Satoru Fujinuma is a shut-in manga artist (or so he insists) with a weird power called 'Revival,' which sends him back in time just before something terrible happens.
One day, his mother Sachiko realizes the identity of the kidnapper behind a series of child abductions in Satoru's old Hokkaido hometown. Satoru dismisses it as paranoia. That night, he comes home to find his mother stabbed and dying. Wrongly accused of her murder, Satoru's panic triggers Revival—but this time it's different. He'
Erased IF: The Day I Didn't Open the Door - A frozen morning classroom
When I woke up, my mom was dead.
No, that's not quite right.
My mom was about to die.
No, that's not right either.
What a pain.
My head's a mess.
I'm Fujinuma Satoru, 29 years old.
I pass myself off as a manga artist, but in reality, I scrape by with a part-time pizza delivery gig.
I live in Room 201 of "Corpo Kashiwagi," a run-down 32-year-old apartment building in Nishifunabashi, Chiba Prefecture.
Rent: 38,000 yen.
I was lazing around again this morning, same as always.
Rolling around in my futon, I reread the storyboards I'd drawn up last month.
Rejected.
Totally rejected.
Why am I always like this?
Interesting stories float up in my head, but the moment I start drawing them, they just go flat.
"Ugh, what a pain."
I muttered it, staring up at the ceiling.
My messy black hair hangs over my eyes.
Bangs I cut myself, just hacking away at them.
I don't even need to look in a mirror to know.
My brown eyes, dull from lack of sleep, are lifeless again today.
A scrawny body from no exercise, wrapped in a ratty sweatsuit.
29 years old, single, no girlfriend.
No savings.
No prospects for the future.
This is bad.
But, well, whatever.
Things'll work out somehow.
That's what I thought — and now it seems like they're not going to work out at all.
*Ding-dong.*
Suddenly, the doorbell rang.
I looked at the clock: 2 PM.
Who'd show up at this hour?
A delivery?
I didn't order anything, though.
I opened the door, and standing there was —
"[gentle]Satoru, have you been doing well?"
My mom.
Fujinuma Sachiko, 51 years old.
Her black hair, grown past her shoulders, was tied back in a single ponytail today.
She has the same deep, warm brown eyes as her son.
Though, being a former reporter, those eyes are strangely, unnervingly sharp.
"[surprised]Mom… what are you doing here, all of a sudden?"
I hurriedly tried to tidy up my futon.
"Oh, I just had some business in the area."
Saying that, Mom promptly let herself into the room.
She had a supermarket bag tucked under her arm.
A green onion was poking out of it.
"[gentle]Are you eating properly? Your fridge isn't empty, is it?"
"I'm eating."
"Just pizza, right?"
"Urk."
She hit the nail on the head.
With practiced ease, Mom opened the fridge and let out a sigh.
"[sad]I knew it… there's nothing in here but little packets of pizza sauce."
"Those are actually pretty useful. You can use them for all sorts of things."
"Like what?"
"…Pasta."
"Let's go shopping."
It was a tone that brooked no argument.
Mom's always like this.
She's kind, but she absolutely won't coddle you.
Even when she knows I'm about to fall, she won't lend a hand — but she'll step in right before I get seriously hurt.
It's a perfect balance.
Parents are amazing.
Mom stood in the tiny kitchen and started boiling water in the kettle.
Then, her hands suddenly stopped.
"[serious]…Satoru, do you remember?"
"Remember what?"
"Hokkaido. Ishikari Misono Town. What happened back then."
Ishikari Misono Town.
A small town in the middle of Hokkaido, about an hour and twenty minutes by train from Sapporo.
It sits at the eastern edge of the Ishikari Plain, close to the Yubari Mountains.
A heavy snowfall area where the snow piles up over two meters deep in winter.
A town of 12,000 people, getting by on dairy farming and forestry.
The place I lived until I was in fifth grade.
"[scared]…Why are you bringing that up all of a sudden?"
Mom looked out the window.
The sky over Chiba was a dull, overcast gray.
The rainy season must be coming soon.
"[serious]In that town, a long time ago, a girl was murdered. Do you remember?"
"…I remember."
I looked down.
I didn't want to remember.
"[serious]The culprit was caught, but… recently, something's been bothering me."
Mom's eyes narrowed, as if searching for something.
As a former assistant in the news department of a TV station, she has these moments sometimes.
Moments when her eye for people becomes unnervingly sharp.
"[serious]It's possible the real culprit is someone else."
"Huh?"
"[gentle]No, it might just be my imagination. Sorry, forget I said anything strange."
Saying that, Mom forced a smile.
"I'm going to go shopping. I'll pick up some meat while I'm at it, so let's have sukiyaki tonight."
"Nah, you don't have to. It's a pain."
"[gentle]Let's eat together for once. There's so much I want to talk to you about, Satoru."
Mom headed briskly for the door.
"Alright, I'll be right back."
The door closed with a soft *click*.
The only thing left in the room was the hissing sound of the kettle.
I flopped back onto my futon.
Stared up at the ceiling.
Ishikari Misono Town.
The serial child abduction and murder case.
The first victim was my classmate.
A girl named Kaya Michi, who was always alone, staring out the window.
After that, two more children became victims.
The culprit was a young man living on the outskirts of town, and the police caught him.
The case was closed.
It was supposed to be over.
But what was with that look in Mom's eyes?
I know that look.
Back when she was a reporter, whenever Mom had that look, she was always onto something.
"…What a pain."
I muttered it and closed my eyes.
Evening came, and Mom still hadn't returned.
Thinking it was strange, I went outside.
She'd been gone way too long for a shopping trip.
I walked down the stairs of the apartment building.
The parking lot.
I saw Mom.
She was collapsed on the ground.
"Mom!"
I broke into a run.
There, on the asphalt, in a pool of blood, Mom was lying.
Her black hair was soaked in blood, plastered to her face.
The ponytail she always kept so neat had come undone, stained red.
"[scared]No way… this can't be…"
I lifted her up.
She was warm.
There was still just a little bit of heat left.
But her eyes… they weren't seeing anything anymore.
Those deep, warm brown eyes were empty.
"[crying]Mom, no, please, no…!"
My voice trembled.
My mind went completely blank, unable to think.
I just held her body tight.
I could hear sirens in the distance.
Someone must have called the police.
A patrol car arrived.
The officers pulled me away from Mom.
I yelled, "Wait, let go of me!"
I'm sure I yelled, but no sound came out.
I don't really remember much after that.
The next thing I knew, I was sitting in an interrogation room at the police station.
Gray walls, the cold light of fluorescent lamps, a cheap desk.
A detective sitting across from me was staring intently.
"So, you're the one who found her."
"…Yes."
"Did you see your mother being stabbed?"
"No. When I went outside, she was already…"
"I see."
The detective took notes.
His eyes were cold, somehow.
"[sad]Did you… have some kind of trouble with your mother?"
"What?"
"Well, a neighbor said they heard you two arguing during the day."
"We weren't arguing…"
I started to say it, then remembered.
When we were talking about Hokkaido, Mom had been so serious.
And I'd just thought it was a pain.
"[scared]No, that's not… I wasn't…"
My voice cracked.
"Now, now, calm down. Until the evidence comes out, I'm not planning to treat you as the culprit."
Even as he said it, the detective's eyes had already decided I was guilty.
The person who killed my mom is still out there somewhere.
And yet, I'm the one being suspected.
I'm, I'm —
That's when it happened.
Something flickered at the edge of my vision.
A blue butterfly?
No, not a butterfly.
Like a butterfly, like an afterimage, a fragment of light.
The world warped and twisted.
The gray walls of the interrogation room melted, the detective's face stretched.
Inside my head, something snapped with a *crack*.
— Revival.
A strange, inexplicable power I have.
Normally, it just rewinds time a little bit, right before an accident or before someone's about to get hurt.
A weird power that, on the worst days like today, sends me back in a flash.
But this time was different.
Time spun backwards, round and round.
The pool of Mom's blood.
Mom's smile.
The day I graduated elementary school.
The white snow of Hokkaido.
Snow, snow, snow —
And then, a blinding light enveloped me.
"Fujinuma-kun. Fujinuma Satoru-kun."
Someone's voice.
"[serious]Are you alright? You look pale."
I opened my eyes.
In front of me was a blackboard.
The clock above the blackboard read 8:45 AM.
Outside the window, a pure white snowscape.
A classroom.
An elementary school classroom.
The desks, the chairs — everything was small.
I am — my hands were incredibly small.
A child's hands, without a single wrinkle.
"[surprised]…What?"
My voice was high-pitched.
A kid's voice, not yet broken.
"What's wrong, still half-asleep? Morning homeroom's already started. Take your seat."
Yotsuya-sensei, our homeroom teacher.
38 years old, teaches science, hair's a little thin.
He always wore a lab coat, didn't he?
Nostalgic.
No, it's not nostalgia.
This is reality, right now.
I hurriedly sat down at my desk.
Looking next to me, a girl with a bob cut was staring intently at me.
Thick, silver-rimmed glasses, narrow, sharp eyes.
Observant, and she hardly ever blinks.
It's Kobayashi Hiromi.
The class honor student, the top brain in our grade.
Loves thinking about things logically, hates emotional arguments.
Even now, she's glaring at me like I'm something she hates.
"You were spacing out until just a second ago, and now your eyes have suddenly changed."
"[nervous]Huh, really?"
"Yeah. Before, you looked like you were off in your own world, but now your face is like you've suddenly snapped back to reality. Your eyes are way too calm. It's creepy."
Whoa, she just called me creepy right off the bat?
Elementary school kids are brutally honest.
"[serious]…I'm just a little confused, that's all."
I put my hand to my chin and thought.
What just happened?
I was 29 years old.
My mom died, I got taken in by the police.
And then, Revival activated.
This time is different from usual.
Time rewound 18 years.
February 1988.
I've become my fifth-grade self.
I have the memories of an adult, but the body of a child.
My mind can't keep up.
I quietly looked out the window.
The schoolyard, with snow falling silently, steadily.
Ishikari Misono Elementary School.
A small school with only 280 students, just two classes per grade.
And —
The seat by the window in the classroom.
No one's there.
But she should have been there.
Kaya Michi.
My classmate, the girl who was always alone, watching the snow.
In this era, from this point on, the first victim.
Mom's words echoed in my head.
"It's possible the real culprit is someone else."
That's it.
Mom was killed because she realized that.
So, if I stop the incident in this era — if the culprit is caught — won't Mom be saved?
But who's the culprit?
I tried to search my memory.
His face… is blurry.
I can't remember.
For some reason, the culprit's face alone, I can't remember at all.
It was eerie.
As if fate itself was telling me, "Don't remember."
Homeroom ended.
The chime rang.
*Ding-dong-dang-dong.*
The classroom started to buzz.
Kids stood up, started talking, ran around.
I got up from my seat and walked towards the window.
Near Kaya Michi's desk.
I approach.
How should I talk to her?
What should I say?
"Be careful, you're going to be killed soon"?
No good. She'll think I'm insane.
I formulate a plan in my head.
But nothing comes to mind.
I'm 29, an adult, and I thought I was reasonably quick-witted.
In a child's body, how do I protect someone?
How do I find the culprit?
I don't know.
But —
"[serious]I've just gotta do it, huh."
I remember Mom's kind eyes.
Those deep, warm, brown eyes that were always watching over me.
I want to see those eyes again.
If it's for that —
I turned my gaze back to Kaya Michi's seat.
No one was sitting there yet.
There's scribbling on the desk.
"Lonely."
Fading pencil letters.
A sharp pang hits deep in my chest.
I'm sure she'll come alone again today, too.
Take her classes alone, go home alone.
And then, soon —
No.
This time, I absolutely won't let that happen.
"[serious]I'll def
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