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 - Naraka's Warning and Akane's Confession — The Night the Lies Crumble
The rain was falling.
Mashiro Meme gazed absently at the downpour from the window of the old house. His short black hair, heavy with the damp air, felt weightier than usual. His yellow eyes tracked the droplets sliding down the glass. The safety-pin hair ornament caught the faint light, glinting in the dim room.
(Rain again, huh.)
He murmured it silently, inside his chest.
In the eastern part of Minamo City, tucked into a corner of an aging residential district, Mashiro's house stood in quiet isolation. Light spilled from the neighboring homes. But Mashiro's house alone was dark and still, like a ruin.
Several days had passed since he'd met Akane Akari in the university library. That night in the back alleys of Neon Street, when they'd been chased by men in suits. The night he'd grabbed Akane's hand and run desperately through the narrow lanes.
Back then, Akane had said:
*I want to protect you.*
What had she meant by that? Was it just the kindness of a senpai looking out for her kouhai? Or was it something else entirely?
Mashiro stopped thinking about it.
(No point dwelling on it.)
He sat down on the living-room floor and looked at the two cats curled up on his lap. The calico, Pawako, and the black cat, Nia. Brother and sister — they'd lived with him since he started university.
Pawako let out a small mew.
"...What is it, Pawako? Hungry?"
Mashiro gently stroked Pawako's head. The fluffy fur felt pleasant against his fingertips. Nia watched him intently from a short distance away.
That was when it happened.
*Ding-dong* — the old intercom chimed.
Mashiro's body gave a small start.
(Who could that be? At this hour?)
A glance at the clock showed it was just past seven in the evening. Early for night, perhaps, but almost no one ever came to visit Mashiro's house. Let alone on a rainy day like this.
He rose slowly and headed for the entrance.
When he opened the door, a woman stood there.
Her long black hair was braided as always. Her purple-tinged dark eyes looked straight at him. In her hand, she clutched a small notebook.
"...Naraka."
He spoke the name in a hoarse voice.
"It's been a while, Mashiro."
Naraka spoke in her calm, low voice.
She was Mashiro's former colleague. A VTuber affiliated with Nijisanji — an apprentice prison guard. Mashiro, Naraka, and Kurusu Natsume had once formed a unit called "Mananatsu." But Naraka had graduated last November.
"...What's going on? Showing up without a word."
Mashiro asked, bewildered.
"There's something I need to talk to you about. Will you let me in?"
Naraka's expression was utterly serious. She was always like that. Earnest, responsible, devoted to her friends. She'd always worried about Mashiro as the colleague who needed looking after.
"...Yeah, come in. It's a mess, though."
Mashiro led Naraka into the living room.
She looked around the room and let out a small sigh.
"Same as ever. Does anyone actually live here?"
"Rude. I live here just fine."
"Oh? Looks like a ruin to me."
Naraka stared at the towering stack of cardboard boxes. They were crammed with the urban-legend materials Mashiro collected and his streaming equipment, all jumbled together.
"So what did you want to talk about?"
Mashiro sat on the floor and offered Naraka a cushion.
She lowered herself onto it and opened her notebook.
"Mashiro. Did you know your streams have been picking up strange noise lately?"
"Noise?"
Mashiro tilted his head.
"Yes. I checked your stream archives. At specific times, noise with the exact same waveform always gets mixed in. And on a frame-by-frame level, the shadow of an unfamiliar person flickers in for just an instant."
She showed him the notebook, filled with meticulous notes. Waveform graphs, timestamps, and descriptions of the suspicious shadow — all recorded in her neat handwriting.
"...Naraka, you investigated all this yourself?"
The sheer specificity of the notebook's contents rattled him inwardly.
"I've had time on my hands since graduating. I went back and watched all your streams. That's when I noticed the anomaly."
She continued in her matter-of-fact tone.
"This noise waveform isn't ordinary equipment trouble. It's the pattern you get when a signal is deliberately injected from outside. And the way that shadow appears — it closely resembles a phenomenon seen when a surveillance system's camera momentarily malfunctions."
"Surveillance system...?"
Mashiro's voice trembled, just slightly.
"Yes. I recognize this pattern. And it's not just your streams. I've also gathered several reports of suspicious vehicles spotted around you."
Naraka opened another page. Partial license plate numbers, locations, times of sighting — all recorded in detail.
"Research Institute No. 7. Rumors of memory-alteration technology. Black cars prowling around your house. Do you really think all of this is coincidence?"
Her purple-tinged dark eyes pierced through him.
"...Naraka, what are you trying to say?"
Mashiro licked his dry lips.
"Mashiro, you're caught up in something. Don't carry it all alone."
She told him this with utter seriousness.
Her words sank deep, heavy, into his chest.
(Caught up in something...?)
He repeated her words in his mind.
She was right — strange things had been happening lately. The noise during his streams. The suited pursuers that night. Akane's inexplicable behavior.
But Mashiro didn't want to admit any of it.
"It's fine. It's just material for urban legends."
He forced a smile as he said it.
"...Mashiro."
Naraka looked at him with sorrowful eyes.
"I've never thought of you as just some weirdo who's into urban legends. You've always been like this. Lazy, bad at relying on people, trying to shoulder everything alone. But this time, I don't think that's the kind of problem this is."
She closed her notebook and stood.
"I may have graduated, but I don't abandon my colleagues. If anything happens, contact me right away."
With that, she left into the rain.
Mashiro closed the front door and stood there, motionless.
(Doesn't abandon, huh.)
Her words echoed in his head.
She'd always been that way. Few words, but she cared about her friends more than anyone. Whenever Mashiro did something reckless, she'd sigh "Honestly..." — and still, she'd see him through to the end.
(Grateful, but...)
Mashiro returned to the living room and sat back down on the floor.
Pawako climbed onto his lap, looking worried. Nia edged a little closer too, curling up at his feet.
"...It's fine. I'm fine."
He murmured it as if to convince the cats.
But inside, his heart was churning, restless.
The contents of Naraka's notebook. They were far too specific, far too real. Too raw to dismiss as urban-legend fodder.
(Research Institute No. 7... memory-alteration technology...)
He repeated the words in his mind.
Somewhere, he felt he'd heard them before. No — it was just his imagination. It had to be.
He shook his head, trying to drive the thought away.
That was when it happened.
*Bang, bang, bang* — the front door rattled under a violent knocking.
The intercom didn't ring. Someone was pounding on the door directly with their fist.
Mashiro felt his heart lurch.
(Someone else...?)
He crept toward the entrance, dreading what he'd find.
When he opened the door, Akane Akari stood there, soaked to the bone.
Her bright chestnut semi-long hair clung to her face, heavy with rain. Her large amber eyes were red and swollen. She was crying.
"...Akane-san."
Shock nearly stole his voice.
Akane raised her face and looked at him. Tears spilled from her eyes without end, mingling with the rain.
I'm sorry, Mashiro-kun. I've been lying to you all this time.
She began in a trembling voice.
Mashiro brought her into the living room and handed her a towel.
As she dried her wet hair, she began to speak, bit by bit.
"I used to be a memory administrator for the Chronos Organization."
"...The Chronos Organization?"
The moment he heard the name, the contents of Naraka's notebook flashed through his mind.
"Yes. A secret organization that researches the extraction, alteration, and transplantation of memories. On the surface, it's a private sleep-research institute. But in truth, they do far more terrible things."
Her voice was low and sunken now, nothing like her usual bright tone.
"A memory administrator is a technician who manipulates memories within that organization. I held that position. Long before I ever met you, Mashiro-kun."
She looked down, gripping the towel tight.
"Two years ago. You were captured by the organization, Mashiro-kun. And they subjected you to a memory-erasure experiment. I was present at that experiment."
Mashiro's breath stopped.
"...I was captured? My memories were erased?"
His own voice sounded like it was coming from far away.
"Yes. Part of your memory was erased using Chronos technology. As a side effect, other memories are missing here and there too. That's why you can't properly recall your own past."
Wiping her tears, she went on.
"But I couldn't bear it anymore. Watching you suffer, robbed of your memories. So I smuggled you out behind the organization's back. ...That's the truth of what happened two years ago."
Mashiro tried desperately to sort her words in his head.
The Chronos Organization. Memory administrators. The memory-erasure experiment. That he had been its victim. And that Akane had been the accomplice who set him free.
"So... you approaching me wasn't a coincidence."
He asked in a strangled voice.
"...No. I pretended it was a coincidence. I'd been watching your streams all along. I looked into your university, too. Then I staged a coincidence and spoke to you in the library."
She answered in a voice crushed by guilt.
"It was all a lie, then. That smile. Those words. All of it."
His voice shook with anger and confusion.
"No! Not all of it was a lie!"
Akane lifted her head and looked at him desperately.
"After I let you escape, I kept watching over you. I watched every stream. I watched you chase urban legends through the city at midnight, and I never looked away. And then I realized — I'd fallen in love with you."
Her confession pierced him sharply.
"...In love?"
He stared at her, stunned.
"Yes. In love. I love you, Mashiro-kun. That's why I let you go. Even if it meant defying the organization, I wanted to save you. ...I'm sorry, Mashiro-kun. I've been lying all this time. I don't expect you to forgive me. But I won't lie anymore. This much, at least — please believe me."
She pleaded through her tears.
Mashiro couldn't believe her words.
No — he didn't want to believe them.
(A member of the organization that erased my memories? The accomplice who set me free? Because she loves me?)
A story that convenient couldn't possibly be true.
"Then that voice, those memories — was all of it your fault?"
Mashiro pressed toward her, anger in his voice.
"That night, after the stream, that woman's voice that flooded into my head. 'I'm sorry, Mashiro-kun.' Did you do that too?"
Akane flinched at his ferocity, but she didn't deny it.
"...That was a fragment of your memory. The erased memories are starting to resurface, triggered by something. My voice might be what's stimulating them."
Her explanation only stoked his anger further.
"Because of you, I lost my memories. Because of you, I don't even know who I am anymore. And now you want to stay by my side and protect me? Don't make me laugh!"
He shouted, giving in to his emotions.
I'm sorry... I'm sorry...
Akane just kept apologizing, crying.
A heavy silence fell over the living room.
Only the sound of rain echoed quietly through the room.
Pawako and Nia, caught between Mashiro and Akane, mewed uneasily.
"...Get out."
Mashiro turned his back and told her.
"Get out, right now. When I look at your face... I can't tell what's real anymore."
His voice was cold, pushing her away.
Akane stood frozen in place for a whil
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