Chapter 9
<47 days of hell>(12)
✧Sudden changes✧
Hoshino was escorted to the orphanage, led down its dimly lit halls by silent workers. His heart pounded, heavy and dulled by everything he'd been through, each step hollow and reluctant. Mark, the head of the orphanage, waited at the end of the corridor, a tall, imposing figure with an expression that conveyed not a shred of warmth.
Day 1
Mark gave him a stern look, examining him with disdain, and without a word led him to a small, windowless room. "This is your place now. Do as you're told, and we won't have any trouble," he barked. Hoshino's heart sank, but he didn't speak, his eyes hollow and unfocused. He was too weary to resist, too broken to care.
Day 2
In the early morning hours, Hoshino lay awake in the darkness, watching shadows dance on the ceiling. Pain and sorrow washed over him as he tried to recall his family's faces—their laughter, their touch—but each memory felt blurred, slipping further away with each attempt. When he was sure no one could hear, he finally allowed himself to cry, the tears coming silently, a lonely release in the dark.
Day 3
Mark ordered the children to clean the orphanage, a regular occurrence to keep them occupied. Hoshino worked mechanically, his mind elsewhere, moving through the motions with lifeless obedience. Other kids whispered to him, tried to strike up conversation, but he brushed them off, too buried in his own grief and numbness to respond. The emptiness in his eyes unsettled them, and they soon stopped trying.
Day 4
That evening, Mark summoned Hoshino to his office, reprimanding him for not "getting with the program." The man's harsh words felt distant, his scorn just another layer to the pain. Hoshino stood there, quiet, unresponsive, and this only infuriated Mark more. "You think you're special? That anyone cares about you?" Mark sneered. Hoshino stared at the floor, unmoved, unable to bring himself to care.
Day 5
Another sleepless night. Hoshino lay curled up on his thin mattress, tears staining his pillow. He was adrift in memories of his parents, the ache gnawing at him until he felt hollow, empty. He whispered to the silence, trying to convince himself they were just a room away, that he could find them if he just searched hard enough. But the silence held no comfort, only an unbearable weight.
Day 10
Mark's treatment became more severe. Hoshino was scolded at every turn, belittled for his quietness, for his refusal to engage with the others. Every word chipped away at him, but he couldn't bring himself to react. In Mark's eyes, he saw disdain, and somewhere deep inside, Hoshino wondered if this cycle of cruelty was his punishment for failing to save them. The thought settled into his bones, making him colder, emptier.
Day 15
Each morning, he was forced to perform the same routines, day in and day out. Other children talked, laughed, played—things he had once done so easily. Now, every smile, every laugh around him felt foreign, like something out of reach, things that belonged to a world he no longer recognized. Every reminder only tightened the loneliness that had rooted itself deep within his chest.
Day 18
As days bled into nights, his pain gave way to numbness. He felt like he was floating, not truly connected to anything around him. The staff would speak to him, others would try to befriend him, but Hoshino's answers were vague, his voice hollow. Any warmth or softness he might have had was stripped away by the repetition of grief, by the ceaseless, aching weight of the world he couldn't escape.
Day 19
By now, Hoshino had learned to isolate himself entirely. He kept to the farthest corners of the orphanage, speaking only when required. The other kids began to fear him, whispering about his hollow, empty gaze, about the shadowed sadness that never seemed to leave his face. Even the staff kept their distance, unsettled by his silence, by the lifelessness in his once-bright eyes.
At night, alone in the dark, he would break down, every memory of his family resurfacing, piercing through his numbness until he wept with the full, raw weight of his grief. It was in these quiet, lonely hours that Hoshino allowed himself to feel again, to let the tears flow, even if no one would ever hear him. He cried until he was too exhausted to think, until all that remained was a hollow ache, a reminder of everything he had lost, of the void that had consumed his soul.
And every morning, he would wake up, put on the same mask of numbness, and go through the motions, knowing that no one around him would ever understand.
Day 20
That morning, Hoshino kept to his routine in silence, his mind blank. Mark had noticed this transformation. It seemed to spark something in him, like he found satisfaction in breaking another child. As Hoshino passed him in the hallway, Mark caught his arm.
"You're looking more like the rest of them," Mark smirked, his grip firm, almost punishing. "Eyes hollow, no fight left. Just how we like it here."
Hoshino said nothing, his gaze drifting past Mark as though looking through him. This unflinching apathy only made Mark sneer more, but the older man merely released him with a shove, disgusted by the boy's lack of reaction.
Day 21
Hoshino's behavior had begun to worry even the other children. A boy named Kenji, who had arrived around the same time as Hoshino, approached him during breakfast. Kenji had often tried to befriend Hoshino, though he'd always been met with silence. Today, he was more persistent.
"Hoshino, are you okay? You haven't spoken to anyone in days," Kenji said softly, sitting beside him. He nudged a small carton of milk toward him, trying to bridge the chasm of silence.
Hoshino's gaze flickered toward the carton, but he didn't respond. He stared down at his food, picking at it, but his hands felt heavy, uncooperative. "I'm fine," he murmured, though his voice barely rose above a whisper.
Kenji looked away, unsure how to comfort him. "We're all in this together, you know? You don't have to...go through it alone."
But Hoshino had already shut down again, his eyes slipping into that faraway, hollow stare. Eventually, Kenji sighed and returned to his seat, discouraged but unwilling to give up entirely.
Day 22
The staff had begun taking note of Hoshino's withdrawn nature. The matron, a severe woman named Mrs. Ito, addressed him in the middle of the lunch line. "Hoshino," she called, drawing the attention of others. "You don't speak to the other children, and you refuse to participate. We can't have any recluses here. You need to socialize."
Hoshino looked up, the weight of her words barely registering. He nodded out of habit, knowing it was the response she expected. "Yes, ma'am."
Frustrated by his empty compliance, Mrs. Ito added, "It's for your own good. You need to make friends here. It's not healthy, the way you keep to yourself."
But Hoshino merely nodded again. He knew, in the pit of his heart, that friendships wouldn't change anything, wouldn't bring back the life he'd lost.
After lunch, Kenji tried approaching Hoshino again, despite Mrs. Ito's watchful eye. "Hoshino, maybe we could...hang out after chores?" he offered, his voice timid but hopeful.
"Maybe," Hoshino mumbled, though he didn't look up. Kenji accepted this small sign of acknowledgment, even though he knew it likely didn't mean much. He could sense the deep sadness in Hoshino's eyes, and for reasons he couldn't understand, he felt compelled to keep trying.
Day 23
That evening, Hoshino found himself in a rare state—he felt something, though it was a volatile mix of anger and sorrow. It had been boiling under the surface, waiting for a moment when he was alone. He paced his room, his hands trembling, his breath shaky.
"Why?" he whispered to the empty room, his voice raw. "Why bring me back if it was all going to be the same?"
He pressed his hands to his face, fingers digging into his temples as the memories of his parents flooded him. Their laughter, their voices, the warmth of his mother's hand on his shoulder—it all hit him like a punch to the gut, a pain too sharp to bear. Without warning, he let out a strangled cry, his voice breaking.
Hours passed, his outburst fading into exhausted sobs as he curled up on his bed, alone with his grief. He felt like a ghost, lingering in a world that had long forgotten him.
Day 24
The morning was overcast, the sky a dull gray that seemed to echo Hoshino's mood. He shuffled through the orphanage halls, his mind in a daze. His face was pale, and his eyes looked even emptier than before. Mark intercepted him in the hallway, looking down at him with that same condescending smirk.
"Something wrong, Hoshino? You look like a little lost soul," he mocked. "Didn't anyone tell you? You're here now. Whatever life you had before—well, it's gone."
Hoshino looked up, his gaze steady but lifeless. He felt the urge to respond, to say something, anything to defy the man's cruelty, but the words caught in his throat. What was the point? Mark would never understand. No one here would.
He walked away, leaving Mark standing in the hallway, his quiet defiance the only form of resistance he could manage.
Day 25
The night had been long and restless. Every hour dragged by, each one filled with that familiar, gnawing loneliness. Hoshino hadn't cried this time. His emotions felt dulled, as though he'd cried all the tears he had left to give. That morning, he sat alone in the corner of the cafeteria, mechanically picking at his breakfast.
Kenji, who had refused to give up, sat across from him, eyes searching Hoshino's face. "I know you're hurting, Hoshino," he said gently, his voice barely audible over the cafeteria's chatter. "I don't know what happened to you, but...if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here."
For a moment, Hoshino's eyes flickered with a hint of life. He met Kenji's gaze, and something almost like gratitude crossed his face. But as quickly as it had come, it faded, his gaze returning to his untouched plate.
"Thanks," he whispered, his voice so soft that Kenji had to strain to hear it. "But it won't help. Nothing will."
Kenji wanted to argue, to reach out and shake Hoshino free from whatever cage he'd built around himself. But the look in Hoshino's eyes stopped him, a quiet plea to let it be.
Hoshino stood up, his tray still full, and walked away, his footsteps heavy, leaving Kenji alone. The other kids watched him go, their curiosity laced with an undercurrent of sadness. They couldn't understand his silence, his haunted eyes, the way he seemed to carry a weight none of them could see.
Later That Night
After lights-out, Hoshino lay in bed, staring into the darkness, his chest tight with memories. He closed his eyes, trying to escape into sleep, but his mind wouldn't quiet. Every time he drifted close to sleep, he saw their faces—his mother, his father, his sister—smiling, alive. And each time, he was jolted awake, the ache in his chest sharper than ever.
He wished he could forget, that he could let go of the memories that haunted him. But he knew that was impossible. No reset, no amount of time, would ever erase the pain of losing them. It was the one constant in his life, the one thing the universe never seemed to take from him.
As he lay there, alone in the dark, he whispered the words he'd never been able to say to them, the words he wished he'd had the chance to speak before they'd left. "I miss you," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry I couldn't stop it... I'm sorry I couldn't save you."
The words hung in the air, swallowed by the silence, by the vast emptiness that had become his life. Hoshino closed his eyes, a single tear slipping down his cheek, carrying with it the weight of his unending sorrow.
And as the night wore on, he lay there, waiting for sleep to take him, for a brief moment of escape from the loneliness that filled his every waking moment. He drifted into a restless slumber, haunted by memories that felt both close and unbearably distant, memories of a life he would never truly have again.
In the dim, empty quiet of the orphanage, Hoshino wandered the hallways, his expression blank. Every corner, every passing shadow felt like it mocked him with the illusion of escape, a freedom he knew he'd never find here. Days bled together in a numbing rhythm of emptiness, but now he felt something sharper, a pain that had turned inward, curling itself around his heart like a thorny vine.
Day 26
One night, as he lay in bed, that familiar, hollow ache twisted in him again, but this time, it had changed. He felt it so deeply, an overwhelming urge to make the pain real, to see it outside himself in a way he could comprehend, something tangible. His fingers instinctively reached into his pocket, brushing against the small compass he'd been carrying since his arrival—a seemingly insignificant object but one that had been there through every reset, every cycle.
Without thinking, he pulled it out, running his thumb over the edge, feeling the cool, sharp metal pressing into his skin. The thought was soft at first, almost distant, like a whisper hidden beneath layers of sorrow. What if I could feel it? What if I could take control of this pain?
His fingers trembled as he pressed the edge of the compass against his wrist, hesitating, his breath shallow as he hovered there, teetering on the brink. And then, with a sharp breath, he made a small cut, just deep enough to draw blood. The sensation was jarring, a physical manifestation of the pain he'd been carrying for so long. It was grounding, almost…relieving.
The red line beaded up along his wrist, and he watched it with a strange calm, his mind numb as the physical pain replaced the ache inside. He felt present, rooted in reality in a way he hadn't felt in days, weeks even.
Day 27
In the mornings, he would sit in his corner of the cafeteria, the sleeves of his sweater tugged down over his wrists, hiding the thin, angry red lines he'd drawn across his skin. The bruises and scratches were beginning to mark him, like a map of his own grief etched onto his body, a way to remember each endless day he'd survived.
Kenji(けんじ), always watching from across the room, seemed to notice the change in Hoshino's posture, the way he kept his arms close to his body. During a quiet moment, he approached him once again.
"Hoshino…" Kenji's voice was gentle, almost pleading. "You don't…look okay. If something's wrong, you can talk to me."
Hoshino looked up, his face pale, his eyes empty. For a brief second, he considered confiding in Kenji, but the thought slipped away as quickly as it had come. He gave a barely perceptible shake of his head and turned back to his food, the brief flicker of emotion disappearing as he retreated back into his silence.
Kenji lingered for a moment, his own frustration and concern visible on his face, before finally giving up and returning to his seat. Hoshino knew that his friend was only trying to help, but he couldn't find the words to explain the weight he carried, the pain that ran too deep to share.
Day 28
Each night, alone in the darkness, Hoshino continued his ritual. The compass was always in his pocket, and he would trace it across his skin, adding new marks to the growing collection that decorated his arms. The cuts were shallow, careful, each one precise, like he was carving a message into his own flesh.
He would sit on the floor, his knees drawn up to his chest, watching as the thin lines of blood blossomed and dried, his fingers brushing over the marks as if they were a language only he could understand. It was a reminder that he was still here, that he was still real, even if the world around him felt like a dream he couldn't wake from.
One evening, as he lay on his bed staring at the ceiling, he pressed his hand against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart, the reminder that he was alive, that he was still breathing. But each beat felt like an echo, a hollow sound that reminded him of all he'd lost, all he could never regain.
Day 29
Mark had started to notice the changes in Hoshino, the way he kept to himself, the way he avoided the other children. One morning, as Hoshino passed him in the hallway, Mark reached out, gripping his arm with that familiar sneer.
"You look like a ghost, Hoshino," he said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "What's wrong? Can't handle a little loneliness?"
Hoshino pulled his arm away, wincing as Mark's grip pressed against a fresh cut hidden beneath his sleeve. He gave no response, his gaze slipping away as he walked past the man, ignoring the taunts that followed him down the hall. Mark's words felt like echoes, barely reaching him, muffled by the numbness that had wrapped around his mind like a shroud.
Day 30
That evening, the weight of everything finally became too much. He sat alone in his room, his hands shaking as he gripped the compass, pressing the edge into his skin with a force that was almost desperate, as if he could carve away the pain that filled him.
But as he drew the blade across his skin, he suddenly felt a flicker, a presence, something foreign yet oddly familiar. The compass glowed faintly, an unnatural light that filled the room, illuminating his cuts, his bruised skin, the marks he'd tried so hard to keep hidden.
A system window appeared in front of him, its cold blue light casting an eerie glow over the room. The words were clear, sharp, and impossible to ignore:
[Quest: Destroy The Curse File]
The window lingered, its message simple yet ominous, the finality of it settling over him like a shroud. It was a command, an ultimatum from the system, a reminder of the weight he carried, the cycle he was bound to.
In that moment, Hoshino felt a surge of clarity, a strange calm settling over him as he stared at the words. The pain in his body faded to a dull throb, and he lowered the compass, his hands still trembling. The quest was there, waiting for him, a reminder that his story was far from over, that he was still bound to a purpose he couldn't escape.
He took a shaky breath, his gaze fixed on the window.
Day 31
Hoshino stared at the file in his hands, fingers brushing over the rough paper, eyes tracing symbols that twisted and changed, barely legible. Each line on the page seemed to pulsate with an otherworldly power, words he couldn't understand, shapes that seemed alive. His heart pounded with a strange urgency, an overwhelming need to rid himself of this cursed document. It was somehow both real and surreal, a relic of his loops, of every suffering he'd endured here.
But today, he wouldn't let it go so easily. He clenched it tightly, already mapping out his plan. Mark's office had been unlocked earlier, so it had been easy to swipe the file when no one was around, slipping it into his coat and hurrying back to his room.
He first tried tearing it apart, watching his own hands tremble as he attempted to shred it down the center. Yet each time he ripped it, the halves seemed to mend themselves, the paper almost laughing at his frustration. He stopped, catching his breath, his head filling with a dull hum of frustration. This file wanted to stay intact, but he wasn't going to give up yet.
Day 32
With the file in his possession, Hoshino tried setting it on fire. He took it to the small yard outside, hidden by the shadows of dusk, and lit a match. The flames licked hungrily at the corners, curling and blackening the edges, but each time they reached the symbols and text, they sputtered out, as if something was snuffing the fire itself. He could feel a faint pulse from the file, mocking him, refusing to burn.
Frustration building, he dropped it, stomping on it in fury, but when he picked it up, the paper was whole again, unmarred by his rage. He felt his heart drop, a numb hopelessness settling in as he wondered how much longer he'd be trapped with this cursed thing.
Day 33
Determined not to give up, Hoshino's attempts became stranger, even reckless. He filled a bucket with water, drowning the file as he held it down, submerging it fully, convinced that if he couldn't burn it, he could at least drown it. For hours, he watched the paper bob and settle in the water, but when he pulled it out, it was dry, as if it hadn't been submerged at all.
Desperation drove him to take more drastic measures. By late afternoon, he'd barricaded himself in the kitchen, stuffing the file in the oven at high heat, hoping it would disintegrate in the intense heat. Instead, the file remained untouched, even as smoke filled the kitchen, causing a minor fire alarm and forcing him to reset the kitchen back to its original state.
Day 34
The continuous failures only sharpened his resolve. If burning and water didn't work, he would try something stronger. Hoshino snuck into the maintenance room, grabbing every chemical he could find. Pouring bleach, ammonia, and even a bit of gasoline into a metal basin, he dunked the file in the mixture, watching with twisted satisfaction as the liquid hissed and bubbled. But minutes later, he pulled it out only to find the paper clean, its ink vibrant, untouched by even the harshest chemicals.
He threw it down in frustration, feeling the system's oppressive weight as it mocked his every attempt to destroy this accursed relic. Even worse, every effort seemed to pull him deeper into despair. How could this piece of paper withstand everything?
Day 35
Hoshino's thoughts had drifted into madness. His frustration, despair, and desperation culminated in a final, bizarre plan. After realizing the file could resist fire, water, and chemicals, he wondered if perhaps he could "destroy" it by consuming it.
Alone in his room, his mind teetering on the edge, Hoshino tore off pieces of the file and forced himself to chew and swallow them, gagging as the paper scraped his throat. Each bite felt like swallowing poison, the ink leaving a bitter, metallic taste on his tongue, yet he persisted, determined to absorb and nullify whatever curse it carried. After hours of painstaking attempts, he lay on his bed, nauseous and feverish.
But as the night wore on, he realized it was pointless. The curse wouldn't allow it. He lay there, defeated, the undigested pieces burning in his stomach like coals. His despair spiraled, and he began to sob, the sound hollow in the darkness. It felt like the file was consuming him instead.
The endless loops and his frantic attempts had only brought him to his breaking point. As he lay in bed, shattered and exhausted, he couldn't escape the oppressive weight of the file, as if it were laughing at his every failure. No matter what he did, the symbols and words persisted, incomprehensible yet unbreakable.
Understood. I can continue the story from where it left off with original content that follows your directions. Here's how I'll approach the sequence from Days 36 to 39, showing Hoshino's descent as he attempts to manipulate and eliminate those around him.
Day 36
Hoshino awoke in the dim light, feeling a sick familiarity settle over him. Each loop, each failure left him hollowed out further, but today, something else stirred inside him. There was a jagged resolve, a darkness that surged and urged him forward. The children were part of this—this endless loop, this cursed file. Somehow, he thought, maybe by ending them, he'd bring an end to everything.
He started simply, calling a few children to him with a soft smile. "I need a favor," he whispered, voice warm yet distant, drawing them in as if he genuinely needed help. He guided them away from the others, luring them toward the basement where the light barely reached. His steps were slow, methodical, and once he'd led them far enough into the darkness, he turned with sudden, brutal efficiency.
They didn't even scream, barely understood what was happening before it was over. Hoshino felt nothing but a cold emptiness, the same emptiness that had filled him each loop. Their absence barely registered, just a fleeting thought that maybe, this time, it would work.
Day 37
He looped back, the familiar, dreadful return. The children he'd taken were gone—vanished as if they'd never existed. But somehow, he knew that they had, knew that their presence had once been real. The others moved through their routines, oblivious, unaware of the missing, and he felt a dark satisfaction knowing that only he could see their absence.
Today, he tried a different approach, taking aside those who were close friends. He wove tales, speaking of hidden treasure outside the orphanage gates. His voice dropped low, conspiratorial, drawing in the children as they looked to him with wide, innocent eyes. He led them to the edge of the woods, pointing, murmuring that only the bravest could find it. They followed him eagerly, stepping into the shadows before he struck again, silent, relentless. Their bodies fell, swallowed by the trees, and he didn't look back.
Day 38
Each loop chipped away at him, leaving him feeling fragmented, barely human. But he was committed now; the path before him was one he had carved himself. He could not return, could not let any attachment sway him.
He turned his attention to the older children, ones who wouldn't be as easily tricked. Hoshino studied them carefully, watching their habits, their relationships, seeking the cracks he could exploit. He approached a boy named Riku, friendly, gentle—too trusting. Hoshino spoke to him softly, feigning vulnerability, murmuring about secrets he'd uncovered, something dangerous. "Help me," he whispered, his voice laced with urgency, "I can't do this alone." Riku followed him into the shadows without hesitation, and there, in the silence, Hoshino ended it quickly.
Day 39
The orphanage had grown quieter, emptier, a hushed atmosphere that only Hoshino noticed. The other children didn't seem to grasp that there were fewer of them now, as if the system itself had erased any memory of those he'd taken.
Hoshino felt detached from reality, a strange exhilaration mingling with the deadened ache inside him. His mind was slipping, but it didn't matter. There were only ten children left, their presence faint, ghostly as if they, too, were already halfway gone.
He would finish what he'd started. Hoshino was a ghost among them, slipping in and out, saying whatever was needed to lead them to their fate.
Day 40
Hoshino stared out the window, his fingers drumming nervously against the sill. The loops had become unbearable. The endless repetition of guilt and regret had twisted him into something unrecognizable. Every day, he repeated the same lies, made the same decisions, and watched as things spiraled into chaos. Each cycle erased the traces of his mistakes, but it also deepened his obsession with breaking free.
His thoughts were interrupted by Minato's quiet footsteps. The young boy had grown suspicious. Too suspicious. Hoshino's attempts to manipulate him, to feed him half-truths, were starting to unravel. Minato(みなと) had been watching him closely, noticing the cracks in his behavior.
Hoshino knew it was time. He needed to control Minato before the boy figured him out.
"You've been quiet lately," Hoshino said, his voice forced casual. He leaned against the doorframe as Minato walked past him. "What's going on?"
Minato didn't look up but answered with a sharpness Hoshino wasn't used to. "Nothing. Just thinking."
"Thinking about what?" Hoshino's voice took on a slightly more urgent edge, but Minato simply shook his head.
"Doesn't concern you."
That answer stung, but Hoshino pushed the irritation away. "It does concern me," he said softly, his voice dripping with feigned concern. "You've been acting strange. Something's off."
Minato stopped walking, turning to face him. His gaze was piercing, eyes narrowing as if trying to see through the mask Hoshino had carefully crafted. "Why are you so obsessed with me, Hoshino?"
The question was like a slap. Hoshino recoiled inwardly but kept his face neutral. "I'm not obsessed," he said quickly. "I'm just worried about you. We've been through a lot, you know?"
Minato didn't respond immediately, just studied him, and Hoshino felt that familiar unease creeping in. It was the same look Minato had given him over the past few days, as if he knew something Hoshino wasn't ready to confront. But Hoshino couldn't back down now.
"Let's just stick together. There's a lot at stake here," Hoshino urged, his voice taking on a more desperate tone. He leaned forward slightly, trying to convey an air of urgency. "If we're going to get out of this, we need to trust each other. Trust me."
Minato didn't respond right away, but Hoshino could see the tension in his body, his shoulders rigid, his jaw clenched. Hoshino had done everything he could to create this illusion of unity, but Minato's skepticism was growing. If he didn't act soon, he might lose him forever.
Day 41
That night, Hoshino's heart pounded with anticipation. He had planted the idea in Minato's head—a file, a cursed file hidden in Mark's office. He'd woven a story so compelling, so full of false hope and fear, that Minato couldn't resist the temptation to go along with it. And tonight would be the night. Hoshino could feel it in the pit of his stomach.
As they snuck through the dark corridors of the orphanage, Hoshino's mind raced with possibilities. This was it. The final chance. Once they got the file, he would finally be able to destroy it, to break the curse once and for all. There was no turning back now.
They reached Mark's office quietly, and Hoshino worked quickly, unlocking the door with a practiced hand. Minato stood behind him, watching the shadows with careful eyes, but Hoshino had no time for doubt. He pushed the door open, revealing the dim, cluttered room inside. His pulse quickened as he stepped in, his gaze scanning the room for the drawer where Mark kept the file.
"There it is," Hoshino whispered, pointing to the filing cabinet. Minato moved toward it, and Hoshino felt a rush of excitement.
As Minato pulled open the drawer, the file was there, just as Hoshino had anticipated. But before Minato could reach for it, Hoshino's heart skipped a beat. The boy hesitated, his eyes flickering over the strange, cursed symbols on the file.
"Is this really worth it?" Minato asked, his voice cold. "You've been telling me all these things about this file, but… I'm not so sure anymore. Something's off."
Hoshino felt his stomach tighten. He had to move quickly. "You know what will happen if we don't take it," he said, his voice tinged with urgency. "You've seen the loops. You've seen how things keep repeating. This is our chance to finally get out."
Minato's eyes hardened as he stared at Hoshino, his face betraying nothing. "I'm not sure I trust you anymore."
The words struck Hoshino like a physical blow, and for a moment, he saw red. He had pushed too far, gone too deep, and now Minato was pulling away. His own desperation flared up inside him.
"This is the only way!" Hoshino shouted, grabbing Minato's wrist. The compass in his pocket felt like an extension of his own frantic will, ready to be used. He could see the hesitation in Minato's eyes—the fear, the doubt—but he couldn't let it stop him. He would not fail.
Minato wrenched his arm away, stepping back with a sudden force. "Stop! I won't be a part of this madness, Hoshino. You're out of your mind. This isn't the way."
Day 42
Hoshino's anger simmered beneath the surface as he stalked the halls, pacing back and forth. He couldn't let Minato get away. He couldn't afford to fail now, not when everything was so close. But the boy's words echoed in his head, sharp and cutting. *Out of your mind. Madness.* It stung, but Hoshino refused to admit the truth. He wasn't crazy. He just needed to break free.
He could hear footsteps behind him, soft and deliberate. He spun around to find Minato standing there again, his expression unreadable.
"I should've listened to you," Minato said quietly, the edge of his earlier distrust gone. "Maybe we can fix things together."
Hoshino's breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest. He had him. He had Minato back on his side. "You're right," Hoshino said, his voice soft, almost soothing. "We can do this. We'll break free, together."
Minato stepped forward, his face serious. "We'll try," he said, "But you need to promise me something. No more lies. No more manipulation."
Hoshino nodded quickly, eager to regain Minato's trust. "I promise," he said, and for a fleeting moment, he actually believed it. But deep inside, a voice whispered to him, telling him that nothing would ever change. The cycle would never stop. Not unless he destroyed that file.
But for now, Minato was with him. And that was all that mattered.
Day 43
The morning light filtered weakly through the cracked blinds, casting a pale glow on the room. Hoshino sat quietly at the corner of the room, watching as Minato slowly got dressed. His heart raced with a twisted sense of control, the kind of power that made his veins burn with anticipation. The delicate web he'd been spinning around Minato was nearly complete, each thread tightened just enough to create a sense of helplessness without ever breaking the surface.
Minato didn't look at him, but Hoshino could feel the tension in the room. The boy had begun to pull away, but Hoshino knew how to reel him back in. It was just a matter of knowing what to say, how to nudge the fragile thread of Minato's thoughts in the right direction.
"You look tired," Hoshino said, his voice casual, but with an edge of concern. "You've been up late, haven't you?"
Minato didn't answer immediately, just pulled on his jacket, avoiding Hoshino's eyes. The silence between them felt thick, heavy, but Hoshino was patient. He knew this was just a passing phase. All he needed was to show Minato that he understood him, that he wasn't alone in his pain. He was good at this—making people feel understood, even when he barely understood himself.
"I'm fine," Minato muttered, his tone flat.
"Are you really?" Hoshino pressed, walking over to him. He placed a hand gently on Minato's shoulder, letting it linger just long enough to send the right message. "You don't have to pretend with me. I've been there too, you know? I've felt that same emptiness." His voice dropped to a whisper, like a secret. "But you don't have to feel it anymore. Not if you don't want to."
Minato looked up then, his eyes tired, confused, but there was something in them—a flicker of doubt, a seed of curiosity. He wasn't sure what to make of Hoshino's words, but there was a vulnerability in his gaze that Hoshino seized upon like a predator scenting weakness.
"You've felt it, too?" Minato asked, his voice quieter now, tinged with something darker, more desperate.
Hoshino nodded slowly, a smile creeping onto his lips, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Of course. I know what it's like to feel like there's no way out, like no one understands. But we're different, you and I. We don't have to keep living like this. We don't have to keep suffering."
Minato stared at him for a long moment, and Hoshino felt his grip tighten subtly, just enough to signal that Minato was on the edge. One more push, and he would fall. Hoshino could already see it, taste it—the end of the loop, the final escape from this endless torment.
Later that night, as the snow fell heavily outside, Hoshino found Minato once more. This time, it was late enough that the other children were either asleep or too distracted to notice. He met Minato in the hallway, standing at the back door, a coat draped over his shoulder.
"It's cold outside," Hoshino said, stepping closer. He reached out and pulled Minato's coat around his shoulders, making sure it fit tightly. "But that's not a bad thing, is it? The cold has a way of making everything feel… clearer. You can think better in the silence, don't you think?"
Minato didn't respond. He just stood there, looking out the door at the snow-covered yard, his breath fogging up the window. Hoshino could tell Minato was on the verge of something. The doubt was there, but it was fragile. The snow falling in thick, soft layers outside the window seemed to make the world feel distant, unreachable, like something that didn't belong to them.
"Sometimes," Hoshino continued, his voice lower now, more intimate, "you have to step away from everything. You have to go somewhere far enough that no one can hurt you anymore. Somewhere you can just… breathe. And forget."
Minato turned toward him, his eyes glassy, hollow, like someone who had already checked out of the world around them. "Forget what?"
Hoshino smiled again, but this time, it was sadder. More knowing. "Forget the pain. Forget the loneliness. Forget all of it. You deserve that. You deserve peace."
Minato swallowed hard, his hand trembling at his side. He was wavering now, teetering on the edge of something he couldn't even name. Hoshino could see it in the boy's expression—he was beginning to believe it. The doubt was fading, replaced by something deeper. The same emptiness Hoshino had long since embraced.
"I can't do this anymore, Hoshino," Minato whispered. "I don't want to feel like this. But what else is there? What do we do?"
Hoshino stepped forward, guiding him gently toward the back door, where the snow continued to fall in heavy, muffled layers. "We leave," he said simply. "We go somewhere no one can follow. Somewhere we can finally be free. Just you and me."
Minato's eyes searched his face for something, some last piece of doubt, but there was nothing there. Hoshino was calm, reassuring. Minato let out a shaky breath, nodding slowly.
They stepped into the night, the snow crunching underfoot as they made their way to the edge of the forest behind the orphanage. The world around them felt quieter out here, as though the snow had muted everything else. The trees stood like silent sentinels, watching them, waiting.
"I've been here before," Hoshino said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. "It's peaceful, isn't it? There's nothing here but silence. No one can hurt you anymore, Minato. You can finally be free."
Minato looked around, his expression distant now. His gaze had grown colder, more detached. The weight of what Hoshino had said seemed to sink in deeper with each passing moment. The weight of the world that had crushed him for so long, the weight that Hoshino had only amplified, was finally starting to slip away.
"Maybe you're right," Minato said, almost to himself. "Maybe there is no way out. Maybe the only way to stop the pain is to just… let it go."
Hoshino nodded, stepping back just slightly, watching as Minato's eyes filled with resignation. It was working. Minato was almost there.
"Sometimes," Hoshino continued, "you have to let go of everything. You have to make the decision to step out of the darkness, to let the light take you. You'll be free, Minato. I promise."
With a final, trembling breath, Minato turned to Hoshino, his lips parting as if to speak, but the words never came. Instead, his hands reached up, fingers trembling, and pulled a thin rope from his jacket pocket. It was a final act of surrender.
And Hoshino just stood there, watching, until Minato's form slumped forward in a quiet, broken heap. The silence swallowed them both.
Hoshino felt nothing but a dull ache as he stared at Minato's lifeless body. There was no sense of victory. No triumph in the manipulation that had led to this moment. He had won, but in doing so, he had lost. Another life taken, another soul lost to the cold emptiness of the loop.
Day 44
The day felt oddly normal. The same pale light filtered through the orphanage windows, casting long, stretched shadows on the floor. The usual sounds of children in the hallways echoed faintly in the background, but Hoshino moved like a ghost, disconnected, drifting from one room to the next, speaking to the others with a hollow, rehearsed tone.
He spoke with Minato's replacement, a quiet, withdrawn boy named Kaito. Hoshino's words were casual, almost trivial, but there was something unsettling about the emptiness in his eyes. He made small talk, discussing mundane things, as if the twisted manipulation he'd carried out the night before had never happened. Kaito didn't seem to notice, or perhaps, he simply didn't care. Either way, it didn't matter. They all looked the same to him now.
Hoshino spent the afternoon walking around the orphanage, his feet moving mechanically, his mind lost in the fog of his thoughts. He passed by the kitchen, where the same workers still bustled about, cooking meals, laughing amongst themselves. But Hoshino couldn't hear them. The noise faded, muffled by the constant hum of his inner turmoil.
He caught sight of a few of the younger children, laughing and playing in the hallway. For a moment, something stirred within him—a brief flicker of something long gone—before it vanished, swallowed up by the ever-present void in his chest.
He smiled to himself, though it was a hollow gesture. "It's all just a game, isn't it?" he whispered softly, to no one in particular.
The words echoed in the silence of his mind. He had said them out loud, but he wasn't sure if anyone was even listening. He couldn't shake the feeling that everything was slipping further from his grasp, that the lines between reality and illusion were becoming more blurred with each passing moment.
He passed the other children, his eyes scanning their faces, noting their expressions. But none of it mattered. The emptiness was still there. The same dark, endless pit that had consumed him before, and that he had learned to accept.
It was all just a game. That's what it felt like now. A game that he couldn't stop playing, no matter how hard he tried. A game that would go on forever, looping and looping until there was nothing left but the echoes of the past.
As the night fell, Hoshino sat alone in his room, the silence pressing down on him like a weight. He stared at the walls, feeling their cold, indifferent presence. He had tried everything. Everything to end this madness. But it never worked. No matter what he did, he was always brought back to the beginning, to this endless cycle that twisted and broke him more with each reset.
And so he sat there, his mind a maze of contradictions, unable to find a way out.
Then, almost as if on cue, he smiled—slightly, almost imperceptibly—and whispered, "It's just a game, right?"
As Hoshino spoke those words, a strange, hollow smile crept across his face. He picked up the cursed paper file, its surface still covered in incomprehensible symbols and distorted, jagged writing. Without hesitation, he brought it to his lips and tore off a piece. The paper was strange, dry and almost impossibly thin, crumbling between his fingers.
He chewed it slowly.
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