Seikyou was crumpling, but not due to time — due to memory. The hall twisted as Kanade hovered above the stage, her existence booming and aberrant. Teiichi remained motionless, Yuuko at his back like a dying echo.
"You see it now?" Kanade asked, her voice snapping. "This tale makes sense! I died here, not she. I was meant to be remembered."
Yuuko did not protest. She merely whispered, "You're rewriting pain. Not healing it."
Kanade's shriek tore through the air, and the ground that lay beneath them flashed into shattered images — classrooms, funerals, solitude. A mirror at her back shattered, shivering with something within.
"She's taking my place," Yuuko whispered. "If she succeeds… I disappear."
"There has to be another way," Teiichi said.
"There is," Yuuko answered, her form thinning. "Give her your memory of me. All of it."
He nodded.
Suddenly, Kanade stood within Teiichi's mind — surrounded by the moments only he had kept alive. Yuuko laughing. Crying. Protecting. Loving. Each image struck Kanade harder than words ever could.
"She was loved," Teiichi said.
Kanade sank to her knees, whispering, "I just didn't want to be forgotten."
"You won't," Yuuko said softly, touching her without touching. The mirror behind them smoothed out. Both of their reflections stood together — neither deleted.
The school froze.
Kanade opened her eyes. "Will I remember this?"
Yuuko smiled. "This time, yes."
Light poured over her figure, spreading thin at the edges. She turned to Teiichi, eyes aglow. "You remembered me. That was enough."
And she vanished, not shattered — simply gone.