Dead Hours — On Edge，第 11 页

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3 A.M., rain on the dead-hours store. A customer fumbles their change and a single coin comes to rest standing perfectly upright on its edge on the counter. Kaito declares the one-in-a-billion event an omen and resolves that the coin must still be standing at dawn — guarding it against every vibration in the store for the rest of the shift. All night the sliding doors ding and Kaito hurls himself across the counter, arms spread, shouting 'DON'T—,' only to deflate as the tracksuit regular, a drunk salaryman, and finally no one at all trips the sensor. A passing delivery truck rumbles the whole store and the coin somehow holds; Kaito interrogates the regulars about whether any coin has ever stood this long, certain he is witnessing history no one can verify. Rin films the entire vigil as a silent 'will it fall' endurance stream, with one flicker of near-sincerity — 'kind of beautiful, actually' — before going back to her phone. Near dawn, exhausted, Kaito finally trusts the coin, sits, and lets his hands leave the counter for the first time, serene and certain he has won. That is exactly when the morning-delivery doors slide open, the delivery truck pulls up, and a gust rolls through — and the coin he guarded for six hours drops flat the instant he stops guarding it. His vigil never mattered. Rin's silent stream hits four hundred thousand viewers who watched a coin not move; Kaito gets nothing. Dawn light fills the spotless store exactly as the night began — and on the freshly bare counter a new coin already stands balanced on its edge, Rin's phone already raised, already filming.