Chapter 11: Roche Limit
Chapter 11: Roche Limit
> Chapter 12: GAME OVERMoribe Sabaki was just an ordinary high school student.
Sure, most protagonists introduced that way turn out to be anything but ordinary—but as far as Sabaki was concerned, there was nothing particularly noteworthy about him.
If there was anything worth mentioning, it wasn’t about him.
It was about her—the girl who stood beside him.
"............"
That should have been the case.
But maybe it wasn’t.
In the end, those so-called "noteworthy details"—the things that made someone seem special—were just footnotes. Trivial. Insignificant.
A person isn’t defined by some exceptional trait. Not by some extraordinary skill.
"Noteworthy details"—like the ability to convert damage into attack power, superhuman reflexes, an eerily mature childhood, knowing something no one else does—none of it really mattered in the grand scheme of things.
Because what really made her who she was—
A sixteen-year-old girl.
Skilled but inefficient.
A loner who hated people but still got lonely.
Stubborn and inflexible, yet easily hurt.
Maybe that was all there was to her.
Maybe everything else—every extraordinary thing Sabaki had assumed about her—was just his own preconceptions. His own delusions.
"............"
She must have been exhausted.
Not Sabaki—Kizami.
She had always been exhausted. From the moment they reunited in high school, she had been a mess.
Cornered. For years. Maybe even since the day they parted ways in elementary school.
So to say her heart was weak—to say she was just a normal girl who couldn’t do anything, no matter how hard she tried—
That wasn’t right.
Even if it was true.
This broken version of her couldn’t be the real her.
And yet, Sabaki had drawn a line between them—never stepping deeper into her world.
…Because he never understood her.
"............"
Human hearts rarely break in stages.
They’re like overinflated balloons. Like cracked glass.
The moment they pass their limit—they shatter all at once.
The trigger doesn’t matter.
A minor failure. A major change.
Hormonal imbalance. The resurgence of trauma.
If the conditions align, a person can break in an instant.
And once they do—they’re gone. In a way that defies all that came before.
Sabaki stirred the fried rice in the pan.
He cooked for himself, but he wasn’t good at it.
He didn’t care about nutrition, just rotated through whatever simple recipes required the least effort.
"............"
Kizami ate the fried rice.
It didn’t taste like much, but she devoured it like it was the best thing she’d ever had.
Apparently, she hadn’t eaten anything since the lunch they shared three days ago.
"Rice."
"Huh?"
"On your face."
Sabaki pointed at his own cheek.
Kizami blinked, confused—then giggled sheepishly, plucking the stray grain of rice off her face and popping it into her mouth.
She smiled, but her eyes were empty.
"Um... hey. Next time... I'll cook for you. I'm not really good at it, but..."
"...Yeah. I'll look forward to it."
"R-Really?"
"Yeah. I'd be really happy."
"Ehehe... I-I'll practice if it turns out bad..."
She leaned in closer.
"It doesn't have to be food... I'll do anything. Anything I can do for you..."
"...Oh... r-right..."
"I can't do much... but I can do normal things. Cooking, laundry, cleaning... I can do that. Or... or even... l-lewd things... anything... I'll do anything... so..."
Her voice was pleading, fragile.
"...Don't hate me."
"...I won't. I couldn't."
He pulled her into a tight embrace.
"...I'm sorry..."
Her eyes were wet before she even realized.
"I'm sorry—for being ordinary, for being less than ordinary. For giving up, for being lazy, for being weak, for breaking, for not trying harder, for being a coward, for doing bad things, for burdening others, for not noticing, for refusing to notice, for trampling on kindness, for doing things I can't take back—"
"You don't have to apologize..."
"It's my fault... It's all my fault! I knew... I knew everything, so it's all my responsibility! And yet, even though I knew it was wrong, I convinced myself it'd be fine—I went to see Sora Misora...! I knew it was wrong, but I told myself it'd be okay, that the Commander was a bad person anyway...! And then—then I...! Again...!!"
"It's not... your fault..."
"And yet—and yet...! Even though it hurt, even though I was scared, even though I didn't want pain, didn't want to die... I didn't even try to fight...! But... but even so, even so...! I didn't want you to hate me...! Even though I'm trash, even though I'm worthless... I still wanted you to love me...!"
"I do love you... No matter what you do... or don’t do..."
Who the hell had the right to call her weak?
Who could possibly bear the weight of the world's destruction?
And even if someone could—could they carry it without breaking?
Could they shoulder it without going mad?
Even if it was truly her responsibility...
Everyone, at some point, has overlooked evil because it was easier.
Everyone has done things they knew were wrong.
And yet—
Not risking her life.
Not challenging despair.
Giving up because it was impossible.
Breaking under pain.
Being afraid of overwhelming power.
Refusing to do what couldn't be done.
But not being able to do those things—
Breaking down, crying—
...That wasn’t weakness.
That was just... how things were.
Because Kizami—
Arijiri Kizami—
—wasn’t some character in a story.
How could anyone endure the weight of knowing the world was ending because of them?
Sabaki wouldn’t have been able to, either.
If he knew he couldn’t do it, he wouldn’t have even tried.
But he had tried.
Because he thought there was a chance.
Because even if he couldn’t do it... Maybe she could.
That’s why he had acted.
But now?
Moribe Sabaki could do nothing.
All he could do was hold the girl he loved.
...Even though it meant nothing.
Even though this changed nothing.
He should have performed a miracle for her.
Turned the impossible into the possible.
Saved the world.
But he couldn’t.
Because he couldn’t...
He didn’t.
Outside the window, cracks spread slowly across the blue sky.
Their city was being swallowed by an incomprehensible, platinum glow.
In the distance—explosions, black smoke, roars, chaos.
He didn’t need anyone to tell him.
He already understood.
—This was the end.
Night had fallen.
The fissure in the sky had grown more than ten times its original size. Once pitch-black, it now emitted an eerie, pale glow, casting an unsettling light across the darkness.
The city below was barely visible. With the power out, no lights remained, only shadows stretching endlessly. But every so often, the fissure’s radiance would flare up, illuminating the landscape in a fleeting, platinum-like sheen.
By now, nearly half the city had likely undergone the same transformation.
The roads, the houses, the buildings—everything had turned into that strange metallic substance.
…Or at least, it looked like platinum. Maybe it was some other metal. Maybe something entirely unknown.
Either way, by morning—or at the latest, noon—this very spot would be consumed as well.
And by the day after, the entire city would follow.
According to Tokizami, the enemy planned to reshape the city into something "of value," then use a supernatural artifact—a ridiculously convenient contract called Love King’s Speake—to claim ownership of everything. In return, they would offer the world itself to a demon, all in pursuit of a so-called "better" world.
It was an absurd story.
The surroundings were quiet.
Distant explosions still echoed now and then, but they had grown sporadic, subdued.
Most of the residents had likely evacuated by now. Our school had been designated as a shelter, but I doubted it would make any real difference.
Inside the dimly lit room, a small camping lantern cast a faint glow. A TV flickered weakly, running on a makeshift power source—a salvaged car battery I’d rigged up years ago for outdoor trips.
No broadcasts were coming through anymore.
Instead, the screen displayed a versus fighting game.
Two of us sat there, controllers in hand.
Tokizami had insisted he hadn’t played in years, yet his raw skill was already surpassing mine.
"C’mon, let’s play with items this time… and random stages too—"
"But last time, you said items were cheap and made it unfair."
"Yeah, but Battlefield and Final Destination over and over is boring…"
That said, he struggled with adapting to randomness. In a straightforward duel, he held the upper hand. But the moment we introduced variables, his advantage crumbled.
Tokizami, still in borrowed clothes—since he hadn’t packed a change—groaned in frustration.
At least he’d managed to shower before the power went out. But with nothing else to wear, he was stuck with what I’d lent him.
His Materializer could recreate his combat gear or school uniform, but neither was exactly sleepwear.
I tossed out items haphazardly.
Tokizami tried to counter, but he kept fumbling—too focused on grabbing power-ups to defend himself, or accidentally blowing himself up with misused items.
Frustrated, he gave up on them entirely and went on the offensive.
Sabaki tried to throw him off with more items, but Tokizami gradually adapted, pressing forward with relentless attacks—until finally—
"Ah."
Sabaki’s character was sent flying off-screen.
Tokizami let out a small, triumphant cheer—his first win since they'd turned items on.
"You don’t have to get that excited about it."
Sabaki chuckled wryly, switching off the TV. The battery was nearly dead anyway.
"But… this is the first time I’ve played a game like this with a friend."
"Come on, that can’t be true."
"It is. There was this one kid from the neighborhood who came over once, but… he only wanted to play games."
"Oh…"
Sabaki remembered.
How Tokizami’s family had teased him about bringing a "boyfriend" home. How he’d flushed red denying it.
He glanced sideways. While Sabaki was lost in thought, Tokizami had gone quiet, his head bowed, fingers pressing lightly against his forehead.
"…You okay?"
"Huh? Oh. Yeah. Just a headache… I’m fine."
Sabaki switched off the lamp.
But the fractured sky’s pale glow still seeped through the thin curtains, casting its eerie light over the room. Tokizami hesitated, then reached out, lightly tugging at the hem of Sabaki’s shirt.
His eyes—clouded with resignation, on the verge of tears—were painfully clear.
"…Can I sleep with you?"
"……Yeah."
Sabaki hoped his voice sounded gentle.
Gentle enough to keep himself from crying, too.
They lay down.
The bed was small, meant for one. Even with Tokizami’s slight frame, there was barely enough space. They had to press close just to fit.
Back-to-back, but still—body heat, steady breathing, the faint texture of skin against skin.
Even though they used the same shampoo, Tokizami’s scent was undeniably his own.
Sabaki’s face burned with tension—but a part of him remained coldly detached, quietly observing.
Tokizami’s heartbeat was steady.
Was he still awake? Already asleep? Maybe dreaming—that when he opened his eyes, everything would be back to normal, as if this had all just been a bad dream.
Maybe he still believed Sabaki could make that happen.
"…………"
But it wouldn’t.
It couldn’t.
Sabaki knew—he’d have to hurt her.
How much would he make her cry? He couldn’t even imagine.
Really… truly, honestly.
I wished I had some hidden superpower, some sealed truth, some conveniently perfect destiny.
If I could become the protagonist of this world right here, right now—I wouldn’t care what I had to sacrifice.
But the room was silent. So silent.
It’s a cliché thing to say, but… in this moment, it felt like the two of us were the only ones left in the world.
In a dying world, me as the protagonist, her as the heroine.
That would’ve been nice.
That would’ve been so nice.
If only that were the case.
And then—a minute passed, or maybe an hour.
A span of time both fleeting and eternal.
"…You still awake?"
That’s what she asked.
"…Yeah."
That’s how I answered.
Silence.
Then, after a while, her voice again—soft, uncertain. Trembling.
"What if… I told you I had memories of a past life? Would you believe me…?"
"…I mean… stuff like that happens, right…?"
Even if it were true, it wouldn’t change anything now.
This world was already full of strange things—she had taught me that long ago.
"And… what if in that past life… I was…"
"Hm…?"
"…A boy? You’d… hate that, right…?"
"…Honestly? I don’t care."
"…Oh. I see…"
At some point, she had turned over—
No, wait, that’s a lie. A complete lie.
It wasn’t at some point. I knew the exact moment she shifted, because the second she did, my heartbeat shot up to infinity.
Her soft, pink hair tickled the back of my neck. Her breath, faint and warm against my skin.
And—honestly, she usually kept her head down and wore loose clothes, so I’d never really noticed, but she was… way more well-endowed than I’d thought. Definitely above average. The soft pressure against my back.
A past life as a guy? Seriously, who cares.
…I really, really didn’t care.
"Hey…"
"Wh-what?"
"When this is over… I want to go out with you again…"
"…Yeah. Me too…"
But could she see it?
Through the gap in the curtains, outside the window—
The distant skyscraper, right at this moment, was being dyed platinum.
"So... starting tomorrow too..."
"Yeah..."
"Forever..."
"......"
"For...ever..."
Her voice faded, growing softer.
Her breathing steadied.
"…Tokizami?"
I slipped up. Called her the name I used when we were kids.
But there was no reply.
…She must have fallen asleep.
My own eyes grew heavy.
I wanted to close them, to sink into this fleeting, fragile happiness.
"......"
But.
Gently, I lifted her arm from my back and slipped out of bed.
Careful not to wake her, I changed clothes.
Grabbed my phone, the tools I might need, and a handful of the useless supernatural trinkets I’d collected over the years.
Finally, I picked up the Materializer from the desk.
"…Time to go, huh..."
My voice sounded pathetic.
Dressed in a flimsy black costume—just a cosplay, really—and armed with a sword that did little more than glow, I stepped out.
Sabaki Moribe is not the protagonist.
He can't turn the impossible into possible.
He can't perform miracles.
He can't charge hopelessly into battle, clinging to faith like some hero.
So why, then?
Why was I doing this?
Was it courage? No.
Justice? No.
Just stupidity? Not that either.
Love, then? …Unfortunately, no.
Then why?
Why could I face an enemy with no chance of victory?
There was only one answer.
It was the most peaceful sleep I’d ever had.
Quieter than the moment of death, warmer than the first breath of life.
And in that sleep—I dreamed. A happy dream.
A vision of a tranquil memory, one I’d glimpsed before.
Him and me, as children.
Just two ordinary kids, untouched by fate.
No destined meeting, no grand tragedy—just a boy and a girl who happened to be childhood friends.
No Misora of the Heavens. No involvement with the "Army."
We’d have gone to middle school together, then high school.
Our latent powers would’ve been nothing more than party tricks, quirks we joked about.
I’d have dragged him into some ridiculous light novel-esque club, wasting time on minor supernatural nonsense that wouldn’t even make it into a story.
And then…
…
…
But.
Even if that world existed, even if it were possible—
It never would have happened.
Because I could never believe in something like that.
A bond so common, so mundane.
I wanted the real thing.
Only the real thing.
Someone who truly cared about me.
Someone who genuinely cherished me.
Someone who poured real, unconditional affection into me—
like a character from a story.
A real friend.
A real bond.
I struggled all this way because I couldn't accept anything less.
...And yet.
Even though I did find a true friend in this world—
I was never real.
I could never be real.
Like wax wings melting as they reached for the sun.
Like a satellite shattering as it drifted too close to its star.
I couldn't do it.
I couldn't.
I couldn't.
I couldn't.
I couldn't.
I couldn't.
I couldn't.
I couldn't.
I couldn't stake my life on anything.
I couldn't atone.
I couldn't do a single thing I was supposed to.
Even though it was all my fault.
Everything was my fault.
I ran away. I gave up.
The sheer terror of feeling the world unravel because of me—
It was too much. Too painful.
...So I looked away.
I left everything to him.
But the truth is...
I wanted it too.
Just like those who truly cared for me—
I wanted to truly care for someone.
I wanted to cherish someone.
I wanted to pour real love into someone.
I wanted to stake my life for someone.
But I’m trash.
I couldn’t become anything.
At my core, I was no different from the people of my past life—
the ones I despised, hated, loathed with every fiber of my being.
I was exactly the same.
But it's fine now.
If he loves me, then that's enough.
Even if I'm trash.
Even if I'm worthless.
Even if I'm of no use to anyone.
Even if I can't do anything for him.
Even if I have nothing to give.
...It's fine.
It's... fine.
I wake up.
The most at peace I’ve ever been in either of my lives.
A quiet, gentle happiness.
He isn’t beside me, but he’s there—sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall.
"Mornin’..."
"Mm... yeah. Mornin’..."
Just hearing his voice fills me with warmth. A warmth so soft, so deep, I can’t help but smile.
Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I crawl out of bed and shuffle over to him.
"...Heh."
Still half-asleep, thoughts fuzzy, I plop down beside him and let my weight slump against his shoulder.
"Hey... what’re we doing today...?"
"...Dunno yet..."
His voice is just as drowsy as mine.
Overcome with affection, I nuzzle into his shoulder like a cat.
Maybe because I’m still warm from sleep, his skin feels cool in comparison.
He shifts slightly, bracing a hand against the floor to steady himself as I lean in—
—and then.
A wet, sticky sound.
Something thick and red splatters onto the borrowed sweats he’s wearing.
...
...Huh?
"Sa... baki...?"
Blood.
There’s blood.
A pool of blood.
A deep red pool spreading beneath him, seeping from somewhere near his side—
"Wh—why...?"
"Sa-Sabaki...?"
"What’s... wrong... Tokizami...?"
He calls me by my name—no honorifics.
I should be happy.
I am happy.
So why—
Why does my head hurt so much?
"Y-you're okay... right?"
"Yeah... well... just... messed up a little, maybe..."
He answers me. He really does.
But—his eyes.
They’re hollow. Completely, utterly hollow.
"Don't... worry about it..."
Right. He’s the protagonist—
(is he really?)
—so a wound like this, something that would leave a normal person immobile, shouldn't matter at all.
"You... Tokizami, you should... just..."
It hurts.
It hurts.
Hurts, hurts, hurts, hurts, hurts.
My head—it's splitting open.
Every time he says my name, something inside me pulses.
Memories resurrecting.
No.
No, no, no.
Because he—
He—
"W-wait, just—I'll get something—!"
I scramble to my feet, slamming into a shelf.
Something crashes to the floor.
...A picture frame.
Inside it—
A photo of us.
Him and me, as children.
"—gh."
...This can't be.
"...Ugh... uuuh... uuuuuuuuuh...!!"
This can’t—
"...Tokizami...?"
I didn’t want him taken from me.
I thought it’d be fine if I were his heroine.
I wanted to be the main heroine, not just one of many.
I wanted us to live in a world of just the two of us.
I am happy.
Part of me is undeniably happy.
But why—
Why like this...?
Tears stream down my face as I try to tend to his wound—
and then.
"I'm sorry..."
I point the broken memory-erasing device at him.
"W-wait—"
"It was all my fault.
Really, all of it..."
"No... stop—"
"I won’t drag you into this anymore...
I won’t lie to you anymore...
You don’t have to force yourself anymore...
You don’t have to get hurt anymore..."
Because I don’t want you to hurt.
So—
"Wait... Tokizami...!!"
"Goodbye... Sabaki."
A flash of white light—
And his consciousness... his memories, vanish.
A specialized memory wipe, using a custom cartridge designed to erase long-term recollection.
"............"
I couldn’t become real.
I couldn’t become anything.
I can’t save the world.
I can’t change the story.
I can’t alter fate.
I’m not the protagonist’s heroine—
I’m just Tokizami, a background character, a nobody.
And yet.
Even if this world ends.
Even if I can never atone to anyone.
Even if there was never a protagonist in this world to begin with—
Even then.
I couldn't lose him.
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