my life, so instead, you made me watch her die in complete agony again just so I could write this. Are you happy now?

I need a drink.

Another day, drawing to a close. The orange sun, further soaking itself in what could've been blood to the untrained eye, restarted its slow daily descent into the horizon below. It was earlier than yesterday, Hajime noted to himself, mindlessly counting the emerging stars. Fall must be approaching.

The twilit air certainly felt colder than he'd have preferred, at any rate. He shivered in the cool sea breeze, absentmindedly hugging his arms to stave off the chill that was crawling down his back. Perhaps he should've taken it as a hint to rejoin the others while they enjoyed themselves to Teruteru's cooking and Gundham's scenery chewing, but he couldn't bear to do so — not while his mind was racing the way it was.

His lead-laced feet dragged like bricks across the white sand, which to him had held a special sort of significance, however silly it sounded to an outside ear. It was, in fact, the same sand that they had raced across once, on a date that had since long passed.

No, perhaps that wasn't quite right. How could something have passed if it never even happened? It hadn't in reality, anyway. Reality itself was much crueler of a mistress. She would never again be able to enjoy the breeze on her skin, the grains of sand between her toes, or the refreshing soak of the ocean in her hair.

It was cruel, he felt, that he — and the rest of his class — was given the opportunity to see the one he held most dear once more, only to see her snatched away again in such an egregious display of injustice that only the most sadistic god could've willed.

To think that he was that god.

His steps slowed to a depressed stroll along the beach as memories of her flickered through his mind one by one. The distant look in her eyes as they stared at each other, each as confused as the other. Her excitement when he had spoken the magic words to get her gushing about her favorite things. The ache in his thumbs when she had inevitably defeated him in yet another round of Gala Omega. The sound of the fountain behind them. Her gentle touch as she dragged him to the arcade to play that new game she wanted to play.

Her words of encouragement when he was preoccupied for the thousandth time with his then-talentless existence.

He scoffed loudly, somewhat hoping that someone would have noticed. Of course they wouldn't have; he made sure he wasn't followed. He disappointedly looked back at his feet when it was clear he had snuck out too well and kept walking.

How could he indulge himself in such warm memories if it was he who ensured that they would never be more than that? Memories? They were but mere constructs of sentimentality that he shouldn't have had the pleasure of playing back in his head when it suited him. How could he atone for her if he didn't subject himself to the same pain she felt in her final moments?

Her pain, as his Ultimate Luck would have it, was very much within reach for him to review again and again, if he so chose. Hence the reason he was out here.

He continued his walk along the shoreline, his path now completely darkened by the gloom of nightfall. It was trivial for him to find his way in the dark, though. He'd been there plenty of times before.

The dark form of the tent loomed closer. It was rudimentary work, nothing more than a tarp tied around a small cluster of coconut trees that had found a living on the island like he had, with enough space to maybe accommodate three people. The lanterns inside were unlit and cool to the touch.

Good, he thought. Just like he left it last time.

He lit the lanterns with a lighter he had taken from the supermarket on the island. The glow of the firelight was just enough to illuminate the edge of the tent, revealing only a log — his seat — and the curious hexagonal basin that he had dug, sealed, and filled with purified water.

Here at last.

He plopped down onto his seat and stared intently at the abominable tool he had engineered. Whether it was science or sorcery that made it tick — be it courtesy of the Ultimate Inventor, the Ultimate Spirit Medium, or whatever other nonsense they burned into his synapses years prior — he could not say. Nor did he especially care.

He knew how to get it to work, though. It was a simple matter. Boring his gaze into the mirror-like stillness of the water, daring not to blink as if it would have vanished otherwise, he continued reeling through the memory of the girl he had loved.

Her adorable smile. The way she puffed her cheeks in annoyance. The unerring focus in her eyes as her fingers tapped at buttons at lightning speed. The way she'd sleep standing up. Her undying passion and devotion to her talent. ...The precious life leaving her eyes as her body bled out at his feet.

Her face was unforgettable to him, and it would continue to be no less enchanting to him for the rest of his days.

From there, all he needed was to put a name to that face. Her name. The name that had the force of the seven seas but all the beauty of a thousand autumns. The name that lived as dreadfully short as a mayfly. The name that he vowed to immortalize as long as he lived.

Chiaki Nanami.

As if a fire had formed from underground, the water immediately came to a boil, steam filling the tent as quickly as the power of her name had filled his mind. The extra humidity was a tad unpleasant, but it escaped the tent as fast as it had come, soon leaving the water in the basin coming to a still calm like it had before he disturbed it. Before long, a scene he'd seen so many times before clouded its way in the water as though an angry squid had already made its home there and was defending its turf.

Shimmering on the surface was the image of an ominous corridor: Dark gray walls stretched endlessly into the darkness, with vines settled in between the ancient-looking decorative ridges reminiscent of burnt-out runes or indecipherable hieroglyphics. The floor and ceiling looked no less out of place — stone colored and looking weathered with time.

It would have been a convincing replica of an ancient temple from a distant land or video game, were it not for the pale white light from the monitors haphazardly dotting the walls, or the manic woman taunting through them.

Hajime tensed, his knuckles turning white. A blood vessel popped in his temple as he glared at the water. A woman. The woman who had stolen her from him. That woman, with that stupid grin on that stupid face. He wanted to wring her neck. Bludgeon her over the head with a mace. Maybe cut her up into pieces and feed her to the sharks, for good measure.

His hatred for her knew no bounds, and only grew each time he gazed into the pool in front of him.

He focused his attention back to the darkness before his concentration broke. The endless darkness, deep as far as he could see.

Except, it wasn't as far as he could see. After all, his eyesight was unrivaled, even in the dark.

It was as far as she could see. As far as Chiaki could see.

It was what she felt.

What she heard.

What she smelled.

The image in the water moved soon after it had begun. He was watching what he would normally have assumed to be just a video from a body camera she had on at the time. But the only camera she had was her very own eyes — the same pink eyes that he desperately wish he could get lost in one last time.

Instead, he consigned himself to the bleak nihilism of her final moments of life.

He could make out faint words across the edges of the "screen", popping in and fading at a moment's notice. Of course, he knew by heart what they were by now, right down to the second, so he needn't have read them. He did it anyway.

pain

Woman's voice

Chiaki had clearly already been wounded by the time the "video" had started. From what, exactly, he was unable to tell. Likely a booby trap.

The voice continued as she slowly made her way down the corridor, probably taunting her. As much as she cautiously took her time to avoid any more traps, before long, the "camera" swerved towards the floor, stopping upright before it fell face-first onto the stone tile. Ahh, a pressure plate. Of course. In either a panic or a futile attempt to undo tripping it — probably both — she had stumbled forward and struggled to regain her balance.

Shink!

Not a moment later, large spikes popped out of the ground in retaliation. The screen flashed red, and she fell backwards.

PAIN

Blood

"AAAAAGGGHHH!"

Hajime cringed, tempted to look away. But through clenched teeth, he pressed himself to watch on, barely able to ignore how much Chiaki's agonizing scream burst from the water and painfully rung in his ears and curdled his blood.

Before long, the redness subsided, and the words faded away without much consequence. Chiaki glanced at her foot, which turned into a long, disbelieving gaze: Blood gushed on the floor, and at its source was a hole — so macabre and out of place that she couldn't help but marvel at it in disturbed horror.

One could almost peer through the point of entry and see the offending spike like some sort of flesh-framed window to a torture chamber, had they such a bile fascination to do so. Hajime could feel his gorge start to rise, but he put his fist in his mouth and fought it back.

The camera jerked away from the gruesome sight and forced itself back up. Hajime's heart twinged. To think that she was still determined to move. Were he in the same position, he probably would have just given up, sitting there in stunned, resignated silence. But not Chiaki. She shrugged off the obviously-debilitating pain and carried on.

Blood

Further down the corridor she moved, more slowly than before, the camera heaving in an exaggerated bob that indicated a painful limp.

Clank!

She glanced behind her, and at the edge of the darkness, a large boulder emerged out of nowhere, rolling slowly, imposingly, tauntingly toward her. As quickly as she saw it, she turned back ahead of her. The camera bobbed faster and more exaggerated as though there had been a giant holding the hallway and shaking it like a maraca. Hajime could almost hear the sound of her scared, adrenaline-filled gasps for air as she gained whatever speed she could muster.

Whistle~ Whistle~

He scarcely had a chance to blink before large metal bearings zipping through the air towards her went under his notice. One of them struck the camera, and he half-expected it to fall and shatter into tiny pieces of glass, cracked beyond repair. Instead, there was only another red flash of light.

Pain

To his relief, or his horror, she only reeled for a moment before forcing her legs to move again. He wanted to call out to her, tell her to not give up. That everything would be okay. There were a few times he did, actually — not that it helped any. Each time he watched, inevitably, the end result was the same.

Zzzzrrrrr!

Chiaki swerved to the left as a saw blade slid out of the wall. Thanks to her quick reflexes, it had failed to take a bite out of her arm.

More blades followed suit, this time attempting to saw off what had remained of her feet. As expected of the Ultimate Gamer, she expertly dodged each one despite the handicap. She couldn't afford to stop here, not while the boulder steadily closed in on her.

Hope

Ahead of her, she could finally see where the hallway turned into a corner. How perfect, she must've thought to herself. Taking care to not slip in her own blood after having come so far, she scrambled around the corner before finally taking a moment to catch her breath as the boulder rolled harmlessly past her.

She looked toward the ceiling across from her side of the wall. One of the countless monitors sneered at her in its blinding white glow. The woman on the screen — beautiful, powerful, sadistic — a demonic goddess of torment if there ever was one. Her taunts reached her ears, but Hajime couldn't make out what she had been saying.

Perhaps in Chiaki's panic and primal need to escape her cage, she couldn't have been bothered to commit their entire conversation to memory. Instead, she looked down the corridor once again and continued faltering down with gradually weakening steps.

Whipwhipwhipwhipwhipwhip

Pʀᴇꜱꜱᴜʀᴇ

In a disorienting, swift motion that almost gave Hajime whiplash, the camera flew in reverse, as if an invisible hand had snatched Chiaki and yanked her deeper into the depths of the maze. A gale rushed in her ears while she made her involuntary flight toward the end of the corridor, eventually slamming against the wall in a crash.

pain

It didn't take long for her to realize what had happened, fortunately. When she knew that it wasn't her body itself that had been pinned against the wall like a housefly under a dart, she struggled, the camera violently shaking in her desperate attempt to break free.

Rrrriiip

It was her trademark hoodie, he surmised. How much that must've stung, having an article that was so quintessentially hers desecrated like that. Even so, fight or flight overpowered any sentimentality she may have had to her wardrobe, and she ripped herself free without giving it a second thought.

She stopped for a moment to glance at another monitor and stare upon the visage of the crazy woman who had been tormenting her so. The woman's lips moved, and yet he could discern no sound. Maybe she had been threatened, or warned of yet another impending danger to her well being, because soon after the talking had stopped, she limped faster. Faster. Faster.

Cʀᴀᴄᴋ!

PAIN

"AAAAAGGGGGHHHHH!"

Of all the sound he was able to hear…it had to be from her scream again, so loud and unnerving that even Chiaki clearly could never forget how it sounded. No matter how many times Hajime watched, he couldn't get used to it. The chills running through his entire body made him violently shiver, and he almost fell face-forward into the pool in a daze, so distraught that he barely caught himself.

The camera froze for a few seconds while Chiaki's brain registered what had happened. She never dared to look where she had been struck, which frustrated Hajime yet, at the same time, was a relief. One fewer thing he had to anguish his mind with.

Woman's voice

She was still taunting her, wasn't she? It angered him that he could only hear a few actual sounds. A part of him desperately wanted to hear what she had been saying, although he also figured that perhaps it was for the best if he didn't, lest he himself scream in frustration. Not that she had anything important to say anyway, probably.

His heart swelled with pride when he then saw Chiaki's hand — bloodied from nursing one of her other wounds, most likely — angrily swiped at the crazed madwoman on the screen.

Smooth

Sticky

Static

A reddish smear spread over the woman's face like strawberry jam on white bread. It would have looked more appetizing to her were it not for the smell of

Blood

in her nostrils, and the bloody tint in her right eye that gave the hallway a reddish glow. He could see that she was beginning to lose focus, and yet despite her even slower pace than before, she continued down the corridor, mentally undeterred.

And then she saw it. The end of the corridor. Her toil had finally paid off.

Hope

Ahead of her was a door. The door. Her way out. Staring at her invitingly was a door emblazoned with gold writing, promising everything she wanted: "GOAL".

Hajime watched on with regret. Surely she must've known this was a trap. It was far too obvious, wasn't it? There had to be a secret passage she missed, or maybe a special room with a treasure, or maybe even the door to the dungeon's boss.

Chiaki took the bait. Her bloody hand reached the doorknob and turned it.

Click!

Cool

A bright flash of light filled the screen. Hajime winced and averted his eyes to stave off blindness. Before long, he and she could see through the heavenly rays and make out shadowy silhouettes, which had soon developed color like a photo and revealed themselves as Class 77 — smiling, happy, delighted at their beloved class rep's return.

Hope

Warm

The warm, motherly form of Ms. Yukizome beckoned as if to embrace her once more. It was tempting. Her lips looked like they had moved some more, but again, Hajime couldn't really tell what she had been saying, even with his Ultimate Lipreading. Could be she just couldn't remember.

But she reached for them all the same, certainly just as happy to be reunited with them as they —

Shing!

PAIN

A long, steel pike flew right at her chest, slipping through without any resistance. And the world went gray.

Her friends had gone.

Ms. Yukizome was no longer there.

She was alone.

Alone in a cold, dark, gray room.

Kachunk!

Kachunk!

Kᴀᴄʜᴜɴᴋ!

Kᴀᴄʜᴜɴᴋ!

despair

PAIN

The screen flashed red one last time. The word "Pain" was the only thing that remained as she blacked out, until it, too, eventually faded into nothingness. Pure, agonizing pain was the last memory of Chiaki Nanami.

Her death hadn't been instant, he knew that much. Dying as she was, she still had enough time in her tragically short life to live a few more tragically short moments. Not that she remembered them, as the vision in the basin had revealed. The blood loss was too great.

Hajime remembered them, though.

A truly pitiful sight — a ripped and mangled ragdoll sprawled over the floor drowning in a pool of her own blood. He couldn't have known what demon had possessed her to futilely struggle even then to get up and reach for him, but the emptiness that her soft dying whimpers left in her wake burned his eyes, gripped his heart, and choked his throat.

Even today, those feelings had not subsided each time he revisited her final moments. The only thing that did was his tears; they had dried out long ago.

As the water in the basin cleared to its previously pristine state, he left himself to his thoughts. Each viewing was a particularly excruciating experience for him, although like all things, repetition led invariably to numbing. Numbing, for him, was the best opportunity for him to further process anything he may have learned in each subsequent viewing.

However, he'd already learned everything he needed to; he was no better off now than he was the second time he'd watched. One could only watch a play so many times before they memorized each line, cue, action, and the minute flickers of spotlights.

So why did he continue this fruitless pursuit? There was nothing more to learn or to be gained beyond sheer misery at seeing his best friend being killed, so why did he? Was this his way of keeping her alive? Did he, by chance, find cruel satisfaction in seeing her in pain? Did he watch so he could imagine himself in her shoes — to have him take the fall instead of her?

He pondered so intently at his predicament that he didn't even notice the sound of sand-softened footsteps approaching him from behind.

"Hajime? Dinner's ready."

He perked up, started — so lost in nightmarish thoughts that he had awoken with a gasp. Instinctively, he twisted to see who had called him, although the firm and scolding yet concerned tone in the voice made it obvious.

It was Mahiru.

He frowned. He was certain that he wasn't followed, yet here she was, standing in front of him and absentmindedly clutching her camera strap. Her face was void of any high-profile expression, which was quite an oddity for one so used to speaking her mind as she was. A closer look at her face, however, revealed a slight twitch in her eye and an almost unnoticeable strain in the corners of her mouth.

Shock. Curiosity. Annoyance.

Disappointed, although slightly glad for the company, he turned back to face the pool, muttering a "hey" before resting his chin on his hands.

"May I come in?" The annoyance in her tone had significantly softened. All was left was the sound of concern, the same tone he often heard her use around Hiyoko.

"Sure."

Another round of footsteps on sand approached him before the redhead awkwardly sat next to him in front of the pool. A long silence filled the tent, the only thing drowning it out being the omnipresent beat of the waves licking the shore. A part of him had hoped she would have had the courage to break the silence between them, but she seemed too interested watching the hermit crab skitter past her foot to even bother.

Eventually, though, the awkwardness was too much for her to bear. "So...what are you doing here?"

He took a few seconds to think. "Nothing in particular." He didn't bother trying to hide the lie. In fact, he held out hope that she could call his bluff and press further in that tough Mahiru way.

Press further she did, although uncharacteristically gently. "You sure do come in here to do 'nothing in particular' a lot. Are you feeling okay?"

He grunted. Of course he wasn't. This accursed window to Chiaki's soul had left him unable to think about anything else but keeping her alive in whatever way he could, by memorizing every little detail about her execution. He was the only one who could. He feared showing anyone else his handiwork would drag them into their own depressing spirals of anguish and regret like he found himself in — perhaps even plunging them into despair like before.

He would never allow that. And so he was willing to be the sacrificial lamb to remember her for everyone else. It was a thankless job, but it was one he took without question. He owed her that much.

"What is this supposed to be?" Mahiru asked, almost accusatorily, pointing at the pool on the ground.

How was he supposed to answer that? A magical pool that showed the last memories of the dead? A high-tech piece of engineering marvel that could see the past? Any sort of answer he considered he felt was inadequate, so he simply uttered, "This is all that's left of Chiaki."

Mahiru's eyes narrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

And so Hajime gave her a more complicated answer, however inadequate he still felt it was in the end. That it was what could show him what his fellow classmates already saw: Sweet little Chiaki getting brutally tortured. That it showed what she felt, heard, smelled, tasted, and saw before she died. And that he had used it to watch her die again. And again. And again. And again.

When he was done, she sighed. To his surprise, it wasn't the annoyed sort of sigh he would usually expect to have come out of her mouth, like he had done something to validate her impression of him being unreliable, as always. It wasn't the bored sigh that he would have otherwise expected if it wasn't actually a sigh of annoyance. It wasn't even a sigh of exasperation as though she thought he was worming his way out of having to answer a question.

Instead, it was sorrowful. Sympathetic, even.

"So that's what you've been doing while you were going off alone… I thought you were just getting bored with us." She lightly patted him on the back and giggled, her smile quickly turning into a frown when it was clear he wasn't going to return the laugh. Instead, she turned away, face flushed in embarrassment as she fiddled with the camera in her lap. "I'm sorry. Bad joke."

"It's fine," he croaked. He let the sounds of the ocean mend the silence that followed, although she soon became impatient with how long it had stretched on once more.

"Look. Hajime…" she began softly, taking a few moments to compose her thoughts before she continued. "I know. It's hard. It's hard for all of us. We all adored Chiaki, and not a day goes by when we don't think about her and wish she would just come back to us."

She paused, as though she had run out of words and had to grasp at the heavens of her mind again to fill the space. "Her death was hardest on you, though. I can tell. It's...very clear she meant a lot to you personally."

Thanks, Captain Obvious.

"I don't know how much consolation I can give you, but in the most twisted way, I can understand why you would do this."

Then a lightbulb went off in Hajime's head. The bright epiphany was such a stark contrast to whatever acidic thoughts swirled in his mind that he came close to kicking himself in frustration. Was he that focused on himself that he forgot that one simple fact about one of his friends? How could he have been so single-minded to think he was the only one who suffered a loss?

He interrupted, predicting her thoughts like a mind reader. "That's right… Your best friend was murdered, too, wasn't she?"

She sobbed. Well, maybe it wasn't a sob. It was probably more of a whimper or a sad exhale. Whatever it was, it passed her lips all the same.

"Yeah… I remember all I did as a part of Ultimate Despair, but even so, her particular death still weighs heavily on me. I still don't feel like I've gotten closure. And, you know, maybe this little magic pool here would provide it, even a little bit.

"Yet...sitting here is all you do at night when you think no one's watching." So he had been followed. Damn it. "Tell me, Hajime: Are you feeling any better having watched her death over and over?"

Feeling better was never his goal, he told her. He relished in the pain, not as a masochist, but as a historian, an atoner, and as a lover. He wanted to remember. No, he needed to remember. It was the only way to respect her memory.

"Sure, that's all fine and good, but...what would Chiaki say?"

Hajime averted Mahiru's gaze.

"How do you think she would feel if she saw you torturing yourself?"

He couldn't open his mouth to answer. All he could do was imagine the worried look on Chiaki's face as she hugged her arms in disturbed thought. She would probably have scolded him for doing anything that didn't make him happy, and...he could almost see a tear dropping from her eye.

Mahiru smiled. "If Sato were here and saw me watching her death over and over, I think she would be beyond sad. I think she would want me to try to move on — not forget her, but also not lose myself trying to keep her memory alive. I think Chiaki would agree."

Hajime, however, had been less convinced, but maybe it was only that he was projecting and wallowing in the same misery that Chiaki could never feel again. How hurt she must've felt when the one person who could've saved her simply stood there and watched. The thought further ignited his contempt for himself like a bellows.

He could've saved her. He replayed those final moments in his head over and over again, analyzing each infinitesimal detail to each quarter second. He knew the labyrinth well, having had the time to roam on his own in secret underground. There was a medical facility nearby he could've used. Blood transfusions, sutures, bandages, the works — all would have been a cinch to procure or even improvise. She would've had decent odds. Probably around a 60% chance to stabilize, if he had been fast enough.

And yet all he did was marvel at the tears streaming down his face.

"Do you think," Hajime countered, voice slightly cracked, "Chiaki would want me to be happy when she knew that I was the one who could have saved her?"

The Ultimate Photographer hummed in thought, almost disapprovingly. Hajime half expected her to snap at him — it was usually an indication that he'd rubbed her the wrong way, something that happened a bit too often for his liking — but her self control surprised him when, instead, she stayed composed and treated his question with the calm and tact that was due.

"I don't know how you can picture her as a vengeful person. If she saw all you did to wake us up despite the odds and to take the fall along with the rest of us for what happened at the Future Foundation...you know, I think she would be proud of you."

Hajime turned to her in surprise. "Proud? Really?"

Mahiru closed her eyes, grinning from ear to ear. "Really really. You think I'm kidding?"

The possibility did cross his mind for a moment.

"I don't know if anyone else in our class ever told you this, but Chiaki thought very highly of you." Her thoughts returned to a time when everything was much simpler — to all the special little events and trips that their late class representative had planned for everyone. As she recounted her experiences with the boy sitting next to her, never could she remember a time that had been more so full of joy and comfort when everyone she knew was wide-eyed and optimistic for their futures.

"As we got to know her, she started feeding us bits and pieces of her personal life, like that she made a friend outside the class one day by the fountain." Mahiru giggled. "I can still remember the slightly embarrassed blush on her face when Ibuki started prodding her for details."

The thought tickled Hajime, too, who had briefly curled his lips into a small smile.

"And each time she did mention you, it was all praise. It was praise for your potential, how humble you were, and how much you cared. Although she did also mention how much you felt you were beneath the Ultimate students, and she would always look so sad when she did."

As he imagined the depressed look in her eyes, the smile he managed to maintain had dissipated.

"But then she would go back to singing your praises. Heck, she even skipped out on some class social outings to play with you."

The smile returned to his face.

Mahiru turned to face him again. "Hajime… Even if you didn't save her, I don't think she would hold it against you. Not that she wanted to die or anything, but there's no way she'd peg you as a bad person. If she's watching over us, I'm sure it's with the same dazed smile we all loved."

Hajime couldn't say anything. Not only was he touched that Mahiru had gone out of her way to try to cheer him up, but he was shocked that it was actually working. It must've been weeks since he had any semblance of peace of mind or resolve to move toward the future like he had originally vowed.

He knew that it would only be a matter of time before the pendulum swung back and he relapsed into another spell of grieving, but he cherished the slight spark of hope for recovery while it lasted and made sure to savor it some more.

"Well, anyway…" Mahiru pushed herself off her seat and turned to face Hajime. "We should head back. Teruteru will take it personally if we get back and the food's cold. Come on." She offered him a hand, smiling warmly.

For a moment, he could see Chiaki standing in front of him once more, offering her hand before dragging him to the arcade — her eyes so very clearly full of joy. He didn't hesitate: He took her hand as though it would have disappeared forever had he not done so that second, and he pulled himself to his feet.

And then she was gone again, leaving Mahiru in her wake, carrying on her bright smile as though she were channelling a goddess.

The last tear that he had thought had already been shed months ago fell down his cheek. "Thank you, Mahiru. I needed that."

She turned away in a desperate yet futile attempt to hide her blush. "Y-yeah, no problem. Now let's go! I'm starved!"

Hajime took a second to put out the lanterns before closely tailing Mahiru, who was no doubt relieved to know that her stomach would finally have its fill for the night.

He wondered when he'd next find the time to watch Chiaki's death again, but after what he had been told, he thought perhaps he should take a small break for now. Thanks to Mahiru, he finally realized that he could find company in those who have suffered similar losses at their own hand. She was kind enough to show him that.

It would be hard to move on without Chiaki, he knew. He'd never really fully recover from his loss. It would be a long, long journey that would only ever asymptotically approach inner peace, but for the first time in a long while, he finally found himself taking another step toward that goal. All he needed was a friend to give him that little boost.

As they walked back to join the others, he gazed toward the sky. Tiny diamonds that dotted the black dome above them twinkled like innocent childlike eyes that had never seen strife.

"Save some games for me, okay?" he whispered, his cheek dry once more. He'd usually not been one to believe in an afterlife or anything of the sort, but if there was one, his only wish was that Chiaki was enjoying every second.

He knew she probably couldn't hear him, but if Mahiru was right, she was probably still smiling down at him from those same stars.

Fun fact: I have the things she smelled to be right aligned and for stronger sensations to be represented by larger text — similar to something you'd see in the actual Divination Séances — in the original Google Doc, but then I realized that gets rid of all of that formatting when you save it. So I had to find another (vastly inferior) way to represent those sensations. AAAAGGGGGHHHHH

Welp. Time to wash away the sin. I'm going back to reading Extra Life. Papyrus, do you want anything?

v1.1: Fixed a small error and removed a redundant descriptor that I can't believe I missed aaaaaagggghhh