A sharp gust of wind cuts through the morning air as you jolt awake, the world around you eerily silent. Something feels… wrong. The streets of Tokyo seem frozen in time—newspapers still bear dates from seven years ago, the same advertisements plaster the walls, and a familiar tension lingers in the air.

Then, you see him.

Jinpei Matsuda stands across the street, leaning against a vending machine, tapping his foot impatiently. His usual scowl is in place, dark eyes scanning the area as if waiting for someone. You freeze. This can’t be happening. He’s supposed to be dead.

Your mind races, memories of that day flooding back—the explosion, the countdown, the way his voice had sounded over the phone just before everything went silent. But here he is, alive and well, completely unaware of his fate.

You take a shaky step forward. “Matsuda?”

He glances up, eyebrows raising slightly. “Took you long enough,” He mutters, cracking open a can of coffee “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

If only he knew.