Two a.m. on Neon Street. A stream ends. A voice begins.
By day, Mashiro is just another psychology student at Minamo University. By night, he chases urban legends through the back alleys of Minamo City, streaming his verifications for an audience that barely exists. Horror doesn't scare him—it thrills him. And the gaps in his own memory? He's never thought to look too closely.
Then a burst of static hijacks his monitor, and a woman's voice slips through the noise: *"I'm sorry, Mashiro-kun."* A
Mashiro's Memories, Akane's Heart - The library junior and the lying smile
Afternoon light fell quietly into the reading room of Minamo University's library.
Fluorescent lamps hung from the high ceiling, their white glow washing over the backs of the students lined up at the long tables. The sound of turning pages, of pens scratching across notebooks, the occasional cough. All of it blended together into the particular silence that belonged to libraries alone.
Mashiro Meme sat by the window, working on a psychology report. His short black hair cast a shadow across his cheek each time he bowed his head. His yellow eyes moved slowly across the open reference book. The safety-pin hair ornament caught the fluorescent light and glinted now and then.
(It's not coming together.)
He muttered it inwardly. A report on memory and cognition. The topic: "The Uncertainty of Memory and Self-Identity." Ironic, really. A man who'd lost his memories, writing a paper on the uncertainty of memory.
He still hadn't managed to digest what had happened during last night's stream. The equipment noise. The memory of a white ceiling. That woman's voice. *I'm sorry, Mashiro-kun.* Whenever he tried to recall it, a dull ache spread through the back of his skull—as if someone were telling him not to touch it.
(It's nothing. Just a equipment malfunction.)
He told himself that and gripped his pen again.
That was when it happened.
"Um, excuse me."
The voice came from right beside him—soft, with a slight lilt to it. Mashiro looked up to find a girl standing there.
Bright chestnut hair, medium-length, falling in loose waves that swayed gently around her shoulders. Large amber eyes fixed squarely on him. A thin wristband on her left wrist. And most striking of all—her smile.
A smile like the sun. In the quiet air of the library, that one spot seemed to glow.
"Uh..."
Mashiro was thrown off. Being approached out of nowhere by a stranger was honestly not his strong suit. He never knew how to react.
"Sorry—is this book in use?"
The girl pointed at the stack of books by Mashiro's left hand. *Introduction to Cognitive Psychology.* The reference he'd been using until a moment ago.
"Oh, this... no, I'm done with it. Go ahead."
He held the book out. The girl took it happily.
"Thank you! I was looking for the same one. Cognitive psychology references are surprisingly scarce in this library, aren't they?"
"...Yeah, they are."
Mashiro answered briefly. The conversation stalled. He didn't know how to keep it going. That had always been true of him. Talking to people was not something he was good at.
But the girl didn't seem to mind his manner at all.
"Oh—mind if I sit next to you?"
"...Go ahead."
She gave a small bow and settled into the seat beside him. She set her bag on the desk and opened her book. A faint, sweet scent—like shampoo—drifted toward him.
Mashiro returned his gaze to his report. He had to focus. But the presence beside him nagged at his attention, and his pen barely moved.
(Who is she? Someone from my department, maybe.)
The psychology department had a lot of students. Mashiro didn't interact with people much, so he barely remembered the faces of his own year—let alone anyone younger.
Silence stretched between them. Only the sound of turning pages flowed through the gap.
"Um—"
She spoke to him again. When Mashiro turned, she was tilting her head slightly, watching him with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"Are you Mashiro-senpai, by any chance? Second-year psychology?"
Mashiro's body went still.
"...How do you know my name?"
Wariness surfaced from somewhere deep in his chest. Mashiro was not a conspicuous presence at the university. He streamed, yes—but he never showed his face. No one at school should have known he was a streamer.
"I knew it! I'm Akane Akari. First-year, Cognitive Information Science, psychology department. I watch your streams all the time, senpai."
She smiled brightly as she said it. There was no guile in that smile—only pure, unguarded brightness.
"You... watch my streams?"
Mashiro was startled. Someone at his university watched his streams. And a kouhai, no less.
"Yes! I love them. The urban legend verification streams. Your voice is so calming to listen to, and the way you walk through the city at night—it's just really good. Oh, but—I've just been watching on my own, so I'm sorry if that's been a bother."
She waved both hands in a small, flustered gesture. It was somehow endearing—like a small animal—and Mashiro felt the corner of his mouth threaten to soften.
"No, it's not a bother. ...If anything, I'm glad."
That was the truth. His work was reaching someone. And not just anyone—someone this close. The fact of it warmed something deep in his chest.
"Really? Thank goodness... Oh, right. Senpai, that 'one-man hide-and-seek' thing you did on your last stream—it was so interesting."
"You watched that?"
"Yes! At the end, you sink the doll in the water, right? I was thinking, wow, he actually does it. I could never do something that scary, so I think you're amazing."
"You're not scared?"
Akane looked at him, slightly surprised.
"Huh?"
"One-man hide-and-seek. Most people would be scared. You're not?"
At his question, Akane lowered her gaze—just for an instant. Barely a moment.
"...I am scared. But—"
She let out a small breath, then raised her head.
"But when I watch your streams, I feel like scary stories aren't just scary. There's always a reason behind them, you know? Figuring that out together—that's what's fun."
Her words landed squarely in the center of Mashiro's heart.
(This girl really watches my streams. Properly.)
He noticed that his cheeks had relaxed, just slightly.
"Huh."
"Oh—senpai, did you just smile?"
She said it in a teasing tone.
"...I didn't smile."
"You did. Your mouth twitched up."
"You're imagining things."
Mashiro turned his face away and dropped his gaze to his report. But inside, things were a little noisy.
(What is this? This weird feeling.)
Akane giggled. Even her laughter was small and soft, melting into the library's quiet.
"You know, senpai, you're much quieter than I expected. On your streams you talk faster and never stop."
"...When it's something I'm interested in, I can't help it."
"Oh, so right now you're not interested in talking to me? That's mean."
She puffed out her lips in an exaggerated pout.
"That's not what I meant."
Mashiro denied it hastily.
"Fufu, I know. I'm joking."
Her smile snapped right back. The speed of that switch said everything about how bright she was.
"But really, your streams are interesting. Especially the part during urban legend verifications where you talk about them so happily. Watching that makes me happy too."
"...I look happy?"
"You do! Very. Oh—even now. Since we started talking about urban legends, your voice has been a little more lively."
Mashiro blinked.
Now that she mentioned it, she was right. At some point he'd gotten caught up in the conversation. When urban legends came up, he talked faster—an old habit.
(I didn't notice.)
His own self, and he only realized it when someone else pointed it out. Mashiro felt something like embarrassment, a sheepish warmth.
"...That's embarrassing."
He murmured it quietly.
"Why? I think it's a good thing. Being able to talk happily about what you love."
Akane said it with a serious face. Her amber eyes looked straight at him.
(Why is this girl so direct?)
Mashiro looked out the window, as if to escape that gaze. The afternoon sun lit the campus trees brightly.
"...Are you interested in urban legends?"
He asked, steering the conversation away.
"I am! I know quite a bit, actually. I talk about this city's rumors with my friends all the time. Oh, but I'm no match for you, senpai."
"Is that so."
"Yes. I especially love stories about the city at night. The back alleys of Neon Street—places like that have a completely different face from daytime, right? That feeling gets my heart racing."
Something about her words struck Mashiro as slightly off.
(Loves stories about the city at night, huh.)
Would an ordinary college girl get excited about the back alleys of a downtown district at midnight? Mashiro had an abnormally high tolerance for horror, so walking through the night city didn't faze him. But that was because he was unusual—normal people should be different.
Still, he didn't voice the discomfort.
"...Do you go out alone at night?"
"Huh? Oh—no, with friends. Alone would be... a little scary."
Akane answered with a slight fluster. Her reaction felt a touch unnatural, but Mashiro didn't press further.
"Well, you shouldn't go to the night city alone. You never know what might happen."
"Coming from you, senpai? You stream alone at midnight all the time."
She laughed, exasperated.
"...I'm different. I'm used to it."
"'Used to it' isn't an answer. It makes me worry."
Her voice turned a little more serious.
"I always watch your streams to the end. But when I think about you walking the night city alone, my heart races every time. What if something happens?"
At those words, Mashiro felt a small pang deep in his chest.
(Someone worries about me.)
Just that—and it felt like being saved. Mashiro was bad at relying on people, and he wasn't used to being worried about either. So Akane's words were an unexpected kindness.
"...Thank you."
He said it in a voice that nearly vanished.
"Oh, no—it's nothing. I'm just worrying on my own."
Akane smiled, a little embarrassed.
Just then, her smartphone buzzed softly.
Her expression stiffened—for an instant. Just an instant. But Mashiro's eyes caught it clearly.
(Did her face just go tight?)
Akane's smile returned immediately, and she slipped the phone into her bag.
"Oh, sorry. A message from a friend."
"...Okay."
Mashiro decided to file away that flicker of a change in her expression.
"Um, senpai—"
Akane spoke in a slightly more formal tone.
"Would you like to go verify some urban legends together sometime? I know the night city well. I can show you places that would be useful for your streams."
Mashiro was taken aback by the proposal.
(Together? Verifying?)
It had been so long since he'd done anything with another person. He streamed alone, basically. He'd almost never done collab streams. The very idea of walking the city with someone else had never occurred to him.
"...You want to go with me?"
"Yes! Walking through the night city talking about urban legends with you—I'm sure it would be fun. Is that a no?"
She looked at him with eyes full of expectation.
(When she asks it like that...)
Mashiro realized he was searching for a reason to refuse. But he couldn't find one. The time he'd spent with Akane had been far more comfortable than he'd expected. Having grown too used to being alone, he hadn't known that talking with someone could lighten his heart this much.
"...All right. Sure."
The moment he said it, Akane's face lit up.
"Really? Yes! Then—can we exchange contacts? I'll message you later about the date and details."
"Yeah."
Mashiro pulled out his phone, and they exchanged contact information. Akane's fingers moved lightly across the screen.
"Thank you! I'm so happy. Getting to talk with you, senpai—today was really lucky for me."
She smiled as if she truly meant it. Watching that smile, Mashiro's heart warmed on its own.
(It's been so long since I felt this.)
The sense of not being alone. The sense of being connected to someone. He had forgotten that feeling for a very long time.
"...I had fun too."
He said it honestly.
When Akane heard his words, for just a moment, her face looked like she might cry.
But that too was only for an instant—and then her usual bright smile was back.
"Well, I should get going. Good luck with your report! I'll message you!"
She waved and left the reading room.
Mashiro watched her back for a while.
(Akane Akari, huh.)
A small snag remained in his chest.
(I feel like I've met her somewhere
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