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The sound of the clock ticking filled the sterile silence of the Asahina household. Mafuyu sat at the dining table, her hands resting neatly in her lap, posture straight, every movement calculated. Across from her, her mother scrolled through her phone, barely acknowledging her presence.
“The upcoming exams are important,” her mother finally said, her tone light yet laced with quiet demand. “You’re doing well, of course, but there’s always room for improvement.”
Mafuyu nodded. “I understand.”
Her mother didn’t look up. “Good. I spoke with your teacher today. She mentioned you’ve been a little... distracted in class.”
A pause. Mafuyu’s fingers twitched against her skirt.
“Oh?” she said, tilting her head as if mildly curious. “I wasn’t aware.”
“You need to focus. You don’t want to fall behind.”
As if she could. As if she’d ever been allowed to.
“I’ll be careful,” Mafuyu replied, her voice perfectly even.
Her mother finally looked at her then, eyes scanning her expression for any sign of rebellion, discontent—anything at all. But there was nothing. Mafuyu had perfected the art of being empty.
Her mother gave a small, satisfied nod before returning to her phone.
Mafuyu’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She didn’t check it right away, waiting a few minutes before excusing herself to her room. As soon as she closed the door behind her, she let out a quiet breath and pulled out her phone.
K: Are you okay?
K:
You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but I’m here.
Mafuyu stared at the message, fingers hovering over the keyboard. A moment of hesitation. Then, she typed:
Yuki: I’m fine. Just tired.
She sent it before she could change her mind.
Her phone buzzed again, but she didn’t check. Instead, she placed it screen-down on her desk and lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
The ticking of the clock filled the silence once more.
Lunchtime at school was filled with chatter, the rhythmic clatter of trays, and bursts of laughter from nearby groups. Mafuyu sat among her classmates, the perfect picture of normalcy.
“You’re so lucky, Asahina-san,” one of them gushed . “You’re good at everything!”
Mafuyu gave them a gentle, practiced smile. “That’s not true.”
“Come on, don’t be so modest! You’re basically perfect.”
The words slipped through her like water. She had heard them all before.
“Mafuyu-chan,” Airi’s voice cut in, slightly softer than the others. “Are you okay? You’ve been a little out of it lately.”
Mafuyu blinked. “Have I?”
Airi hesitated before nodding . “Yeah… you just seem kind of distant.”
For a split second, Mafuyu felt something cold crawl up her spine.
She tilted her head, eyes curving into a polite, unreadable smile. “I’ve just been busy with school. That’s all.”
Airi frowned but didn’t press further. The conversation moved on, but Mafuyu barely registered it.
When had she started feeling like this? Like everything around her was a dream she wasn’t really part of?
She forced herself to keep smiling.
The glow of the computer screen illuminated Mafuyu’s face as she stared at Nightcord’s group chat.
K: I finished the composition for the new song. I’d love to hear your thoughts when you have time.
Amia: Oho? Is this the emo ballad arc?
Enanan:
Isn’t everything we make emo?
K:
…Fair point.
Mafuyu’s fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Yuki: I’ll listen to it now.
A few seconds later, Kanade sent a link. Mafuyu clicked it, letting the soft, melancholic melody fill her headphones.
It was beautiful. It was heartbreaking. It was—
Something in her chest twisted painfully.
Kanade had always been good at capturing emotion in music. Too good. The song felt like staring into a mirror and realizing you didn’t recognize the person on the other side.
It felt like her.
Mafuyu’s breath hitched. She squeezed her phone tightly, but her hands were cold.
K: What do you think?
Mafuyu swallowed. The words she wanted to say felt too heavy to type. Instead, she settled for:
Yuki: It’s beautiful.
K: I was thinking of adding lyrics later. Maybe we can work on them together?
Lyrics. Words that would put feelings into reality.
Mafuyu hesitated.
Yuki: I’ll think about it.
She placed her phone down and leaned back against her chair.
Somewhere deep inside her, something fragile was beginning to crack.
A soft melody drifted through Mafuyu’s headphones as she sat in the dim light of her bedroom. Kanade’s latest composition played on repeat, weaving through the cracks of her mind, filling the spaces where thoughts refused to form.
It was beautiful. And suffocating.
The sound of a message notification pulled her back to reality.
K: I think I finally got it right. The feeling of being lost, searching for something you don’t even remember… does this sound like what you described before?
Mafuyu stared at the message.
What she described before..?
She didn’t remember saying anything meaningful—just fragments of words spoken in the late hours of the night, when the emptiness inside her felt like it might swallow her whole. But Kanade had understood anyway. She always did.
Yuki: It’s perfect.
The reply felt distant, impersonal. Kanade didn’t respond right away, but she was probably composing something new, lost in her own world. Mafuyu envied her for that.
She took off her headphones, letting the silence settle around her.
There was nothing left to say.
Mizuki leaned back against the convenience store’s counter, sipping a drink through a straw as they scrolled through their phone.
“She’s still ignoring us.”
Ena sighed, setting down a can of coffee. “I don’t get what her deal is. If something’s wrong, she should just say it already.”
“You know that’s not how Mafuyu works.” Mizuki’s voice was unusually quiet. “She never says what she’s actually thinking.”
Kanade sat beside them, gaze fixed on her phone screen.
“She’s slipping away,” she murmured.
Ena frowned. “What do you mean?”
Kanade hesitated before showing them the unfinished lyrics she’d written.
A song about a girl who couldn’t remember who she was. A girl who wore a thousand masks but never had a real face of her own.
Mizuki’s expression darkened.
“…So that’s what she’s been feeling?”
Kanade nodded.
Ena crossed her arms, clearly uncomfortable. “Then we should do something, right? We can’t just… let this keep going.”
“But what can we do?” Mizuki muttered . “She won’t talk to us. She barely even reacts when we message her anymore.”
Silence hung between them.
Mizuki finally sighed, running a hand through their hair. “Fine. If she won’t come to us, we’ll go to her.”
The Empty Sekai was silent.
Mafuyu stood in the vast, endless space, her own reflection staring back at her in the darkness.
Here, there was no past, no future. Only an empty void stretching endlessly in all directions.
She closed her eyes and listened.
Faint echoes of voices—Kanade’s soft murmur, Mizuki’s teasing tone, Ena’s frustrated sighs—drifted through her mind. They felt so far away.
“Are you still looking for yourself?”
The voice wasn’t real. It was only in her head, but she still turned toward it.
Nothing was there.
Mafuyu clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms.
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
The void swallowed her words whole.
The song was released.
It spread like wildfire through their small but devoted fanbase. Comments poured in—people praised the haunting melody, the rawness of the emotion behind it. Some said it made them cry. Others said it felt like being trapped in a dream, unable to wake up.
Mafuyu didn’t respond to any of it.
She sat in her darkened room, listening to the song on repeat.
Kanade’s piano was delicate yet heavy, each note carrying the weight of something unspoken. The vocals—Mafuyu’s own voice, recorded late at night when exhaustion dulled the edges of her mind—sounded distant, hollow.
“If I close my eyes, will I disappear?
Will the world still call my name?
Or will I fade, like a dream never remembered?”
Her phone buzzed beside her.
K: Mafuyu, if you need someone, I’m here. You don’t have to disappear.
Mafuyu’s hands trembled as she read the words.
She typed a response— I don’t know who I am anymore.
Then, slowly, she deleted it.
Instead, she wrote:
Yuki: I’m okay. Don’t worry.
She sent it and turned off her phone.
The song continued playing in the background, looping endlessly.
Nightcord at 25:00 was silent that night.
Kanade had fallen asleep at her desk, exhausted from composing. Ena had shut off her notifications, frustrated with everything.
Only Mizuki was still awake, staring at their phone, debating whether to send one last message.
Then, impulsively, they made a decision.
Amia: Meet me tomorrow. No excuses.
Mafuyu saw the message but didn’t reply.
The next day, Mizuki found her waiting at a small café. Her school uniform was pristine, her expression unreadable.
“So you do exist,” Mizuki muttered, sitting across from her. “For a second, I thought you’d vanished.”
Mafuyu smiled faintly. “I’m here.”
“Physically, maybe.” Mizuki stirred their drink absentmindedly. “Ena’s pissed, by the way. Kanade’s worried sick. You could at least pretend to care.”
Mafuyu looked down at her untouched tea. “I’m sorry.”
Mizuki exhaled sharply. “Don’t do that. Don’t give me that fake, polite apology. You don’t have to act like this with me.”
Mafuyu hesitated.
Mizuki leaned forward, voice quieter. “I don’t care if you’re falling apart. Just let us know you’re still there.”
For a moment, something flickered in Mafuyu’s expression.
Then, just as quickly, it was gone.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said softly.
Mizuki stared at her, eyes wide. “What?”
Mafuyu’s fingers curled around the edge of the table. “Even if I say something… nothing will change.”
Mizuki opened their mouth, but no words came out.
Because, deep down, they knew—Mafuyu truly believed that.
The realization sent a cold, sinking feeling through them.
Mafuyu finished her tea and stood up. “Thank you for meeting me.”
She left before Mizuki could stop her.
Her mother’s voice was sharp tonight.
“Mafuyu, why are your grades slipping?”
They weren’t.
“Mafuyu, why are you always distracted?”
She wasn’t.
“Mafuyu, do you even care about your future?”
Did she have one?
Mafuyu stood in the middle of the living room, listening to her mother’s words echo around her.
They felt foreign.
The room felt foreign.
Everything felt like a dream she wasn’t waking up from.
She reached for her phone, her fingers hovering over Kanade’s name.
Then, slowly, she placed it face-down on her desk.
She wasn’t going to call.
Not this time.
Mafuyu did not go to school the next day.
She did not respond to messages. She did not log into Nightcord at 25:00.
Her phone remained untouched on her desk, the screen dark.
Kanade sent message after message.
K: Mafuyu?
K:
Please answer.
K:
I’ll come find you if you need me to.
Nothing.
Mizuki tried calling. The first time, it rang endlessly. The second time, it went straight to voicemail.
Ena, frustrated and anxious, texted Kanade.
Enanan: She’s just ignoring us…isn’t she?
K:
I don’t know.
Amia: This isn’t normal. We have to do something.
K: We should go look for her.
No one disagreed.
The three of them searched for days.
Mizuki checked every convenience store and café Mafuyu used to go to. Ena stayed up late, refreshing her messages, hoping for even a single response. Kanade, despite her exhaustion, walked through the city endlessly, retracing the steps of someone who had already disappeared.
They asked classmates, teachers—anyone who might have seen her.
"She was in class today," one of her classmates said, confused. "She seemed normal."
But when Kanade saw her from a distance, sitting perfectly still at her desk, staring blankly at her textbook, she knew— this was not the Mafuyu they knew.
This was what was left of her.
"She’s gone," Kanade whispered to herself that night, sitting in front of her computer, the Nightcord server still open. The chat was frozen in time, the last conversation left unfinished.
Ena hadn't messaged in hours. Mizuki had stopped responding.
For the first time since Nightcord at 25:00 was formed, no one was talking.
None of them said it out loud, but they all felt it.
Something had broken.
Something that couldn’t be fixed.
The Sekai was silent.
Kanade stood in the vast, endless space, staring at the spot where Mafuyu used to stand.
It felt different now.
Before, the Sekai had been empty but not hollow. Now, it felt abandoned . Like something— someone —had truly vanished from it.
She closed her eyes and listened.
But there was no voice calling for help. No lingering presence.
Only silence.
Eventually, she turned away.
Somewhere, Ena sat alone in her room, staring at an unfinished illustration, unable to bring herself to complete it.
Somewhere, Mizuki scrolled through old messages, rereading conversations that felt like they belonged to another lifetime.
Nightcord at 25:00 no longer spoke.
Whether they would ever speak again, none of them knew.
And in the real world, Mafuyu Asahina smiled and continued playing the role of a girl who had never been lost at all.