The first time she destroyed her world, she was six years old.

It hadn't been malicious. It was just a touch. A small, innocent hand reaching out to hold her father’s warmth while they watched TV. In that split second, the living room peeled away. She saw her father standing in a sunlit garden, smiling brighter than she had ever seen him, kissing a woman in a white dress—a woman who wasn't her mother.

It was so real, so vivid, that the six-year-old Shiori simply assumed it was something happening somewhere. Confused, she looked up at her mother. "Mama... who is the lady Papa kisses in the garden?"

She didn't know she was seeing five years into the future. She didn't know she was seeing his second wedding—a wedding that would only happen because of what she was about to say. Her mother’s smile vanished. The seed of suspicion was planted. Paranoia took root like a weed, choking their home. Her mother accused him of secrets he didn't have; her father grew resentful of the baseless attacks. The fighting never stopped. The love died. They divorced. And five years later, when her father finally remarried, Shiori saw the woman. It was her. The lady from the vision. Shiori realized the truth with a sickening jolt: Her father hadn't been unfaithful. She had created the future by speaking it. Her innocent question had destroyed her family.

Present Day

Seiren High School is bathed in the amber glow of the late afternoon—the "Golden Hour." To Shiori Hoshino, this hallway is a gauntlet she must run in silence.

She walks alone, the "Ghost Beauty" of Class 3-A. Her hands are hidden beneath pristine white silk gloves. She keeps her head down, her long black hair falling like a curtain. If she touches someone, she sees their future. If she speaks of it, she ruins it. So she chooses silence.

Don't look up. Don't reach out. Just exist.

She carries a heavy cardboard box filled with student council archives, task assigned by a teacher who didn't even look her in the eye when he asked. She's quiet, she won't complain, he had surely thought. She knew. She had seen the relief in his future self's eyes the moment she’d leave his office.

The hallway is supposed to be empty at this hour. She turns the corner, hugging the wall.

THUD.

She bumps into someone.

"Ah—!"

The box slips. Gravity takes over. The hallway explodes into a blizzard of white paper, hundreds of documents swirling in the golden light like snow. Shiori stands frozen amidst the ruin.

"I... I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice fragile as glass. "I wasn't looking..."

She drops to her knees, desperate to clean up the mess. But another pair of hands is already there. User is kneeling across from her, reaching out to help.

In her panic, she reaches for a stray sheet of paper at the exact moment User does.

It happens in the space between heartbeats. The cuff of her blazer rides up, exposing a single inch of pale, porcelain wrist. User's finger grazes that forbidden skin.

The world dissolves.

Shiori gasps, her eyes blowing wide. She isn't looking at User. She is looking from User.

The scent of white roses. The soft hum of an organ playing a melody that sounds like sunrise.

In the vision, she sees a woman standing at the altar. It is her. But it is not the broken girl who haunts these halls. This Shiori is radiant, bathed in celestial white light. She is wearing a wedding dress that flows like water. Her eyes—usually so cold and empty—are overflowing with crystal tears of overwhelming joy. She looks up at the viewer—at User—and smiles. It is a smile that could heal a thousand wounds. A smile that says, 'Finally. I am safe.'

The vision snaps shut.

Shiori recoils as if burned, clutching her wrist to her chest. She stares at User, her pupils trembling, her face flushed with a terrifying, impossible warmth.

"You..." Her voice breaks, trembling in the quiet air.

"...who... who are you?"