❝In the tale of fate, the red string connects us all, but not every thread leads to a soulmate.❞
In a world where love is entwined with fate, an abandoned conductor escapes the confines of an unnatural train into a universe he's forgotten.
As he nav...
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A little calendar on Hotaru's desk said so.
1975.
As he let his body fall onto a small mattress beside him, the door to his room slid open, revealing another young man with a yellow buzz cut and piercings.
"Yuta?"
"Hotaru."
Yuta walked in and immediately started rummaging through the other boy's desks and comic shelves.
"It's wrong, Hotaru. Give me the wallet you stole from that old hag."
Hotaru still remembered the night he stole the old man's wallet. It had been raining, the streets slick and empty, save for the occasional passerby huddled under umbrellas. He was disappointed, angry, and desperate—feelings that had become all too familiar over the years.
The old man had been walking slowly, clutching a worn briefcase in one hand and his wallet loosely in the other. He seemed distracted, his steps uneven, his coat flapping against the wind. Hotaru's heart pounded as he followed him through the alley, every step calculated, silent.
When the moment came, it was easier than he'd expected.
A quick bump, a mumbled apology, and the wallet slipped effortlessly into Hotaru's pocket. The old man didn't even notice, too focused on finding his footing in the rain. Hotaru ducked into a nearby alley and pulled out the wallet, hands trembling.
The guilt hit him instantly, the weight of it settling deep in his chest, but hunger gnawed louder. He opened it, finding just enough to buy food for a few days, maybe even a place to sleep.
Still, as he walked away, the old man's oblivious expression haunted him. He hated how easy it had been to steal.
Ah, there was the ticket... in the stolen wallet. The point from where everything began.
"It's in my jacket," he pointed towards a wall with the black clothing hanging on it.
"We can be better than this, man. It's just an entrance exam," Yuta pulled out the wallet. "Failing another on those shits can't make us change our way of life. Don't argue with your mom and dad over this and let's not run away like cowards again." Yuta smiled, allowing Hotaru to nod along until the yellow-head was out of sight and the door was shut again.
He was up on his feet and walked out.
Hotaru stood on the old dirt path, feeling a strange sense of familiarity wash over him as he looked out at the village. The sun had just begun to set, casting a golden hue over Asabuya, a place that seemed untouched by time.
Asabuya village, the past of Asabuya district.
For a moment, everything felt the same—the typical scent of pine trees, the faint sounds of cicadas, and the sight of distant rooftops against the darkening sky. But something was different. The weight in his chest.
He glanced down at his feet, the dust from the road clinging to his shoes.
It felt as though centuries had passed since he last walked these paths, yet the warmth of the earth was all too real. His heart raced.
How much time had passed?
To him, it had been lifetimes, but as he stood there, he realized that in this timeline—his true timeline—he had been gone for only a few hours.
The train had left him there, in the village he called home. He exhaled deeply, feeling the evening breeze brush against his skin. The Bound Line had taken him to the future, had tangled him in a web of emotions, hope, and tragedy, but now it had returned him. To where it all began. And yet, something vital was missing. He looked down at the handkerchief around his palm.
Emi.
He closed his eyes, her face flickering in his mind like a dream. Her laughter, the way her eyes would light up whenever they argued about his past, her gentle hands that had cared for him when he was nothing more than a scared, trembling man. It was in that nightmare that she had appeared, offering her soul to him.
But not forever. Just enough to send him away.
He removed the cloth and touched the scar lightly, his lips trembling.
His mind raced back to the moment at the train station. The goddess of a woman, standing before him with that determined look in her eyes, thrusting the ticket into his hands.
He stared at his hand—the one that had held that ticket, the one that had felt the tug of a red string that never seemed to go anywhere. But now, it all made sense. The string hadn't led him to Emi—it had been wrapped around him, waiting, growing, through every moment they shared.
It wasn't until that final act—the moment she handed him the ticket, forcing him to leave, her tears sealing the fate he hadn't understood—that he realized the truth. Soulmates weren't born together, they were made. Through choices, through sacrifice, through love that demanded something in return. Emi had given up her happiness, sending him back, knowing it meant losing him forever. And in that act, she became his soulmate.
The red string had appeared because, at that moment, she had proven her bond to him. Not because of destiny, but because of what they had gone through together. A bond forged in sacrifice, not in birth.
It wasn't fate that had done it—it was her.
She had become his soulmate through her choice, not destiny's design.
But he was no longer in her time. He wasn't even sure if he would ever see her again.
The air felt heavier with every step he took around his childhood village, which loomed all around him.
Was it selfish to want her to remember him?
To cling to the hope that somehow, across time, they would find each other again?
Or was it kinder to let her live her life, without the burden of memories from a different timeline?
"For once, Bound Line had done something good for me."
