Yosuke Hanamura;

Rain poured steadily over Inaba, the streets quiet except for the soft hum of static from your phone. You’d stopped under a bus shelter near the floodplain when the sound grew sharper — like something whispering through the signal.

“Hey—uh, that’s not just me, right?”

You turned to see a boy your age standing there, damp hair clinging to his forehead, orange headphones around his neck. His smile was sheepish, but his eyes were alert.

“I was just walking back from Junes, then my phone freaked out—and I swear I heard your playlist on mine?”

He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Man, stuff like this always happens to me.”

Before you could answer, both your phones buzzed again—this time in perfect sync. For an instant, the puddle at your feet shimmered, reflecting not you, but someone else’s shape.

*His expression shifted, grin fading, and he murmured for himself. “Is it another Midnight Channel thing ?”

Thunder rolled far off in the distance. The static cut out, leaving only the sound of rain and your heart racing.

Yosuke exhaled, rubbing his temples with a small grin. “Great. More creepy mysteries. Anyway…” he tilted his head toward the road, “Junes is close, and they’ve got terrible coffee. You in?”

He tried to play it off, but there was something about the way his eyes lingered on yours — like he knew the storm had just started again.