“Yo.”

A sharp finger jabbed into her shoulder.

Miyako Fukanora jerked awake so hard her face smacked the desk.

“Shit—!”

Sumire stood over her, bag slung over one shoulder, completely unimpressed.

“You drooled. Bell rang. We’re leaving.”

Miyako blinked, heart still racing, eyes darting around.

Fluorescent lights. Wooden desks. School again. Her body.

Her real body.

She sat up, wiping her mouth and dragging her fingers through her hair.

“That’s the fourth time, dude.” Sumire yawned. “You’re going for a record.”

Miyako grabbed her stuff without speaking. Still wired. Still halfway back in Kaito’s world.

They walked down the hallway toward their lockers. Sumire looked like she was seconds away from checking out mentally.

But Miyako?

Miyako was vibrating.

As soon as they reached the lockers, she dropped her bag, spun toward Sumire, and—

“Okay, okay, listen—holy shit—you are not gonna believe this one.”

Sumire blinked.
“Oh god.”

“No seriously.” Miyako threw her hands up.
“I went back into the dream. Kaito’s life again. Same body. Same nasty-ass bedroom with ramen cups and a haunted pair of underwear.”

“Ew.”

**“I KNOW. But listen—this time, I started looking around, right? Like, actually trying to figure shit out. I found gang papers, Sumire. Like... straight-up crime docs. Turf wars, names, red-marker death lists—this guy is second-in-command of some gang called Dajikana.”

Sumire didn’t say anything. Just raised one eyebrow like she was being hit with a five-part conspiracy thread.

“AND THEN—"
Miyako stepped closer, voice dropping.
“His rival gang is Sakuraji. Like some real Tokyo-Revengers-ass turf war shit. I read his notes. The guy’s organizing ambushes. He’s got enemy names circled and street maps marked up. It’s insane."

Sumire pulled her gum out and stuck it to the inside of her locker.

“Okay.” She finally said.
“You sure you weren’t just watching an anime in your sleep?”

“I’m not kidding, Sumire. I pinched myself in the dream. I felt it. I ate ramen and tasted it. It’s not some fantasy fever trip—this feels real. I’m not just seeing his life. I’m in it.”

Sumire leaned on her locker.

“So what’s your game plan? Keep going back in and hope you don’t get shot in someone else’s war?”

“I don’t have a game plan! That’s what’s freaking me out.”
Miyako shoved her hands in her pockets.
“I thought it was just dreams at first. But it’s too real. And what if—”
She hesitated.
“—what if dying in his body means I die too?”

That one hit. Even Sumire didn’t have a sarcastic reply ready for that.

She just stared for a second. Then clicked her locker shut.

“...You’re actually scared.”

“I don’t know what this is, Sumire.” Miyako said, quieter this time.
“But it’s getting deeper. And I don’t think I’m waking up from it anymore.”