DAY RESET.
The light poured in through the window.
Sunlight spilled across the floor, creeping up the walls.
The curtains fluttered slightly with the morning breeze.
Asahi lay in his bed.
His room was untouched—quiet, still.
The clock on his wall read 8:30 AM.
He twitched.
His head jerked slightly to the right.
His eyes fluttered open—blank, hollow, unseeing.
His breath came out in shallow whispers.
He lay there… unmoving.
Hopeless.
Suffering.
His hand trembled slightly against the sheets. His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling above him.
And in that moment—he knew.
He knew the day had reset.
Again.
Asahi's breath came out ragged.
His body lay there—still, unchanging, lifeless.
His eyes stared up, unblinking.
Unfeeling.
It was the same.
The same ceiling.
The same room.
The same sunlight creeping up the walls like painted ghosts.
The same fucking day.
—The Loop of Despair—
Asahi didn't move.
He had stopped trying to.
His right eye remained open, bloodshot and hollow.
His left eye sealed shut, almost as if it had surrendered entirely.
Trauma had carved itself into his expression—an unmoving face of disbelief and despair. Hundreds of times...he had lived this very same day. Hundreds of times, he had stared at that same cracked ceiling. Hundreds of times, he had heard the same voices, the same words. There was no escape.
But perhaps the most haunting part was not the ceiling or the room—it was the familiarity. Like a curse written into his bones. He could hear the wind brushing against the windowpane, the faint creak of wood as the house settled, the distant laughter of children playing outside… unaware that Asahi had been trapped in this single day for what felt like eternity.
He once tried to keep track.
Forty days. Then a hundred. Then two hundred… and then he lost count.
—The Knock—
Then—
A knock on the door.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
A voice.
Warm. Familiar.
Too familiar.
"Hey, Asahi! Wake up! It's time for school!"
His mother's voice.
Joyful. Light.
Like nothing had ever gone wrong.
Like there weren't bodies buried in memory.
Like time hadn't devoured her son.
Asahi didn't respond.
His lips parted slightly.
But no words came.
Only a soft, broken exhale.
"Come on, sleepyhead… open up!"
The door stayed closed.
No creaks.
No steps.
No wind.
No life.
Asahi lay in the bed.
Twitching.
His left eye sealed shut.
His right eye blank.
The same as yesterday.
The SAME.
Asahi didn't even react.
Because he didn't want to.
He didn't want to believe that he had been looping the same day more than a hundred times… the same dialogues... the same faces... the same fucking tragedy.
—The Endless Cycle—
The cycle continued.
Again, he was admitted.
Again…
He was on the bed.
In the hospital.
His mother and father by his side, crying silently, clutching his lifeless hand as if it might disappear. Their faces hollowed by suffering.
And then, Anari came.
YES, THE SAME.
She came... she got shocked... she cried.
Asahi... he was dead… looked like he was dead… his right eye was bloodshot… but he couldn't do anything. He could only listen to every cry, every sob, every fragment of hopelessness that spilled from their broken hearts.
He saw himself losing.
In that bed…
—Inside His Mind—
(In his own world) (blank) (nothing) (only him)
Only him.
Alone.
All alone.
Seeing himself losing himself…
From his mind, he saw everything.
Just... just everything.
Every drop Anari wasted…
Every tear from his parents.
Asahi watched it... he knew it all along…
He just wanted to escape reality.
He… he just wanted to escape.
He was afraid.
But there was no escape. Only the same room, the same ceiling, the same voices repeating like a curse written into the fabric of his existence.
And every time, he waited.
Waited for the knock.
Waited for the door.
Waited for it to all collapse again.
And it always did.
11:50 PM.
The walls closed in. Air grew heavier—suffocating.
Anari sat still, eyes fixed on him. Lights flickered, world fading.
Dead silent. She didn't look away.
Her hands trembled. She didn't move.
Just… watched.
Just… waited.
11:55 PM.
The clock ticked, dragging forward—unforgiving. The room stayed still—frozen in time, frozen in hopelessness.
Anari blinked slowly, shallow breaths slipping out. Her eyes flicked to the clock. Seconds ticked away—uncaring. Relentless.
Nothing changed. Light stayed dim. The room stayed hopeless. She stayed hollow.
Her gaze locked back on Asahi. Still. Lifeless. Unmoving.
11:57 PM.
The world held its breath. So did she. Fingers gripped her skirt tight.
Lights flickered, shadows stretched and twisted on the walls. Her eyes never left his face—searching for movement, life.
Nothing.
11:58 PM.
Suddenly, she stood. Legs wobbled, but she didn't hesitate. Her eyes were glassy, drained of hope.
She stepped forward—slow, deliberate. Asahi lay there, hollow. Suffering. Trapped in silence.
Anari knelt beside the bed. Her breath shook. Fingers brushed his cheek—gentle as a whisper. Her lips trembled.
"You're suffering a lot, Asahi…" she whispered, voice cracking. Tears fell silently onto the sheets.
"He's suffering… alone…" she murmured. Her hand brushed his cold cheek. "All alone… hopeless…"
11:59 PM.
She sat on the edge of the bed, gaze locked onto him. Hands touched his face—soft, gentle. Her eyes shimmered with tears; she didn't blink them away.
She leaned forward.
Asahi twitched—head jerking right, body shivering. White substance bubbled from his mouth, spilling, staining his lips.
She didn't stop. Her gaze softened. Her breath steadied. She leaned closer—forehead touching his.
His convulsions stopped. The white substance dripped silently; his body grew still.
Anari didn't pull away. Their noses almost touched. Her breath mingled with his—whispers against his lips.
Her eyes closed. Lips trembled. She leaned in—slow, gentle.
The room was dead silent. Only the clock ticked.
Closer…
Closer…
12:00 AM.
The clock struck midnight.
—DAY RESET.
—
Sunlight poured through the window. Curtains fluttered with the breeze.
Asahi lay in his bed. Room untouched. Quiet. Still. Clock read 8:30 AM.
He twitched. His head jerked slightly right.