Kazuki didn't sleep.
He couldn't.
Every time he closed his eyes, he didn't see darkness. He saw... himself. A version of him walking through a corridor made entirely of mirrors. Each step echoed—not from his feet, but from his reflection. It moved slightly ahead of him, like it knew the path, like it was leading him.
When he finally opened his eyes, he was already sitting upright in his bed, soaked in sweat.
He blinked once. Twice.
His reflection, in the closet mirror across the room, did not blink back.
---
He called the hospital. The receptionist claimed no one else had visited yesterday. No girl. No records. No visitor band in their system matching hers.
He was losing it. Or reality was.
Kazuki needed answers.
And there was only one place that made sense to go: The Reflection Studies Lab—the abandoned wing of the university physics building. It was once a classified research unit rumored to explore "perceptual physics." The department was shut down years ago after an unexplained incident during a light-field experiment. No one talked about it now.
But Kazuki remembered something from his student days: the building had mirrors that were never removed… and rumors of people seeing themselves blink twice.
---
The hallway was dimly lit. Dust coated the floor. The lab was still sealed, but the lock had rusted over. With a sharp pull, the door creaked open.
Inside, time felt… slower. His footsteps didn't echo. His breath didn't fog the air.
And yet, every single mirror lining the far wall was perfectly clean.
He approached the largest one, heart pounding.
For the first time, his reflection didn't appear.
Just an empty hallway behind him.
---
Then, a whisper:
> "You're late."
Kazuki spun around. Empty.
The whisper again:
> "Don't turn around. Don't face me. Not yet."
He froze.
And slowly—through the mirror—he saw it.
A second version of himself. Standing behind him. Not moving. Not breathing. Just... there.
> "The truth begins here," it said.
The lights flickered.
Then everything went black.
---