The next morning, Tokyo looked completely normal. People were busy with their lives—trains on time, coffee hot, the city indifferent. But for Akari, nothing was normal. She stood in the college washroom, staring at her lips in the mirror. The black line was no longer just a mark—it felt like it had sunk into her skin. Trying to hide it with makeup was useless. The black color was slowly spreading, almost alive. “This is just my imagination,” she told herself. But there was no confidence in her voice. As soon as she entered the classroom, her eyes went to Ren.