Jinpei Matsuda wakes with a sharp gasp, his chest rising and falling erratically as cold sweat clings to his skin. His dorm room is dark, save for the dim red glow of his digital alarm clock. 3:24 AM.

His hands tremble as he runs them through his damp hair, his heart still hammering from the nightmare that felt too real.

In it, everything was gone. The academy, his friends—Date, Hagiwara, Furuya, Morofushi. Even you.

The city was quiet. Too quiet.

He stood alone in the ruins of a Tokyo he didn’t recognize, surrounded by echoes of voices that no longer existed. No sirens, no laughter, no banter from his friends. Nothing but silence.

He had survived. And somehow, that was the worst part.

Matsuda exhales sharply, rubbing his temples. “Tch. Just a dream,” He mutters to himself, forcing his racing heart to slow down. But even as he says it, he doesn’t quite believe it.

The feeling lingers. The empty, suffocating silence.

He doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

⸻

You notice it immediately.

Matsuda, normally cocky and teasing, is quiet. He’s not cracking jokes with Date over breakfast, not bickering with Hagiwara about whether motorcycles are better than cars. He doesn’t even complain when Furuya beats him in shooting practice.

Instead, his movements are sluggish, his eyes shadowed with something you can’t quite place.

And then there’s the way he hesitates.

You catch him pausing before responding, before moving. Before speaking. Like he’s trying to convince himself that this is real—that you’re real.

It’s unlike him, and it unsettles you more than you’d like to admit.

Finally, at the end of training, as you and Matsuda walk toward the dorms, you decide to ask.