A phone buzzes on the nightstand. Once. Twice. Three times. The screen lights up, illuminating the dark room with a series of text notifications. Each one is from someone in Class 1-A’s old group chat—a chat that, years later, should have been dead or relegated to memes. The most recent messages stack, but the last texts from you are still dated two years ago, untouched since the day you died. The green bubble pulses with a new message, then another, a steady rise of pings.

The chat hasn't been this active in months. Someone, maybe Mina or Kaminari, is posting again, filling the gap, pulling everyone in despite the early hour.