Drip.
A sound. Faint. Soft. Measured.
Drip.
Kazuki's eyes opened.
He didn't move. Just lay there, heart already racing, breath caught somewhere between sleep and—
Drip.
Again.
He sat up. Too fast. The cold rushed him, clean and sudden. His head spun.
The room swam around him—timber beams, paper walls, a smell of ash and pine. Tatami under his legs. A tray nearby.
His mouth was dry. His chest tight.
The ceiling.
The air.
The blanket.
He knew this place.
He shouldn't.
He rubbed his hands together, trying to calm the tremor in them. His fingers felt wrong. Like they didn't belong to the moment.
Like they'd already touched something today. Fought something.
Burned.
He blinked hard. Dragged a breath deep into his lungs.
"I'm alive," he whispered.
It didn't feel like relief.
It felt like confusion.
His last memory was a scream. Not his.
Fire—yes. That much was clear. Something had exploded. Smoke. Screaming. A face—
Mayu.
She had—
No. That wasn't real. Couldn't be.
He looked down.
His hands were clean.
No burns. No blood.
Drip.
He turned toward the sound.
There it was. The candle. Same as before. Flame dancing gently. Wax sliding in a slow, lazy curl down one side.
A drop hit the floor.
Kazuki flinched.
He didn't know why.
He stood. Legs stiff, balance weird. Like waking after surgery—body intact, but the wiring off.
Everything felt… familiar. But not remembered. Like a place he'd never been, except in dreams.
The blanket slid from his shoulders. Same texture. Same weight. He moved to the wall, touched the practice blade still mounted there. His fingers knew where to grip it.
Not in a conscious way.
More like—he'd done this before.
He stared at it for a long time.
Then the door opened.
Kazuki turned fast, heart in his throat.
Tadakatsu stepped inside. Same face. Same walk. Same voice.
"You're up early, Hideyoshi-sama."
Kazuki said nothing.
Tadakatsu placed a tray on the floor. "You didn't touch dinner last night. I brought tea."
Steam curled upward. Sharp. Pine. The smell reached Kazuki's nose and stopped him cold.
He knew it.
Every detail.
This was—
No. Stop. He needed to focus.
He was alive. That was the part that mattered. The rest—maybe it was a nightmare. A hallucination. Something chemical. He had collapsed in the fight with Vargas, hadn't he?
Maybe this was a coma dream.
Maybe he never woke up from the arena.
"Are you feeling alright?" Tadakatsu asked.
Kazuki forced himself to nod. "Yeah."
"You had a fever yesterday. Mayu said you barely said three words."
"Did I?"
Tadakatsu smiled like it was a joke. "You sound better now."
Kazuki sat back down, legs folding without thinking. He stared at the tray.
Steam curled the exact same way.
He hadn't dreamed this.
He couldn't have dreamed it with this much detail.
But if this wasn't a dream—
He picked up the tea cup.
Held it in his hand.
Same weight.
Same warmth.
He didn't drink.
He just sat there, watching the way the candlelight flickered across the surface of the liquid.
Drip.
Another drop.
Exactly the same rhythm.
Tadakatsu said something else. Kazuki didn't catch it.
He wasn't listening anymore.
Something was wrong.
But he didn't know how to say it.
Didn't even know what it was.
So he smiled.
Faked it.
Held the cup to his lips.
And said nothing.
Kazuki held the tea for too long.
The warmth seeped into his fingers. Too long. Too constant.
He set it down.
Not because he was finished drinking.
Because he hadn't sipped it at all.
Tadakatsu was still speaking—routine updates, guard rotations, scout reports. The kind of daily rhythm meant to keep a war machine running. Kazuki heard every word, but they slid past him. Like water. Like wind through armor.
Then came a sound from the corridor.
Light steps. Sharp. Familiar.
And her voice.
"I'm telling you, if the patrols saw movement and didn't report it until morning, we're already behind."
Kazuki's entire body went still.
That voice.
That timing.
He turned his head.
The door hadn't opened yet. But he could hear her just outside.
Mayu.
His stomach turned. Not from fear. From something colder. More quiet.
She's alive.
He heard her footsteps stop outside the chamber. Murmured conversation with someone—low, clipped tones. A rustle of parchment. The same rhythm as before.
The same exact rhythm.
"Should I send her in?" Tadakatsu asked gently.
Kazuki stood. Too fast again. The cup rattled against the tray as he moved. His legs carried him to the far wall—toward the sword—but he stopped short of touching it this time.
"No," he said.
Tadakatsu paused. "No?"
"I'll go to her."
Kazuki crossed the room. Slid the door open himself.
There she was.
Mayu turned at the sound. Her hair was tied back, her armor only half-buckled. A roll of reports under one arm. She looked… alive.
Exactly as he remembered.
No burn scars. No singed sleeve. No blood smeared across her cheek. Just clean, focused, sharp-eyed Mayu.
Kazuki stared.
She frowned. "What?"
"Nothing." He forced a smile. "You look… rested."
"I should hope so," she said, brushing past him into the room. "We have enough unrest outside without starting our day with it in here."
He turned to follow her but didn't step forward.
She was right there.
Alive.
Talking.
Breathing.
He remembered her hands burning. The smoke. The fire. The sound her body made when—
Kazuki stumbled back a step. His heel caught the edge of the tray. The tea cup tipped. Spilled.
Hot liquid splashed across the tatami.
Tadakatsu knelt immediately, dabbing it up with the edge of his sleeve. "Careful."
Kazuki didn't answer.
His hand was trembling.
"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean—"
"Your fever again?" Mayu asked.
He shook his head.
But he didn't speak.
She crouched beside the map roll, laying it flat near the corner.
And Kazuki stood there, watching her.
Trying to count how many seconds he had before she died again.
He couldn't remember if he'd spoken to her that morning. Not last time. Not in the first loop. Had she smiled? Had she said anything?
He wasn't sure anymore.
It all blurred.
"Hideyoshi?"
His name.
But not his name.
Mayu's voice, this time sharper.
He looked up.
Tadakatsu was staring at him. So was she.
He realized he was sweating. Barely breathing.
"I—"
He stopped.
They were both waiting.
He forced air into his lungs. Slowed down.
He needed time. He needed space.
"Sorry," he said. "Bad dream."
Mayu blinked. "You remember dreams?"
He nodded.
Still lying.
Still pretending.
She tilted her head. "Anything useful?"
Kazuki looked at the candle again.
Drip.
The drop landed.
Just like before.
Just like always.
He met her eyes.
And said the first truth of the day.
"No."