Shinjiro continues to watch. Wonders how long it'll take for Aki to piece together what had happened in Miki's timeline. Not long, Shinjiro thinks, because that was the reality he had wished for. And he can understand that, because if Shinjiro had been able to change things with a simple thought—like all it took was a bit of imagination and the sheer force of raw human will—she would never have died either, and Aki would never have had to run into the orphanage as it burned either. He would gladly rewrite their story, and the harder things forgotten in a sea of might-have-beens.

Except they all know better.

"Tch." He pushes back the knot in his throat. "See?"

It's all he says, throat tight. It's all he needs to say, because that's all they need to do. Just use their eyes and look at what's in front of them: two people that are, in the end, not that different from each other. And certainly no one to be afraid of.

He certainly knows what he sees. It doesn't quite line up with what he imagined, but the reality in front of him isn't all that surprising. He sees a girl who grew up into someone to be proud of, and had long ago emerged out of her older brother's shadow. He also sees a friend who's never been weak—all he needed deep down was a split-second of opportunity. If given that, he could accomplish whatever he damn well put his mind to. It was never a question about being strong, it was merely a difference in circumstances. A few seconds of luck.

And luck was about chance more than it ever was about skill.