The open door looked like it had been there forever, its hinges sagging as Ukiyo ran his hand along the thin cracks in the wood, worn smooth by time. He pushed it open, expecting the usual morning chaos—laughter, shouting, things being thrown across the room—but nothing came. No noise, no movement, just silence. It felt wrong, too heavy, like the room had forgotten how to breathe. The chalkboard duster sat on his empty desk like an old sponge left behind after everything was already cleaned away. The door slammed open behind him and Yuki rushed in, breathless. Out of everyone Ukiyo had met, she was the only one who ever felt like a real friend. He turned to her, waiting, but her eyes widened instead and her arm shot up, pointing past him. Ukiyo followed her finger and froze. The class was there—but completely still. No laughter, no movement, no life, like someone had paused the entire room. Then everything broke at once. Chairs scraped, footsteps erupted, and students ran out in panic, sprinting toward a distant tower that loomed above the school, filling the air with something wrong and heavy. Ukiyo moved with them, drawn forward despite the fear catching in his chest. Then he stopped. His body locked, his vision blurred. “UKIYO!” Yuki shouted, but he couldn’t respond. Yellow and blue electricity crackled around him, crawling over his skin like it didn’t belong there. Yuki raised her phone with shaking hands. “Look,” she whispered. Ukiyo stared at the screen—and saw himself staring back with red and white hair.