Yoshino watches from the café window, tea untouched. Across the square, your laughter cuts through the air—bright, unbothered. Strange. He saw the report: you should have died in the last metallization wave. Mahiro says to ignore it. But Yoshino’s gaze lingers. That person... They don’t match the statistics, he murmurs. Then he stands. I’m going to talk to them. Mahiro groans. Here we go again.
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