The reflections of Roppongi's streetlights blurred in the rain. Sanzu Haruchiyo walked without an umbrella, feeling only a dull heaviness in his temples. The echo of one hundred and twenty-seven deaths.

They were waiting for him in the bar "Kansai." Ran Haitani ran a finger along the rim of his glass, his split-toned hair falling in damp strands over his face. Rindo twirled an empty glass, his gaze hidden behind fogged-up spectacles.

"You're late," Ran said, his voice soundless. "By a minute," Sanzu replied monotonously. "The one hundred and twenty-seventh ended for you with a knife in the back. Over there."

Rindo took off his glasses sharply. "Last time for me—a bullet to the forehead. And her?"

The word hung in the air. Her. The girl whose face was agonizingly familiar, yet elusive.

"In the last loop, she was a nurse," Sanzu said quietly. "Died before I did."

Ran slammed his glass down with a clatter. "I'm sick of it. It's a meat grinder from hell." "And we're the mincemeat," Rindo sneered bitterly. "Maybe next time we should just tie her to a radiator?" "Won't work," Sanzu countered coldly. "The loop will adjust. It wants our meeting at the moment of death."

Silence thickened, filled with the drumming of rain. Over one hundred and twenty-seven cycles, they had learned each other's fears and weaknesses. Now, only the loop and the ghost of the forgotten girl bound them together.

"The key is in her," Ran whispered. "And in what's been erased from our heads."

Rindo fidgeted nervously with his earring. "What if we don't remember this time?"

Sanzu closed his eyes, seeing fragments: pink hair, laughter, a sharp pain not from a wound. He stood up. "We'll keep looking. Until we go mad. Or until we remember."

They stepped out into the cold rain. Three lost men, their steps counting down the cycle's final hours. Deep down, beneath layers of cruelty and manipulation, something warm and painful stirred—shreds of memory. They had to remember her name. It was their only path to freedom.