It all felt artificial, but her cheerfulness didn't escape me. Today, she was in an exceptionally buoyant mood.
A single glance at the girl beside me was enough to tell it was nighttime. The wind swept past, catching her fine hair and pulling it into its rhythm, while I tried to guess the season from the temperature.
"A lot has happened," I said.
"You think so?" she replied.
I tried in vain to follow the thread of her thoughts, but they were as intangible as the wind around us.
Clearly, I was talking to that mysterious girl. The moment I opened my eyes, her face was right there in front of me. It was like one of those games where the hero wakes up in a cart, and the first thing they see is a stranger ready to talk as if everything's already settled. The only difference was that I knew my companion all too well. Or so I wanted to believe.
Today, she wore an oversized hoodie and short shorts that barely peeked out from under it. The youthful look suited her, but it felt almost surreal. I'd never seen her legs so exposed before, and it left me a little shaken. My throat went dry, my breathing slowed and deepened, as if her appearance wove together something ordinary and impossible.
Setting that aside, something felt off. Even when I straightened up, the difference between us was too stark. My head barely reached her thigh, which couldn't help but unsettle me.
As soon as I noticed, I tried to look at myself. But her finger touched my chin, silently forbidding it. I had no choice but to yield and trust, following her lead.
What moment was this? Why, no matter how hard I tried, couldn't I remember it?
Thinking back to her words, this wasn't the start of a journey. Nor was it the end.
Had I summoned this meeting myself, simply because I wanted so badly to see her?
"Really?" She tilted her head and laughed. "You wanted to see me that much?"
"Of course. Is that weird?" I said, shrinking into my shoulders like a snail brushed by a careless touch.
"Given everything going on, not at all. But I'd have preferred if it happened much later."
"Why?"
She only shrugged—mysteriously, lightly, as if swaying on waves. Humming softly to herself, she kept walking forward.
Of course, she'd always been a bit otherworldly, but this time it felt especially pronounced.
We walked along neatly paved streets between apartment buildings. Though it wasn't anything unusual, the surroundings felt strangely harmonious. It was as if this wasn't a memory but a meticulously crafted city, pieced together from a collage of carefully selected photographs.
Vending machines glowed at the corner, but no one approached them. Laundry hung on balconies—perfectly even, as if pinned to the air. The buildings and streetlights looked pristine and uniform, like they'd just been assembled and placed. There were no footsteps, no voices, no distant hum of cars. The city felt like a display model—a true Tokyo, but without people.
The girl spotted a small shop and, grabbing my wrist, pulled me inside.
"This way, this way!" she exclaimed joyfully.
"Okay, okay. Don't pull so hard. I can't keep up with you."
"Short legs, huh?" she teased with a light chuckle.
Her comment didn't go unnoticed by my body. I felt my neck warm from her laughter.
As we wandered between the shelves, the strong scent of freshly baked buns hit my nose. Even standing in front of them, warmth spread through me from the rising steam. Though the texture of the pastries looked similar, these felt strangely familiar. The girl seemed to like them too, grabbing a whole bag without hesitation.
"Guess you've gotten used to the taste of plastic, huh?" I asked with a forced smile.
"Who knows?" she replied, shrugging as she turned to me.
I was starting to forget how stunning her eyes were. They were like the moon: drawing you in while illuminating everything at once. Honestly, under her gaze, I began to feel flustered—my elbows weakened, my knees grew heavy.
Despite her refined appearance, she definitely didn't hold back when she smiled.
Wasn't she smiling a bit too much today?
"Did something good happen?" I asked.
"Hmm," she tapped her chin thoughtfully, then grinned, leaning down toward me. "You'll find out soon enough."
I was used to her evasive answers by now, so I didn't press further.
As we left the shop, she immediately pulled a bun from the bag and started eating. The pastry disappeared so quickly it was as if she wasn't even chewing. At the same time, I don't think I'd ever seen her this content. She even let out a hum that lasted longer than when she'd first tried wataame.
Every time we spent together, I made these pointless little discoveries.
"Is it really that good?" I asked.
"Hmph?" Her cheeks were puffed out like a hamster's as she stared at me. Swallowing the bite quickly, she continued, "Obviously. I'm glad at least one of you has decent taste."
I was curious who else she was talking about, but the tilt of her head made it clear—the topic was closed.
Well, I didn't care that much.
As she savored her pastry, I noticed countless white particles falling from the tips of her hair. In the night's embrace, it looked like a fleeting meteor shower. I held out a finger, letting one of the specks land, but the wind whisked it away before I could examine it.
Leaving the city behind, the landscape around us rapidly turned green. Modern buildings gave way to country roads and rocky cliffs—definitely not something you'd find in Tokyo. The feeling was strange and unsettling: no longer just a dream, but something more.
"I hope you get to try lots of delicious food. And then…" She trailed off, staring upward.
I followed her gaze to the sky, but all I could see were flower petals drifting lazily downward. At first, they seemed like wisteria, then morphed into cherry blossoms, blending into the grass as they fell. The sight was mesmerizing, but her attention wasn't on it.
There must have been something only she could see, like an animal fixated on an invisible point.
"And then what?" I asked.
"Let's eat them all together?" A soft smile played on her lips as she looked back at me.
There it was again. Who was she talking about? The thought gnawed at me, growing more uncomfortable by the second. I'd be lying if I said it didn't bother me.
"Listen…" I lowered my head, tugging at the hem of her hoodie. "Who are you talking about? Who's 'all'?"
"You'll find out soon," she replied just as softly.
That sense of inadequacy had haunted me since my school days. I'd grown used to hiding it behind a façade of carefree confidence, but it was nothing more than an act. The moment someone turned away, I was convinced I'd vanished. That even if I was chosen, the moment someone else appeared, I'd be erased, as if I'd never existed.
And now…
In that moment, I realized something crucial: the loneliness that once bound us no longer reflected in her eyes. They sparkled—bright, dazzling, like the very particles falling from her hair.
It wasn't fair.
I thought she was like me. But she'd simply removed the obstacle, sending me to another world under the pretense of "finding myself."
A heavy feeling, like a stone tossed into water, dragged me under. I knew exactly what it was—jealousy. She hadn't denied there was someone else.
How long had it been? How close had they become? And what about… me?
Their relationship hadn't formed in the part of her life I knew. Just three years had been enough to erase me.
The mere thought of someone else by her side drove me insane. I felt like I might start tearing at my hair.
"So all of this… was a lie? You're not waiting for me anymore? Or were you never going to?!" The cry tore out of me, halted only by the tears that followed. "I don't have anyone… except you…"
Her eyes widened, becoming perfectly round, like a full moon.
Maybe it would've been better to just laugh it off. Say something silly, steer the conversation away, hide behind a mask of carefree indifference. But when the distance becomes insurmountable, the heart is left with nothing but despair. My fingertips went numb, and even the fabric I clung to felt intangible.
I knew getting angry at her wouldn't change anything. I knew I'd built up these expectations myself, only to be disappointed. I knew—but the resentment inside me outran my thoughts. It burst forth first, louder than reason.
A cry reached my ears—raw, childish. My heart ached traitorously along with it. Only then did I realize: the wail was mine.
I was that abandoned child, standing among empty shelves in a toy store. Selfish and weak. Rejecting everything offered to me for the sake of one single thing—and ending up with nothing.
A sigh.
I heard a deep, deep sigh, so profound it seemed to swallow everything around it and seal it within. I felt almost detached from my emotions, as if watching from the outside.
"You're still such a child, Yori," her hand gently settled on my head. "But…"
"I'm not a child," I cut her off sharply. My hand reached up to wipe away tears. "And… I'm not Yori. I…" I wanted to brush her hand away but couldn't bring myself to do it.
"Well? Then who are you?"
She crouched down, trying to meet my eyes while I stubbornly avoided hers.
"I…"
I refused to accept this new identity, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't recall the old one. Only after meeting her did that realization truly terrify me.
She should remember, shouldn't she? So… why?
I knew I was just being selfish—someone who'd done absolutely nothing and now resisted the very idea of being replaced. I should be happy: she'd finally found someone—a friend, maybe more. She was smiling. Even if it wasn't for me.
And yet… even so, I couldn't help feeling betrayed.
The list of things I'd mentally prepared for our reunion crumbled and scattered in this whirlwind of petals.
"Listen," she said, standing up. The particles from her hair mingled with the flowers, forming a spiral that danced around her. "You'll understand everything. But for now, it's time to go."
"Where?"
"To a nice place. Isn't that obvious?"
How many times had I heard that phrase from her? Too many to count. And every time, it turned out to be somewhere unremarkable. Yet, for some reason, her invitation filled me with unease this time.
"Well, why not? Not like I have a choice," I replied, wiping away the last of my tears.
Or did I? Not that I had any other plans.
"It'll be fun," she declared, continuing to walk—so lightly, as if she were floating above the ground.
Of course, by the time we were supposed to meet again, I had a ton of questions, plans, and more, but all of it had already slipped away.
What had led to this meeting, I wondered?
Could it be… I died?
The injury I'd gotten was trivial. I couldn't have actually died from something so foolish, right?
"Oh, you really did pick up all his worst traits," I thought I heard her teeth grind. "You've figured it out, haven't you?"
"Figured what out?"
"That this meeting is unusual."
"Oh, that."
From the moment I saw her, everything felt unreal. My height, my voice, and… the way she said my name for the first time.
Over those three years, I'd grown accustomed to the feminine forms, so I didn't notice it right away. But the name… it was the key to unraveling everything.
The city, which had seemed like a mere backdrop before, came alive. The buildings, once looking like flat drawings, now had weight and volume. And then—the cliffs, the road, the lake… It all reminded me of the world we'd created together, unknowingly.
Maybe it was a dream. But I felt too alive to believe that.
As I pondered how to respond, we reached the lake—Moon Lake. Its surface was perfectly smooth, like a mirror, and when I caught a glimpse of the full moon reflected in it, I was momentarily blinded.
The light was too bright—almost like the sun piercing through closed eyelids. I'd heard that sunlight is white, but it was as if I only now understood what it meant to see it undistorted.
Coming to my senses, I shifted my gaze to the cliffs lining the shore. There was something unnaturally harmonious about them, as if summer and winter had been painted with the same brush. Bluish shadows stretched across warm ochre veins, giving the landscape a life of its own, as if it were breathing.
"Probably almost from the start," I began. "The journeys I remember weren't this perfect, like they were traced from photographs."
I turned to her. "Hey, what's wrong?" I asked, panicking.
Her cheeks were puffed out like two balloons—even more than when she was eating those buns.
"Nothing," she huffed, turning away.
Seriously, what was going on? Wasn't it a good thing that her… skill, or whatever, had gotten better? Maybe I hadn't praised her enough? I didn't get it.
"I've never been to this place either," she added, still pouting.
What did she mean? Did she always have to speak in riddles?
I scanned the surroundings again, but everything felt familiar. More than that, I distinctly remembered being in these places with her. The only difference was the cohesion, the seamlessness. The landscape behind us didn't vanish. Looking closely, I could still see the outlines of houses and streets, illuminated by the glow of streetlights.
"You…"
I wanted to say something, but the sight before me wiped every thought from my mind.
Across the lake stretched a narrow, unadorned bridge, leading somewhere beyond. It had no supports, making it seem as if it floated in the air. And there she stood, right in front of it—like someone waiting to guide the lost at the boundary between two worlds.
Tilting her head slightly, the wind tousled her hair, forcing her to tuck a strand behind her ear.
"Are you ready?" she asked.
"For what?"
In her eyes, gleaming brightly against the night sky, I saw a familiar, blurry figure.
It was my reflection—but not the one standing before her.
"Please, walk straight ahead."
With those words, she stepped aside, as if making way for me.
"I was supposed to bring you here, and you—you're supposed to keep going."
"But why?"
She didn't answer. Her still, almost monumental presence briefly took me back to our first meeting—back then, she'd seemed cold, as if carved from ice. But now…
The person I met that day was just a seed. Now, standing before me was a fully bloomed flower.
She didn't seem fazed by the changes. I couldn't say the same for myself.
And yet, despite the mystery of it all, I felt safe beside her. I don't know why, but even the unknown didn't scare me.
"Alright. If you insist," I said with a sigh.
I stepped onto the edge of the bridge and turned back.
"Yeah?"
"When we meet again… I'll show you the city where I was reborn, and…"
The rest went unsaid.
Let's promise there'll be a next time.
For some reason, it hurt too much to say it out loud. And yet, she smiled, as if she'd heard it.
"Absolutely."
The wind picked up, tossing her hair and forcing me to squint. When I opened my eyes, she was gone—only a scattering of particles drifted in the air. The sight made me realize just how lonely the world around me had become.
Nodding, as if sealing our promise, I turned to the bridge and walked forward.
Glancing occasionally through the railings at the water, I moved ahead. There wasn't the slightest hint of life around me. Even the wind had stilled. The only sounds accompanying me were my footsteps and my own breathing.
Petals kept falling, as if raining from the sky. Forming a soft veil, they obscured my view. They landed on my skin, tangled in my hair, tickled my nose. When the wooden planks beneath my feet became a carpet of flowers, I felt as if I were dissolving into this rain. But no matter how beautiful they were, I quickly grew tired of them.
Shaking off the petals, I looked up—and heard voices.
Unconsciously, I stopped. I blinked—and saw a familiar house, along with a clear blue sky. The petals that reached the ground lost their color, but those blanketing the roof remained vibrant.
The door swung open, and two figures stepped out. Quint and Emilia. Talking to each other, they stepped back abruptly as two more figures darted out from behind them. Louise was laughing, pulling along… me.
My limbs looked so short, yet so free. In that moment, it was as if I could sense the color, a radiant aura of joy surrounding them. This Yori looked like she could reach out and grasp anything. Become anyone.
In this universe, it seemed I—or rather, she—had succeeded.
Could I have reached the same ending? Maybe.
Everything was subject to change in the end. The only constant was the blue sky overhead. I reached out toward it. Just like back then, I still couldn't even begin to touch it.
I could probably have been happy if I'd stayed with them. If I'd accepted myself as Yori, maybe I wouldn't have ended up so… deleted.
I looked again at this version of Yori's family. I had to admit, her skill in visualization had reached a new level. Back then, she couldn't recreate life.
Even if they weren't real, even if I couldn't touch them—they looked so… so alive.
I felt something wet brush against my hands. Cold and painful, like the tips of arrows. My legs trembled, forcing me to my knees. My vision blurred, as if I were looking through rain-streaked glass.
"Girls, don't run too far!" Emilia called out.
Louise dashed past me. I turned to see where she was going. She stopped and looked back in my direction, hopping playfully and waving her arms.
"Come on, hurry up!"
"Not fair! You… I'm tired," Yori panted, collapsing in front of me.
They probably couldn't see me, but Louise crouched down beside me, playfully poking Yori's cheek.
"You need to move more. You're like a houseplant."
"Huh?" Yori huffed, indignant, but she seemed too exhausted to swat Louise's finger away.
"Little by little. It's her first time being this active," Emilia commented with a chuckle.
"Mom!"
I hadn't even noticed Emilia and Quint approach.
"Let's head back inside before Yori gets completely covered in dirt," Emilia suggested, offering Yori her hand.
"Doesn't dirt make a kid a kid?" Quint added cheerfully, hands on his hips.
Louise turned her head, staring right at me. Quint and Emilia turned toward me too. The carefree atmosphere vanished the moment their eyes landed on me. Their smiles faded, replaced by something colder.
And then, I felt a gaze that chilled even my soul. Beads of sweat froze, as if icy spring water were seeping into my skin. My body refused to do what I wanted.
There was something inhuman in the face of a child stripped of happiness. In my face.
"Are you… coming?"
For a moment, my… her… our voice echoed in my ears.
"I… I'm not…"
No more words came. Only turned-away faces and figures retreating into the distance. My hand reached out to grasp them, but Yori's hand dissipated like smoke, only to reform when she pulled back. A bitter feeling, like blood spilling from a long-healed wound, drained me.
My body had been trembling before, but even that stopped. I was dead.
It was already too late to change anything. They didn't hesitate to leave.
The door slammed shut, leaving me outside. I heard their laughter again, as if I'd already been erased from their memory.
Or… were they laughing at me?
Swaying, I leaned forward, pressing my hands into the ground. Strands of hair fell over my eyes, and I could no longer see even my own shadow. The heavy thud of my heartbeat felt like the grating tick of a clock, drowning out all other sounds.
Once again, I was just standing by. It was my indecision that made me incapable of staying with them.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. There was no air, but something akin to it filled my lungs, gradually calming my racing heart.
I felt a rough, grainy wooden surface form beneath my palms. The bridge reappeared under me. I lifted my head—the house was gone, as if it had been a mirage.
Standing up, I glanced to the side—there was no way back. You didn't need to be a genius to understand I was being called to move forward.
I pressed on, and before I could process it, the yard and bridge gave way to something else.
A room. Completely empty and coated in dust. No familiar bed where I spent most of my time. No desk I'd never sat at. No wardrobe, no rug, nothing—that once belonged to me.
The familiar bedroom wasn't just unfamiliar; it was… empty. A space that belonged to no one perfectly mirrored the state inside me.
Without turning back or stopping, I kept walking, through the window—into the sky.
It didn't feel like flying; my legs moved as usual. But there was no sound of footsteps, no solid surface, only rote motions carrying me forward.
I thought nothing could surprise me anymore, but before I could take another step—I fell. Detached from everything, I felt an odd sense of déjà vu. The sky suddenly seemed so distant.
Everything happened faster than I could comprehend. There was the sky, the fall, and then my feet touched the ground.
This was a place where the line between familiar and unfamiliar simply didn't exist.
I stood at the edge of a wide meadow, strewn with flowers glowing with soft moonlight. Their radiance felt alive—not reflected, but emanating from within.
The meadow was encircled by trees with spiraled trunks, their leaves shimmering in shades of turquoise and purple. At the center stood an arch woven from delicate silver threads, trembling slightly in the breeze, emitting a melodic chime like the whisper of crystal bells.
Beyond the arch lay a pond, but its water wasn't clear—it was a deep, rich purple, with tiny lights gliding across its surface, like stars fallen from the sky. Around the pond were benches, not ordinary ones—they seemed to grow from the earth, covered in moss and dotted with tiny flowers that opened and closed as if alive.
In the distance, beyond this strange garden, stretched a city, but its outlines were blurred, as if painted in watercolor on wet paper, its towers appearing and dissolving into the air.
Above the arch hung a sign, but the text, written in a strange language, stirred conflicting feelings: it vaguely resonated in my memory yet repelled me at the same time.
And there, by the arch, stood a figure. A long t-shirt fluttered in the wind, and disheveled hair seemed woven from the same threads as the arch.
A familiar scent hit me, and with it came a flood of memories. Everything—from beginning to end. What had been slowly fading reignited within me with newfound strength.
His body looked so frail that even a faint gust of wind might carry him away. Narrow facial features and utterly exhausted marble-like eyes, framed by near-coal-black bags. A mop of disheveled light hair and stubble painted the image of a mad researcher, shut off from the world in pursuit of something meaningless. Though, that wasn't far from the truth.
The tip of my tongue stung when I met his face—the face that used to be mine.
"You know, you really ought to start taking care of yourself," I said.
"Look who's talking," he replied.
A skeptical smile twisted his face.
"Haha, fair enough," I said, raising my hands awkwardly as if conceding his point. "Guess it's your turn now, huh?"
I stood beside him, nearly losing my balance from a strange sense of weightlessness. No… beside myself.
"What do you mean, 'my turn'?"
His voice seemed to drift through the space—slowly, with an echo, as if breaking through a wall of water. It felt as though its color matched the landscape around us. Just as calm, just as distant.
"You probably want to blame me for the reincarnation going wrong, don't you? But I don't mind. Not anymore."
For some reason, standing next to my past self—unkempt, tired, but still familiar—I felt so free, as if I were floating in the sky.
He looked at me for a moment before responding, almost laughing.
"Why would I blame you? Actually… I owe you an apology," he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper at the end.
An awkward silence settled in. But then his hand rested on my head, ruffling my hair and making me squirm as if tickled. There was no guarantee this strange meeting would ever happen, but I was glad I hadn't stopped on my way here.
After laughing together for a bit, I noticed my throat starting to tremble.
"For what?" I asked, brushing his hand away and stepping back to a safe distance.
"For interfering in your life," he replied calmly.
"Hm?"
I wasn't sure what he was trying to say, and honestly, it didn't bother me all that much. But at the same time, I didn't want to miss the chance to talk a little longer.
"Well? How could you have done that?"
"By existing," he said sharply. "Even if it wasn't my intention, my personality distorted yours. And now… we have what we have."
His face became almost impenetrable, but his eyes still betrayed what he felt. His voice, crumbling like sand, carried a minor key—plaintive and apologetic. But I had no idea what he was talking about.
A few moments later—long enough for the arch's chime to form a short melody—I finally opened my mouth.
"What are you trying to say?"
"You're not me, Yori. I'm just a small part of something bigger… something real. And that real thing—it's you," he said, his finger lightly touching my chest.
"But… wait… Reincarnation and all that. I remember it. What are you talking about?"
"And who was supposed to die for me to take their place?" he asked with a faint smile. "The gods created life, not to take it away. Only humans could come up with something like that."
That should've shocked me, I suppose, but honestly, I felt nothing. Not a single muscle in my face twitched as he spoke.
"Then… all those memories and dreams?"
"They're mine."
"And they're fading because…"
"Because I'm erasing them." His gaze drifted to the vanishing city in the distance. "They're what led you to this state. An infant's mind couldn't handle the intrusion of another soul and mistook someone else's personality for its own."
The world around me spun, collapsing into a single whirlwind with me at its center. It pulled me in, tossed me side to side, flung me onto the shore, and dragged me back under.
What do you mean, you're erasing them? What other soul?
"No, I don't understand… This is all nonsense…" I started laughing involuntarily, brushing strands of hair from my forehead. "Oh, I get it. This is another test, right? You're testing me? Got it," I said, my nails digging into my face as my laughter turned almost manic.
"No, Yori, you…" His hand reached toward me, making me step back further.
And then…
Thud.
The air seemed to crack, and his body swayed, as if a machine had been unplugged from its power source. He sank to his knees, then collapsed to his side—silently, without resistance.
"Idiot!" the girl shouted. "I knew I couldn't trust you with a kid!"
"Y-you?"
She appeared as suddenly as she'd vanished. But instead of some graceful, magical entrance, it was as if she'd leapt out from behind a corner like a bandit. I don't think I'd ever seen her this angry.
"Oh, Yori…"
"What are you doing?!" he yelled, clutching the back of his head.
"Shut up! I never should've relied on a clumsy oaf like you!"
"What?! I would've—"
They kept shouting and arguing, but for some reason, I was happy. I'd been afraid our last meeting was the final one. That this other person would take her away from me. But… the way she was with him—whatever he was—made them seem like an old married couple. In that moment, images of Quint and Emilia flashed through my mind, making me burst into loud laughter.
They both fell silent and turned to me.
"Yori?" they said, almost in unison.
"Looks like beauty saved me again," I replied, wiping away tears of laughter.
"What?" they said in unison again.
An Alexandrian philosopher—possibly a woman—once responded to a confession of love by saying: "You're not in love with my soul or my mind, but with my body—bloody, cyclical, and far from perfect."
In today's world, people don't separate the two, but Neoplatonists believed the body was merely a temporary shell, distracting from true knowledge and beauty.
Yet, no other words were needed to describe these feelings. This was beauty in its purest form.
I loved her snow-white hair and the way each strand tapered so smoothly. Her lips, slightly parted and so vulnerable. Their soft, pale pink hue reminded me of the petals that had paved my path. Her eyes, gazing into which felt like a refreshing breeze sweeping through my heart, brushing away the chains of anxiety.
And though my description sounded like pure physical attraction, the emotions stirred by every subtle shift in her behavior defied words.
I truly felt that in no world could anyone compare to her.
Those were the exact feelings the guy standing beside her held. Or at least, that's what I sensed deep within me. Though, my heart seemed to beat more calmly than his. If it was even beating in his chest at all.
And the fact that she stayed by this person, even if only in a dream, couldn't help but bring me a sliver of happiness.
But still… what was I supposed to do next?
My mind felt shrouded in fog, with nothing clear to grasp. The moment I looked away from his face, it dissolved. And his name… I so rarely heard it from others that it simply didn't stick in my memory.
I wanted to believe otherwise, but reality seemed to clash with my desires.
"You know," the guy said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck before crouching in front of me, "I'm sorry. I had so much I wanted to say to you, but in the end… I just panicked."
"So… if both of you are here… does that mean this is all real?"
He pressed his lips together faintly, as if trying to smile, then nodded.
"I see."
Everything I believed in was gradually fading before my eyes, like a pencil drawing erased under the friction of a rubber. It was still etched within me, but it no longer held its former clarity.
I was bewildered. Lost. Confused. The truth he radiated burned me.
If I'm not me, then who am I? No, that's not right. Who am I supposed to be? Supposed to…?
An endless stream of questions flooded my body, filling me until it felt like I might suffocate.
"You are you, Yori. You've always been yourself," the girl said, her hand gently resting on my shoulder. "The interference caused a crisis, but it didn't erase the real you."
"It's a poor excuse, I know, but… it let you see yourself from the outside and fix what felt wrong," the guy added, his hand lightly squeezing my other shoulder. "It allowed you to grow. With every protest, every scream, every tear, you became more yourself."
"Then why? What was the point of all this? If it was going to happen eventually anyway, why show up and break me?" Though I was angry at both of them, I only brushed off his hand.
He looked so much like me now—vulnerable, confused, yet still smiling, as if it didn't faze him.
No, that wasn't it. I was the one who resembled him. Like a daughter who'd never met her father but inherited his traits through genes. And my lovesick eyes were merely admiration—for the image of a mother.
So, I wanted to be like her, not with her? It's complicated. I don't understand.
For some reason, in that moment, I felt a pang for Emilia and Quint.
"Sorry," he began, resting a hand on his knee. "I thought it was right to tell you myself. But the truth is… like everything else, you'll forget this meeting too."
My eyes widened so much it hurt. The small cuts left by the slashing gusts of past moments were only there to ensure his words would cleave me in two.
I'll forget… everything.
It was as if the very concept of time vanished, with only the faint chime of the arch reminding me it still existed.
"I thought you came to help me. To save me. But you… you're a murderer."
His mouth parted slightly, and the illusion of carefreeness shattered—his eyes filled with a suppressed heaviness.
"For three agonizing years, I lived with the thought that we were one. I dealt with it the way you would, even though I wanted to scream inside. I waited to meet her. I didn't care about anyone else as long as we'd reunite in the end. I wanted her to look only at me. I was distant, unapproachable—because of you. But for her, I tried, step by step, to change. It was hard. Unbearable. I wanted to sob. I was a stranger. I wasn't the daughter Quint and Emilia were waiting for. I pushed people away, then selfishly tried to pull them back. And it was all because of you! And now… you're saying I'll forget it all? Just like that? Erase three years of a worthless life to become nobody?"
The words wouldn't stop, my voice breaking into a rasp, my throat burning. If I hadn't bitten my tongue, I would've gone on endlessly.
I raised my hand—wanted to strike—but at the last moment, I clenched my fingers, letting out a hoarse sound, and stepped back.
A voice inside me said it wasn't his fault. He didn't choose to become part of me. He was just a victim too, trapped in the body of an indecisive girl, doing what he could to help in his own way.
But I still couldn't help feeling betrayed. After everything… he, she—they were going to abandon me.
"It's not—"
He stopped her before the words could leave her lips. A single glance was enough for something dark to bloom in her mouth—a sinister flower woven from shadow. It unfurled slowly, silently, then gently broke free and settled in my palms.
It was the most extraordinary way to silence someone.
I expected an outburst of anger, but the girl only watched the flower in confusion, as if she couldn't believe it herself.
"You're right," he said, turning to me with a soft sadness that made the pain of my own words spread even deeper. "About everything. It was selfish to ask for your forgiveness."
He stood, and only then did I notice: the entire meadow was covered in those sinister flowers. So pitch-black that even the moonlight couldn't touch them. They were the epitome of their color.
"This… is the only right path now," he continued, almost whispering. "Only this way can you find a home. But if you ever feel empty… I'll remind you that you're not alone."
"Home? Ha…" A bitter chuckle escaped me, as if in response to his sarcastic remark. "Didn't you just show me that I don't have one anymore? Their looks… their backs… their laughter…"
"No," he shook his head. "I wanted you to see: the house isn't empty because they kicked you out—it's empty because you left it yourself."
"Then you chose the worst possible way to show me."
What was even happening? Though I tried to seem unfazed, my words kept dripping with venom. With each one, it was as if I were spitting ink. They coated my tongue, leaving a bitter taste.
I needed to calm down. But something kept pulling my focus. Only then did I realize the cause—that monstrous flower. The moment I dropped it, the sensation of something squeezing my heart vanished.
"What… what was that?" I asked, bewildered.
"Something like a 'flower of negativity.' It helps you let it all out," the girl replied with a giggle, nudging the guy with her elbow. "Enjoy getting put in your place?"
"And you?" he shot back with a mocking expression. "Weren't you the first to try that medicine on me?"
"As if I learned anything new," she shrugged indifferently. "But you sure were chatty," she added with an even more biting smirk.
As their banter continued, I started to feel like they'd forgotten I was even there.
Though the flower was no longer in my hands, I still felt strange. Something inside me had shifted—I didn't know what or when.
But that wasn't something I wanted to dwell on.
There was one question, far more pressing than the rest.
"Listen," I said, cutting into their squabble, addressing the girl. "If he's a part of me, then why are you here?"
A flicker of confusion crossed her face, followed by laughter. That same light, ringing laugh—but now, it felt… out of place.
She kept laughing as I stared at her. He watched her too, with a smug grin, as if he'd just won something.
Normally, her laughter would've delighted me, but now it made me uneasy. Because I couldn't figure out what was going on.
I shot a couple of questioning glances at the guy, and he understood immediately.
"Actually," he said, pausing briefly, "実は… just as I'm a part of you, she's… a part of me."
"What?" I frowned.
"Not in the sense that she wouldn't exist without me," he said, scratching his cheek. "Just… she's not as all-powerful as she likes to seem."
"You little…"
His brazen comment earned him another smack. He staggered, a bit of spit flying from his mouth.
"Look," she began, ignoring him as he lay face-down, "I can't create new life. Well, not exactly. I…" Her eyes darted around, as if searching for a clue in the air.
"In other words," he interjected, still not getting up from the ground, "she couldn't just take me and reincarnate me. That would've required creating an empty shell or something like that. But she couldn't bring herself to take an innocent life either."
He rolled onto his side, propped himself up on one arm, and continued:
"So she just… merged our souls. Tied them to hers. So, I'm here fully, and she's… partially. Like remote access or something." He waved a hand lazily and rested his head back on his palm.
After his explanation, I turned to the girl, and she let out another awkward laugh. Her giggles were definitely her standout trait today.
Even if the gesture seemed trivial, like swapping one playing card for another, it took immense effort to force a smile in response to her laughter.
"Honestly, it was thanks to her that I figured it all out. If she hadn't stepped in, I might still think I was the one reincarnated."
"What do you mean?"
"Well…"
.
…But back to reality. I think it's obvious what I was doing—I was eating.
My fingers instinctively clenched and unclenched, like a newborn kitten's, reaching… uh, no, never mind.
To be honest, it took no small effort to restrain myself.
But let's be real—there'd be nothing weird about it, even if I had touched her chest. Or… wait, would that be weird? Good question.
"You shouldn't betray me like that."
A sudden whisper in my ear made me jerk my head so fast I toppled onto my side.
It was her. She stood over me in a place I couldn't comprehend.
The room was dark and empty, with only two windows, like carved-out eyes, letting in light. Beyond them stood Emilia, holding me in her arms.
Wait… or was it not me?
I glanced at the girl again, and her words echoed in my mind. It was probably just a joke, but I froze in horror.
I could practically feel the blood draining from my face.
As for the girl, she seemed to find my reaction quite amusing. Her smirk hinted at that.
"The moment you taste freedom, you're already reaching for some other girl? How scandalous."
"No! It's not like that! I just… I didn't mean anything by it! Really!"
"Now you're making excuses? How suspicious."
I felt like a scolded dog, my head shrinking into my shoulders as if trying to hide. Every attempt to defend myself only made her laugh harder.
"I'm just teasing," she said, wiping tears from her eyes with her index finger. "Your little hands wouldn't reach anything anyway."
.
"You know, you could've skipped all those embarrassing details," the guy huffed, his cheeks puffing out.
"You're so harsh on others, but the moment you're exposed, you get all offended, huh?" she retorted.
The way she whispered in his ear and trailed her finger along his forearm sent a shiver through even me. No wonder his body seemed to quake like an earthquake had hit. It was so intimate I wanted to curl up into a ball and roll away like an armadillo.
From time to time, I caught myself wondering: what would've happened if I hadn't died back then?
Most likely—if I hadn't been writing that book—I'd just be watching the clock's hands after work. Lost in thought, wondering whether I wanted all this to end or to keep going.
Thinking about what it would've been like if all these emotions had never found a way to spill out, never dissolved my former self.
And worst of all, if I'd simply vanished, as I'd originally wanted. If someone else had taken my place.
She changed me. Of course, this whole story belonged to him, as did the changes. And yet, the way he changed shaped me too.
He wasn't me, and I wasn't him. Still, she became the one who connected us—a ship guiding two lost sailors to where eternity and the unknown merge into one.
"Anyway," he cleared his throat, as if trying to draw attention back to himself, "from that moment, I started watching you."
"Oh, I see," I said, so lost in my thoughts that his words caught me off guard.
"And…"
He crossed his arms, and from his fingertips, black threads began to emerge—thin as hair, trembling as if alive. They twisted and multiplied, forming a dense web that didn't hang in the air but clung to something invisible, like a shadow grasping at light.
I reached out, and the tip of a thread brushed my finger. The cold burned worse than fire. Nothing remained on my skin, but it felt as though poison were spreading through my hand.
"…it was me who stopped you from using the threads," he said, flicking his fingers. The threads, like a spider's web, snapped and dissolved into the air. "Of course, Euriel showed up just in time, but…"
"But what?" I asked warily.
"You only imagined what they should be, not what they should do, right? They would've kept stretching until they hit something. If you'd panicked, you'd have dislocated your arm at best."
"Why's that?" I asked skeptically.
"You're too passive. And because of that—weak," he replied calmly.
I coughed dramatically. As harsh as it sounded, there was no lie in his words. He read me like an open book—not surprising, really. But it still stung.
"Hah! Look who's talking, Mr. Aphasiac," her voice cut through the air, and she shot him a skeptical glance, sizing him up from head to toe. "If you only knew how much effort it took to get him to achieve anything."
He froze, mouth agape, as if a portal to absurdity had opened before him. Ignoring him, she sat down in front of me and gently ruffled my hair.
"Don't listen to him. Cherish the time you have. Eat, sleep. And… a bit of activity really wouldn't hurt you."
"Thanks for the advice, Mom," I said with a smirk, placing my hand over hers. "And don't be so hard on Dad—you should see his puppy-dog face."
"Oh, I think I'm starting to understand how Emilia must've felt all this time," she said, narrowing her eyes slyly. "Little trickster. But…" She nodded, either to me or to herself. "You know who you need to say those words to. Sincerely." With a wink, she stood up. "It's time."
"Huh? Already…?"
Their matching soft smiles met my confusion. This was the second time I wanted to ask for a promise. But, like before, I couldn't bring myself to say it out loud. Everything felt more complicated now.
The next time, I wouldn't recognize them. Even in a dream, I might just pass by without a second glance.
And yet, if my memories were destined to fade like stars, then this meeting, too, must have been fate. That's what I told myself.
And so…
"Tell me… what are your names?"
By this morning, I'd likely forget their faces, their voices—even the fact that they ever existed.
The moment I wake up, their names would mean nothing.
And yet…
I wanted to hear them. Just once. No matter what.