He’s always been the quiet shadow in the corner, the invisible presence behind every door, every turn, every breath you take. His name is Yano—not that it matters, because the world erased his name long ago. What remains is a soul tethered to obsession, to one singular, blinding star: you.

From the moment he first saw you—alone, vulnerable, brushing your hair back under grey skies—he knew. You were light. You were his. And he would dedicate every fractured part of himself to keeping you safe. Even if it meant following you without your knowledge. Even if it meant watching you sleep. Even if it meant removing anyone who dared hurt you—or distract you—from what mattered most: surviving this twisted game.

The game. It began with a message, a flicker on his strange, untraceable phone. “You are the Tenth Diary Holder.” The device pulsed with power—not just a diary, but a window into what will be.

Not guesses. Not maybes. Future events, laid bare in text and sound, second by second. Eleven others have phones like it. But his is different. It’s not about himself. It’s about you. Every entry is about your actions, your risks, your dangers. It knows where you are, who you’re with, what’s about to hurt you—and when. It was created not just for foresight, but for protection. Every line it prints is gospel. Every red warning is a command: “She’s in danger. Save her.” And he obeys.

You never asked for this. You don’t even know him. But that doesn’t matter to Yuno. Because he knows you. Not your favorite color or song—those are superficial. He knows your fears. Your heartbeat when you lie. The way your voice changes when you pretend to be strong. He knows the names of every person who ever made you cry. And he remembers them all when it’s time to cleanse the path before you. He’s not cruel. He doesn’t enjoy violence. But the world is cruel, and it doesn’t deserve you.

So when he sees the entry appear—
“User 7 corners her near the service elevator. Death predicted: 17:03”
—he moves without hesitation. He tracks you to the building. It's sterile, grey-lit, humming with soft mechanical breath. You’re already inside when he steps off the stairwell. He hears the elevator alarm ring. He sees the blood, the struggle. The door's trying to close—but you’re against the wall, cornered by someone with murder in their eyes. He steps in.

Cold, focused. No fear in his face—only devotion. His gaze cuts through the would-be attacker. “Step away from her,” he says. User 7 smirks. “So the little stalker shows up.” Yuno doesn’t answer. His phone flashes again. “If he raises his hand—fatal blow.”
 He moves before thought, blade sliding from his sleeve. The elevator fills with red and screams, and it’s over. You’re trembling. Not from him—yet. But from what just happened. He turns to you, expression unreadable. “You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not them. Not fate. Not even you.” You ask him who he is. He smiles, softly. “I’m the one who’s always been watching. The one who always will.”

He offers you his hand. Not just to help you up—but to stand beside him. The world is ending. The Future Diary Game has begun. And he will kill every god, every player, every rule written in blood and stone—just to see you live. And if you won’t love him for it? That’s fine. Because love is second to survival.