The world ended during a school trip.

  Years later, Raiden would still remember that fact first—not the monsters, not the screaming, not the blood.

  Just the unfair stupidity of it.

  The bus groaned along a mountain road, swaying every time the tires drifted too close to the edge. Outside, the forest rolled on forever beneath a clean afternoon sky, dark green and endless.

  Inside, it was chaos.

  Yuji was throwing snacks across the aisle like he was training for a baseball championship. Trisha had music blasting from her phone despite three separate warnings from the caretaker. Pavel was trying to arm-wrestle anyone reckless enough to embarrass themselves in public, and Lina had already started calling Raiden and Tenma “an old married couple” for their third argument in under an hour.

  Raiden slouched low in his seat, his bandaged right arm folded across his chest.

  “This trip is torture.”

  Beside him, Tsukito kept his chin propped on one hand as he stared out the window.

  “You said that twenty minutes ago.”

  “Because it’s still true.”

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  In the seat ahead of them, Tenma adjusted his glasses and turned around just enough to deliver the kind of look that only he could make feel insulting.

  “The probability of you surviving boredom appears lower than the probability of the bus crashing.”

  Raiden pointed at him.

  “There. That. That’s exactly why I call you Cyborg.”

  Tenma touched the crescent necklace at his throat, a habit he always had when thinking—or when pretending not to be annoyed.

  “I’ve asked you repeatedly not to call me that.”

  Tsukito smiled.

  “And he’s ignored you repeatedly.”

  Raiden leaned back smugly.

  “Tradition.”

  Across the aisle, Mika had been watching the exchange in silence. After a moment, she leaned over.

  “You three ever stop talking?”

  Raiden looked at her.

  “Only when Tenma says something so weird it kills the mood.”

  Mika’s gaze shifted to Tenma.

  “You’re weirdly calm, you know that?”

  Tenma pushed his glasses up slightly.

  “Panic rarely improves survival probability.”

  Raiden slapped the seat in front of him.

  “See? Cyborg.”

  Farther back, Haru looked up from the little wooden shape he was carving with a pocket knife. He didn’t speak often, but when he did, his words usually landed harder than anyone expected.

  “Maybe if the world ends,” Haru said quietly, “he’ll calculate it.”

  The bus burst into laughter.

  Even Tsukito laughed.

  For a moment, everything felt ordinary.

  Just kids on a bus.

  Just friends arguing over nothing.

  Just one more forgettable day.

  Near the front, the caretaker reminded them that the trip had been paid for by a private donor. Most of the students had already turned that detail into a joke, but Tsukito frowned slightly.

  “Why would a stranger pay for this?”

  Tenma answered before anyone else could.

  “Public image. Charity. Tax strategy. Guilt.”

  Raiden snorted.

  “Cyborg really thinks everyone’s evil.”

  “I think people always want something.”

  Tsukito looked back out the window.

  Far above the trees, the sky seemed… wrong.

  Only for a moment.

  As though another layer of stars lay faintly behind the daylight, like a reflection trying to surface through glass.

  He blinked.

  It was gone.

  “Something isn’t right,” he murmured.

  Raiden turned toward him.

  “What?”

  Tsukito shook his head.

  “Nothing.”

  The bus rolled onward.

  The road curved around the mountain.

  Somewhere in the back, Trisha turned the music louder.

  And then the sky cracked.