The fluorescent lights in the women's bathroom flickered once.
Twice.
Then steadied—casting harsh white light across cracked tiles and rusted pipes.
Mitsuha stood perfectly still.
Her smile hadn't moved. Hadn't even twitched.
Just that same cold, calculated expression—like a predator that had finally cornered its prey.
"Come here, cutie pies."
Her voice was soft. Almost gentle.
The kind of gentleness that made your survival instincts scream.
"Let me give you a makeover."
The taller girl—the one who'd been filming—pressed herself against the sink. Her phone clutched to her chest like a shield that wouldn't save her.
"M-makeover? What do you mean?"
Her voice cracked halfway through.
Mitsuha took one step forward.
The girl flinched.
"Look... don't come near us. Stay back." She held up her phone, hands shaking so badly the screen light danced across the walls. "Or else... I'll send this photo to the principal. And... and besides..."
She glanced at the handcuffs still dangling from Mitsuha's wrist—the other end hanging loose where Kazuma had been before the nurse took him away.
"One of your hands is locked. You can't do anything."
Silence.
Then—
Mitsuha's smile widened.
Not with joy. Not with amusement.
With something far worse.
"For you..." She flexed her free hand slowly, deliberately. "...one hand is more than enough."
The lights flickered again.
And Mitsuha moved.
VIOLENCE WARNING: MATURE CONTENT AHEAD
She didn't run.
Didn't rush.
Just walked—calm, measured steps—like someone who had all the time in the world.
The tall girl stumbled backward. "S-stop! I'm serious! I—"
"Shh."
Mitsuha's hand shot out.
Grabbed the girl's wrist—the one holding the phone.
Not rough. Not violent.
Just... firm.
"First," Mitsuha said quietly, "unlock the phone. Do it yourself."
"No! I won't—AAAH!"
Mitsuha twisted the wrist. Not hard. Just enough.
The angle was wrong. Unnatural. Painful.
"Unlock. It."
Tears welled in the girl's eyes. Her thumb trembled as it pressed against the sensor.
Click.
The phone unlocked.
Mitsuha took it. Casually. Like borrowing a pen.
She scrolled through the photos—tap, tap, tap—deleting each one with clinical precision.
"This one. This too. And this..." Tap. Tap. Tap. "Yes, this one as well."
The shorter girl—the one who'd been silent this whole time—finally found her voice.
"Let her go! You... you're insane!"
She grabbed the mop leaning against the wall.
Held it like a weapon.
"I... I won't let you get away with this!"
Mitsuha glanced at her.
Just a glance.
No fear. No concern.
Just... acknowledgment.
Like noticing a fly buzzing nearby.
"I should commend your courage." Mitsuha dropped the phone into the sink. "But there's a difference between courage and stupidity."
She turned fully toward the shorter girl.
The taller one she'd been holding—released now—collapsed against the sink, cradling her wrist.
"Now," Mitsuha said, cracking her knuckles one by one, "it's your turn."
The shorter girl swung the mop.
Wide. Panicked. Desperate.
Mitsuha didn't even step back.
She just tilted her head slightly—the mop handle whooshed past her ear, missing by inches.
Off balance. Overextended.
Rookie mistake.
Mitsuha's hand shot forward. Grabbed the mop mid-swing. Yanked it from the girl's grip so fast she didn't even realize it was gone until her hands were empty.
"What...?"
Mitsuha tossed the mop aside.
It clattered against the tile floor—loud, final.
Then she grabbed the shorter girl by the collar.
Pulled her close.
Face to face.
"Listen carefully," Mitsuha whispered, her voice so cold it could freeze blood. "The mistake you made..."
She tightened her grip.
"Will be settled right now."
BATHROOM VIOLENCE - EXTENDED SEQUENCE
Mitsuha didn't throw a punch.
Didn't need to.
She just grabbed the girl's head with both hands—ignoring the dangling handcuff banging against her own wrist—and slammed it down.
CRACK.
Forehead met sink edge.
Once.
The sound echoed—wet and solid.
The shorter girl's legs gave out. She crumpled like a puppet with cut strings, collapsing onto the dirty tile floor. Blood trickled from her hairline, mixing with the standing water near the drain.
She wasn't unconscious.
Just... stunned. Eyes unfocused. Breathing ragged.
"One," Mitsuha said calmly.
The taller girl—still clutching her twisted wrist—stared in horror.
"No... no no no..." She scrambled toward the door.
Mitsuha's foot shot out.
Not a kick. Just a block.
The girl tripped. Face-planted. Hard.
Her nose hit tile.
More blood.
Mitsuha crouched down beside her. Grabbed a fistful of hair. Yanked her head up.
"Two."
The girl was sobbing now. Ugly, desperate sobs.
"Please... please let us go... we... we won't say anything... I swear..."
Mitsuha tilted her head. Studying her.
Like a scientist examining a lab rat.
"You," she said slowly, "took Kazuma's photo. Made it viral at school. Ruined his reputation."
She pulled the hair tighter.
"And now you're begging for mercy?"
"P-please... sorry... we were wrong... please..."
Mitsuha's expression didn't change.
"Sorry?"
She let go of the hair.
The girl collapsed forward, gasping.
For a moment, there was silence.
Just heavy breathing. Dripping water. Flickering lights.
Then—
"Fine."
Both girls looked up, shocked.
Mitsuha stood. Brushed off her hands.
"I forgive you."
Hope flickered in their eyes.
Mitsuha's smile returned.
"But," she added softly, "I need to make sure you remember."
She raised her foot.
"So that next time, before you even think about doing something like this..."
And brought it down.
Hard.
On the taller girl's phone.
CRUNCH.
Glass shattered. Plastic splintered. The screen spiderwebbed into a thousand pieces.
"...think twice."
She ground her heel into it. Again. And again.
Until it was unrecognizable.
Then she turned toward the door.
Paused.
Looked back over her shoulder.
"Oh, and," she said casually, "if you call the police... remember this."
Her eyes glinted.
"My family is more powerful than yours."
The door swung open.
And she walked out.
Leaving two broken girls, one destroyed phone, and a bathroom that looked like a crime scene.
BUT—
Mitsuha had only taken three steps down the hallway when—
"MITSUHA HINA!!!"
A voice. Sharp. Authoritative. Furious.
She stopped.
Turned slowly.
A teacher—Ms. Takahashi, the biology instructor—stood at the bathroom entrance. Face red. Eyes wide with shock and rage.
Behind her, peeking out from the doorway, the two girls were still visible—bloodied, crying, broken.
"Principal's office. Now."
Mitsuha didn't argue.
Didn't resist.
Didn't even look bothered.
She just smiled that same cold smile.
"Of course, Sensei."
And walked calmly toward her judgment.
[TIME SKIP: 45 MINUTES LATER]
PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE
The phone sat on the mahogany desk.
Cracked. Shattered. Barely functional.
But the photos were still visible in the cloud backup the IT department had pulled.
Clear evidence.
Kazuma and Mitsuha. Handcuffed together. Fleeing the festival grounds.
The camera panned slowly across the room.
Principal Nakamura sat behind his desk, fingers steepled, expression grave.
To his right stood Shize Tanaka—bandage wrapped around her head from the earlier incident—and her mother, a sharply dressed woman with a lawyer's cold eyes and a prosecutor's sharp tongue.
And in front of the desk, standing perfectly still, arms at her sides, face utterly neutral—
Mitsuha.
Principal Nakamura's voice cracked as he spoke.
Not from emotion.
From exhaustion.
"Mitsuha." He gestured at the phone. At the reports. At the everything. "Can I... can I ask you what exactly is going on here?"
Silence.
"First," he continued, ticking off fingers, "you attacked Shize at the festival. Without any provocation."
"There was provocation," Mitsuha said calmly.
"Be quiet when I'm speaking!" The principal slammed his hand on the desk. "Then you fled the festival grounds—with Kazuma—in handcuffs! And now..."
He gestured toward the bathroom down the hall.
"Two more students. In the hospital."
Shize's mother stepped forward. Her heels clicked against the floor like a countdown timer.
"Principal Nakamura," she said, voice dripping with barely-contained fury, "what happened to my daughter—that was already too much. But now this..." She pointed at Mitsuha like she was evidence in a courtroom. "This girl is dangerous. Violent. Allowing her to stay in this school—"
"I'm aware, Mrs. Tanaka."
"—she needs to be sent to juvenile detention!"
The words hung in the air.
Heavy. Final.
Mitsuha's expression didn't change.
But her jaw tightened. Just slightly.
The principal sighed. Rubbed his temples.
"Mitsuha," he said quietly, "I'm calling your parents. They need to come here. With you. Immediately."
For the first time, something flickered across Mitsuha's face.
Not fear.
Not anger.
Just... cold resignation.
"And until they arrive," the principal continued, "you're suspended. Ten days. Don't even think about stepping foot on school grounds."
Mrs. Tanaka crossed her arms. "Just suspension? This is ridiculous! I—"
"Mrs. Tanaka." The principal's voice was firm now. "I'm doing my job. Please let me do it."
She glared. But said nothing more.
Mitsuha bowed slightly. Perfectly polite.
"Yes, Principal."
She turned.
Walked to the door.
Paused.
Looked back—not at the principal, not at Mrs. Tanaka—
But at Shize.
And smiled.
That same terrifying, empty smile.
"Get well soon, Shize."
Then she left.
OUTSIDE - SCHOOL GROUNDS
The afternoon sun was brutal.
Kazuma was running his 97th lap around the track when he saw her.
Mitsuha.
Walking slowly across the field toward him.
Her uniform was slightly disheveled. Hair a bit messy. But her face...
Calm. Utterly calm.
Like she'd just come back from a pleasant stroll.
Kazuma stopped running. Bent over, hands on knees, gasping for air.
"Mitsuha!" he called between breaths. "What... what happened? What did the principal say?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Just walked up to him. Stopped. Looked at him with those unreadable eyes.
Then—
"Ten days suspension."
Kazuma straightened. "What? Just suspension? I... I thought they would—"
"And," she continued, voice flat, "Shize's mother was talking about sending me to juvenile detention."
"Fuck." Kazuma ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. "Mitsuha, I... I told you before, didn't I? If you did something like that—"
"Yes, yes." She waved him off. "You told me. Fine. Congratulations. You were right."
But there was no bite in her words.
Just... exhaustion.
Kazuma frowned. "Are you... are you okay?"
"Perfectly fine."
"Seriously. What happened in the principal's office?"
Mitsuha sighed. Looked away.
"You were going to get punished. But I took all the blame. I said I was forcing you. That's why you only got 100 laps."
Kazuma blinked. "You... for me?"
"Yes." She glanced at him. "Ever heard the saying? 'A thief breaks into a house, but the owner goes to jail.' Something like that."
He stared at her.
Then—despite everything—he smiled. Just a little.
"You're... you're not as bad as you pretend to be, Mitsuha."
"Stop it." But the corner of her mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "Besides, you still have 3 laps left. Run."
"Ah! Slave driver!"
But he started running again.
BASKETBALL COURT - 10 MINUTES LATER
Kazuma collapsed onto the bench, finally done.
Every muscle screamed.
His legs felt like jelly.
But at least it was over.
Mitsuha sat beside him. Not too close. Not too far.
Just... there.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Just sat in silence, watching the sun dip lower toward the horizon.
Then—
"Kazuma."
"Hm?"
"What happened... at the graveyard."
He turned to look at her.
Her hands were in her lap. Perfectly still.
But her fingers... they were trembling. Just barely.
"I... I died."
Her voice was so quiet he almost didn't hear it.
"I remember. Everything."
Kazuma's breath caught.
"That pain..." She looked down at her hands. "When that spike went through me... it felt like... like something was burning inside me. Cold. Hot. Both at once."
She clenched her fists.
"And then... I couldn't breathe. I tried but... nothing. Just panic. And darkness."
Kazuma didn't know what to say.
What could he say?
"And then," she continued, "I woke up on the bench. And you were there. And everything was... normal. Like nothing happened."
She finally looked at him.
"But I remember, Kazuma. I really died."
He swallowed hard.
"Mitsuha... I..."
"This isn't normal." Her voice was steady now. Clinical. "Your power—resetting time—that happens to you. But me? Why can I remember?"
That was the question, wasn't it?
The one that had been eating at Kazuma since that moment on the bench.
Why does she remember?
Why is she different?
Unless...
"Do you think," Kazuma said slowly, carefully, "that you're... cursed too?"
Mitsuha didn't answer.
Just stared at her trembling hands.
The silence stretched.
Heavy. Uncomfortable.
Then—
Mitsuha stood abruptly.
Walked over to the basketball rack.
Picked up a ball.
"Mitsuha?" Kazuma stood. "What are you—"
She turned.
Aimed.
And threw.
WHAM!
The ball slammed into Kazuma's stomach.
He doubled over, gasping. "AAAAGH! Mitsuha! What... what was that!?"
She walked over. Picked up the ball again.
"I told you," she said calmly, "once my hand was free, I'd get revenge for you hitting my hand with that rock."
"That... that was revenge!?" He wheezed.
"Yes."
"Your... your sense of revenge is seriously twisted..."
She shrugged. "Got a problem with it?"
He glared at her.
Then—despite the pain—he started laughing.
Just a little.
"I swear... you're beyond my understanding."
"Good." She tossed the ball aside. "I don't like being boring."
THE CONVERSATION
Kazuma sat back down, still rubbing his stomach.
"Alright. Let's drop all this. We need to think—what's next?"
Mitsuha leaned against the fence. Arms crossed.
"Those creatures. The yokai connection. Everything."
"Yeah." Kazuma's voice grew serious. Harder. "There's one thing behind all of this. One entity. That's been after me. Since the beginning of this whole story."
He clenched his fist.
"The yokai."
The word hung in the air.
"I need to find it. And get revenge for everything."
Mitsuha raised an eyebrow. "And how will you find it?"
"The homeless boy." Kazuma stood. "He's the one who knows about this. He's the one who can lead us to it. If we can find him—"
"How will you find him?" Mitsuha cut him off. "He left. Out of Tokyo. You said so yourself."
Kazuma deflated slightly. "Yeah... that's..."
Mitsuha's eyes narrowed. Thinking.
"Wait."
She pushed off the fence. Paced.
"He's homeless. Meaning no money. Can't take a train. Can't take a bus."
She stopped. Turned to him.
"He'd have to walk. And if he's walking—he's still in Tokyo. Somewhere."
Kazuma's eyes widened.
"Mitsuha... you're a genius!"
"I know."
"Seriously! That's... that's exactly right! If he's on foot then—"
His voice grew more excited.
More determined.
"Then we can find him! Streets, parks, shelters—if we search systematically then—"
He grabbed her shoulders.
"Mitsuha! This could work!"
She looked at his hands on her shoulders.
Then at his face.
"Personal space."
"Ah! Sorry!" He let go.
But he was grinning now. Actually grinning.
For the first time in weeks—maybe months—there was hope in his eyes.
Real hope.
"Yokai." He clenched his fist. "I'm coming for you. Whoever you are..."
His voice dropped. Cold. Dangerous.
"I won't let you get away."
MEANWHILE - AKASAKA APARTMENT COMPLEX
THIRD FLOOR
Footsteps echoed in the stairwell.
Slow. Deliberate.
Tired.
A figure climbed the stairs. Worn shoes. Dirty clothes. A backpack slung over one shoulder.
He stopped at a door.
Apartment 3-B.
"Akasaka Apartment, third floor..." He checked a crumpled piece of paper. "Yeah. This is it."
He knocked.
Knock knock knock.
"Hello? Anyone home?"
Silence.
He knocked again.
"Kazuma? Kazuma Sato?"
Still nothing.
He sighed. Sat down on the floor outside the door.
"Fine. I'll wait here."
The camera panned up slowly.
Revealing his face.
Dirty. Exhausted. But unmistakable.
The homeless boy.
But something was different now.
His eyes.
Before, they'd been playful. Mischievous. Almost amused.
Now?
Now they were wide.
Haunted.
Terrified.
He pulled his knees to his chest. Wrapped his arms around them.
And whispered to himself—
"Please... come back soon, Kazuma."
"Otherwise..."
He swallowed hard.
"Otherwise we're both going to die."