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 boss's office and my memories—I'll take them back myself.
The white light was cold.
Akane Akari walked down a sterile corridor, her arms bound behind her back. Her bright chestnut semi-long hair was disheveled, a red mark left on her cheek. Her large amber eyes were wet with tears.
(Mashiro-kun...)
She called his name over and over in her heart.
(I hope you got away safely. With the cats, too.)
(Please. Just be safe.)
Basement level three. The deepest part of Chronos Organization's Seventh Research Lab. Flanked front and back by men in suits, Akane was made to stand before a certain room.
The heavy metal door slid open silently.
The room inside was unnaturally quiet. Monitors covered an entire wall. In the center sat a large chair. Equipped with a headgear and countless electrodes—she knew that chair.
The Resonance Chair. The crystallization of Chronos's technology, built to extract, alter, and transplant memories.
(That chair... again.)
Akane's body trembled.
"Hello, Akane-kun. It's been a while."
A low, gentle voice came from the back of the room.
Akane raised her head.
Short silver hair. A single white streak across his forehead. Cold gray eyes. An old burn scar on the back of his left hand. A man who always smiled when he spoke, yet whose eyes never smiled at all.
The Chronos executive, Kuroha Juu.
Akane's former superior—and the man in charge of the experiment that had erased Mashiro's memories.
"...Kuroha-san."
Akane's voice was hoarse.
"You've gotten a little thinner, haven't you? Perhaps student life didn't agree with you."
Kuroha approached her slowly. His footsteps echoed far too loudly in the quiet room.
"Or perhaps guilt has made your food stick in your throat. Lying to Mashiro Meme all this time—it must have been agonizing."
Akane bit her lip.
"I'm... not part of the organization anymore."
"That's right. You betrayed us and let Subject M escape. A fine traitor indeed."
Kuroha reached for her chin and tilted her face up. His cold fingers sent an icy sensation across her skin.
"But I do value you. Your talent remains highly regarded. Your aptitude as a memory keeper, your sensitivity—and above all, your deep understanding of Subject M. That is precious data to us."
"Mashiro-kun isn't data."
Akane spoke clearly, her voice trembling.
"He's the person I... the person I fell in love with."
Kuroha's gray eyes narrowed, just slightly.
"I see. Then let me tell you something good."
He released her and stood beside the Resonance Chair.
"We are proceeding with a plan to completely erase Mashiro Meme's memories. The previous procedure was incomplete. His memory recall keeps being accelerated by your presence. That was an unforeseen miscalculation on our part."
The blood drained from Akane's face.
"You understand what happens if we erase them completely? He'll forget everything—including you. Meeting you at the library. Walking the night streets together. You letting him escape. All of it will cease to have ever happened."
"...Even so."
Akane's voice shook. But her eyes looked straight at Kuroha.
"Even so, I... I won't lie to Mashiro-kun anymore. Even if he forgets me, I'll stay by his side."
A single tear traced down her cheek.
"I decided to protect him. Two years ago, and now. That much will never change."
Kuroha stared at her for a while. Then, slowly, he shook his head.
"...The folly of youth."
His voice was cold—and somehow, regretful.
"Emotion is nothing but noise in memory. You're about to wager your entire life on that noise. How foolish, Akane-kun."
Kuroha turned his back on her and walked toward the door.
"Stay here and cool your head for a while. Your talent is still needed. If you change your mind, call for me anytime."
The door closed.
Akane collapsed where she stood.
(Mashiro-kun...)
The tears wouldn't stop.
(I don't mind being forgotten. But you... I don't want your memories erased.)
Still bound, she pressed her forehead against the cold floor.
(Please... run. Forget about me.)
(But... I don't want that either.)
Akane's heart was in tatters.
(I want to see him. I want to see Mashiro-kun.)
That feeling alone burned fiercely in the dark room.
——
Before dawn.
In the eastern part of Minamo City, in front of a burned-down house.
Mashiro Meme simply stood, staring at the charred pillars and the collapsed roof. His short black hair swayed in the cold morning wind. His yellow eyes were faintly moist from the lingering scent of smoke. The safety-pin hair ornament caught the dim light of dawn, glinting softly.
(So this is where we lived.)
(With Pawako and Nia. The three of us.)
(Akane-san came to visit sometimes, too.)
In his arms, the calico cat Pawako and the black cat Nia huddled against him, limp and trembling from the terror of last night's fire. Mashiro held them gently, as if they might break.
"...Sorry. You must've been so scared."
His voice was hoarse.
Then he heard footsteps behind him.
"Mashiro."
He turned. A woman stood there, her long black hair braided. Purplish-black eyes. In her hands, a small notebook and a laptop.
Mashiro's former colleague, Naraka.
"Naraka..."
He called her name in a cracked voice.
"I saw your message. So I came running. ...What a mess."
Naraka caught her breath at the sight of the burned house. Then her expression tightened, and she opened her laptop.
"Mashiro. The noise in your stream—it matched the frequency of the organization's communications. I've already analyzed it. The organization's comm logs were on your smartphone, too."
She typed quickly and turned the screen toward him. It showed complex waveforms and a map.
"Look. This location. Northwest Minamo City, the old industrial district—Ash Lane. Known as the Seventh Research Lab. Akane-san was taken here."
Mashiro stared at the screen.
"...Akane-san is there."
"Yes. No doubt about it. The comm log trace and the source of your stream noise match perfectly."
Naraka closed the laptop and looked at him straight.
"Mashiro. I can't let you go alone. I'm coming with you."
Mashiro said nothing.
(Am I dragging someone else into this again?)
(Am I going to put Naraka in danger too?)
(But...)
He bit his lip. Then, slowly, he spoke.
"...This is my problem. Rescuing Akane-san, getting my memories back—it's all something I have to do myself."
"Mashiro."
"But."
His voice trembled.
"But... can I lean on you?"
It was the first weakness Mashiro had ever shown.
"I can't carry this alone anymore. I want to save Akane-san. But by myself, I don't know what to do. ...Can I lean on you, Naraka?"
Naraka's eyes widened slightly. Then she smiled, soft and warm.
"...That was my plan from the start. Idiot."
She clapped him on the shoulder.
"You, asking for help honestly—that's a rare sight. ...All right. Let's go. Let's save Akane-san."
"...Thank you."
He said it quietly.
(Thank you, Naraka.)
(So this is how reassuring it is not to be alone.)
Mashiro handed her the cats.
"Can you take Pawako and Nia somewhere safe? ...Like a friend's place."
"Yes. Leave it to me. I'll take responsibility for these two. ...Mashiro, you just think about yourself. About saving Akane-san, nothing else."
Naraka lifted Pawako and Nia gently.
"Mew."
Pawako gave a small cry. Nia stared fixedly at Mashiro.
"...I'll come get you soon."
He stroked both their heads softly.
"I'm going."
"Yes. Be careful."
Mashiro turned his back on the burned house one last time.
(I can't come back here.)
(And I don't intend to.)
(I'm going to save Akane-san.)
He started walking. The light of dawn pressed gently against his back.
——
Northwest Minamo City, the old industrial district—Ash Lane.
The place where factories once stood in rows was now a chain of ruins. Rusted steel frames. Shattered windows. Weeds pushing up through the asphalt.
Mashiro and Naraka moved cautiously through the ruins.
"It's just ahead. The ruins of the old Minamo Precision Machinery plant. The surface entrance to the Seventh Lab is disguised there."
Naraka checked the notes in her book and spoke in a low voice.
"I've already analyzed the security system's blind spots. The front is impossible. But there's a gap in the surveillance coverage at the west loading entrance. We should be able to slip underground from there."
"...You really did your research."
"Of course. How many years do you think I've been your colleague?"
She looked a little proud.
They circled to the west side of the abandoned factory. Before a rusted shutter was a small service door. Naraka pulled tools from her notebook and picked the lock with practiced ease.
"...It's open. Let's go."
"Yeah."
They slipped into the dark service entrance.
Stairs leading down. Damp air. The smell of rusted iron.
(So this is...)
As Mashiro descended, he felt something stir deep in his chest.
(I know this. This smell. This air.)
(I've been here before.)
At the bottom of the stairs was a white corridor, like a sterile cleanroom.
White walls. White ceiling. White lights. The smell of disinfectant.
And then—
Mashiro's vision lurched.
(Huh...?)
The world before him blurred white.
And then images flashed through his mind.
A white corridor. The sensation of being led by the hand. Chestnut hair running ahead.
"Sorry, Mashiro-kun."
He heard a voice.
Akane's voice.
"I'm getting you out. Whatever happens, don't look back."
(Akane-san...?)
"We'll meet again. I promise. Definitely."
(A promise...)
A late-night alley. Cold wind. The warmth of a held hand.
"If we meet again, then—"
"Mashiro!"
Naraka's voice snapped him back.
He realized he was braced against the white wall, breathing raggedly. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
"Are you okay? You're white as a sheet."
Naraka peered at his face with concern.
"...Yeah, I'm fine."
Mashiro steadied his breathing and slowly raised his head.
"...This is it. I've been here before."
There was certainty in his voice.
"Two years ago, Akane-san led me by the hand and we ran down this corridor. ...I remember. Not all of it, but the fragments are clear."
"Mashiro..."
"Let's go. Akane-san must be further down."
He pushed off the wall and walked on.
(The memories are coming back.)
(Akane-san's voice, the warmth of her hand, the promise.)
(It was all real.)
(Akane-san never lied to me.)
(She was trying to protect me.)
Something grew hot deep in Mashiro's chest.
(Wait for me, Akane-san. I'm coming.)
The two of them advanced down the white corridor toward basement level two.
——
Basement level two.
A sterile floor lined with laboratories.
The moment Mashiro and Naraka turned the corner—
"Intruders detected! Secure Subjects M and N!"
A guard's shout rang across the floor.
Men in black suits closed in on them from both ends of the passage.
"Tch... they found us."
Naraka quickly scanned their surroundings.
"Mashiro, go! I'll draw them off!"
"What—but—"
"Just go! You save Akane-san! Even after graduation, I'm still your colleague!"
With that shout, Naraka charged toward the guards.
"Naraka!"
"Go, Mashiro! Leave the rest to me!"
She said it with a smile, without looking back.
(Naraka...)
Mashiro's eyes burned.
(Sorry. Thank you.)
Holding back tears, he ran.
(I won't waste what Naraka's doing for me.)
(I will save Akane-san.)
Trusting in the fragments of memory, Mashiro raced down the stairs to basement level three.
With every corner he turned, Akane's voice and the warmth of her hand grew clearer.
"Mashiro-kun, this way!"
"It's okay. I'll protect you."
"We'll meet again. Definitely."
(Akane-san...)
(I was always the one being protected by you.)
(Now it's my turn to protect you.)
Mashiro stood before the heavy metal door of basement level three.
(Here.)
(Akane-san is beyond this door.)
He took a deep breath.
Then he shoved the door open with all his strength.
——
The room was silent.
Monitors across the wall. The large chair in the center. The headgear and countless electrodes.
And standing before the chair,
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