Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They were inseparable throughout their youth — Reinhard van Astrea, Julius Juukulius and Subaru Natsuki. A trio united by laughter, confidences and dreams that intertwined. But what was once a solid friendship was silently broken.

Eleven years ago, Subaru completely cut ties with the two. No explanation. He simply disappeared. Since then, the trio has become a duo — and a painful absence.

Reinhard took over the presidency of Astrea Tecnologia & Software against the wishes of his father and grandfather. In his hands, the company flourished. He was a respected leader, admired for his efficiency and vision. But behind the spotlight and the headlines, there was a man still marked by the absence of someone he could never forget. Subaru had been more than a friend. There were feelings that Reinhard never had the courage to name — and that he preferred to bury under reports and meetings

Julius, in turn, became the right-hand man of Anastasia Hoshin, his business partner and faithful friend. Together, they founded the Hoshin Company, an innovative powerhouse in the world of investments. But even surrounded by numbers and strategies, Julius could not escape the past. The affection he felt for Subaru had deeper roots than he had allowed himself to admit. For years, he tried to rationalize, hide... but his absence echoed in every space of silence.

Subaru disappeared from the map after the tragic death of his parents, Kenichi and Naoko Natsuki, in a car accident. Since then, there was no trace. No social media, bank records, or contact with acquaintances. It was as if he had ceased to exist.

And yet, Reinhard and Julius kept searching.

It was not just longing. It was love — one that never had a chance to blossom.

Something that, even unspoken, still lived in both of them.

Chapter Text

Reinhard van Astrea's footsteps echoed through the mirrored hallway on the 35th floor. It was early—so early that even the motion sensors seemed too lazy to turn on the lights. He preferred it that way. The city, visible through the glass wall behind his desk, was still waking up, the lights of dawn slowly yielding to the morning sun.  

He wore a perfectly tailored dark gray suit, but something inside him felt misaligned—an old, nagging silence that refused to leave him alone.  

On the holographic screen before him, spreadsheets danced with record profits, green indicators, and upward-trending graphs. Astrea Technology & Software was at its peak. And yet, Reinhard barely glanced at the numbers. His eyes were fixed on a tab that had been open for weeks: an old file folder labeled "Natsuki Subaru." 

"No updates…" he whispered, as if expecting an answer.  

He closed the tab. Not because he had given up, but because it was too early to let longing take control.  

A notification flashed: Board Meeting - 9:00 AM. Agenda: Negotiations with Hoshin Company for a cooperation agreement.  

"Anastasia…" he murmured, feeling the irony of that name appearing right after another that still ached.  

Cooperation. That was what they were aiming for. Uniting two powerhouses. Strengthening bonds. Consolidating empires. But Reinhard knew no signed contract would ever fill the void Subaru had left behind.  

The sound of footsteps on the other side of the glass snapped him out of his thoughts. His assistant waved, pointing toward the door.  

"They're waiting for you. Astrea-sama."

He stood, adjusted his tie, and walked to the door, heading toward the meeting room.  

---  

The meeting room on the 35th floor of Astrea Technology & Software was spacious, with glass walls offering a panoramic view of Tokyo. The crystal table at the center reflected the sunlight that had begun to flood the room, as executives and advisors took their seats. Reinhard entered with firm steps, his gaze quickly scanning those present.  

On the other side of the table, sitting with a relaxed yet calculated posture, was Anastasia Hoshin. Her light-purple hair was tied in an elegant braid, and her teal-blue eyes gleamed with the cunning of someone always three steps ahead. Beside her, arms crossed and expression neutral, was Julius Juukulius.  

Reinhard and Julius exchanged a brief glance—a silence heavy with years of friendship and an absence that had never been filled.  

"Good morning, Reinhard," Anastasia greeted with a sharp smile. "Seems like we finally managed to schedule this meeting." 

"Good morning, Anastasia. Julius," Reinhard replied with a slight nod. "I hope we're all ready to discuss the terms of this partnership."*  

Julius inclined his head in agreement, but Reinhard noticed the faint drumming of his fingers on the table—a sign of restlessness only someone who knew him so well would catch.  

The meeting began with formal presentations, growth charts, and collaboration proposals between the two companies. But as numbers were discussed, Reinhard could barely focus. His mind wandered to the last time the three of them had been together—a sunny afternoon in the school garden, promising that no matter what happened, they would always be there for each other.  

Reinhard didn't respond immediately. He lingered in silence for a second longer than necessary, watching the digital signature glow on the tablet before him. It was ironic how a billion-yen deal could be sealed with a single tap, while certain wounds from the past remained open, impossible to close with a contract.  

"Shall we sign, then?" Julius asked, his voice firm but with a slightly rough edge, as if carrying something beyond the business agenda.  

Reinhard nodded slowly, and together, they signed. The restrained applause of the advisors marked the end of the meeting, and Anastasia exchanged formal smiles with the executives as her team began gathering materials. But Julius remained where he was, staring at Reinhard with something more in his eyes.  

"Reinhard," he called, in a tone almost too intimate for the setting. "Got time tonight?"  

The CEO raised an eyebrow, surprised by the direct question. Julius continued with a small smile.  

"Was thinking of going to that old restaurant near Gotenba Station. Appa d’Oro. Remember?"

Reinhard let out a short, quiet laugh. He hadn’t laughed like that in a long time.  

"Of course I remember. Is it still run by old man Kadomon?" 

"No, he passed it down to his daughter… but the place is still the same. The smell, the slightly crooked counter, the curry rice balls we swore tasted like childhood." Julius paused, then delivered the invitation decisively: "Everyone’s gonna be there tonight. Otto and Frederica, Garfiel and Mimi, Felt—who’s a pro athlete now, believe it or not—Rem and Ram, Emilia… even Beatrice left the library just to show up. Felix is coming too—he’s a doctor now. Crusch also confirmed. Army general, but she still manages to be on time."

"Wow, the whole gang, huh?" Reinhard asked, half-laughing, half-serious.  

He looked out at the horizon beyond the glass. The sun was already high, casting harsh, direct light over Tokyo. He thought of how many times he had turned down similar invitations, burying himself in work and excuses. But for the first time in years, he felt like saying yes.  

"Seven?" he said, turning his gaze back to Julius.  

"Seven-thirty. Traffic’s still brutal in that area," Julius replied with a slight, relieved smile.  

---  

The traffic in Shibuya crawled like a river of bottled metal. Gleaming cars reflected the night sky, already tinged with purple and amber. Inside a black Astrea Motors sedan—discreet, armored, and comfortable—Reinhard van Astrea drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, watching the endless sequence of red lights ahead.  

A notification appeared on the dashboard:  

Incoming call: Julius Juukulius.

He answered with a tap on the wheel.  

"You’re late," came Julius’ voice, slightly muffled by the ambient noise of the restaurant in the background.  

"You know me. I only pretend to be punctual for investor meetings," Reinhard replied with light irony.  

"And even then, only because your assistant threatens to fire you," Julius shot back, laughing. "Where are you?"  

"Almost at Sumida Bridge. Been stuck behind a truck that decided to die for ten minutes. Apparently, not everything in Tokyo has evolved since our school days."  

There was a moment of silence on the line—comfortable yet heavy. Julius took a deep breath.  

"Funny how some things… never change. The restaurant still smells the same. The same blue-and-white checkered napkins. Even the old radio plays those jazz songs Emilia used to love mimicking. Remember that?" 

Reinhard smiled, catching his reflection in the rearview mirror for a second.  

"I remember. She’d do that ridiculous ‘40s club singer’ voice. And Felix would dance along like he was in a Broadway musical."  

"Exactly. And now he’s an elite surgeon. Go figure." 

Another pause. This time, Reinhard broke the silence.  

"What about Subaru? Did… anyone mention him?"  

Julius took a moment to answer.  

"Emilia asked if we were still looking. Rem brought an old photo. One of those printed ones, you know? The three of us. At the spring festival. You with that awful haircut. Me with a crooked tie. Subaru… smiling like the world was simple." 

Reinhard tightened his grip on the wheel.  

"The world was simple. Until he disappeared." 

"He didn’t just vanish for no reason, Reinhard. We know that. And I know it sounds crazy, but… when I saw that photo, for a second, I swear it felt like he was still here." 

Reinhard glanced outside. The city rushed by, impatient, but inside the car, time seemed suspended.  

"I feel that too. Sometimes. Like he’s watching me. Like he’s… waiting for us to find him." 

"Maybe tonight is the start of something. Maybe this dinner is more than just a memory," Julius said, his voice softer. "Maybe it’s a key."  

The light finally turned green. The car inched forward.  

"I’m almost there," Reinhard said, refocusing. "Save me a seat at the counter. The one on the right. Where Subaru always sat."  

"Already reserved. And there’s a curry rice ball waiting for you here. You’d better hurry." 

The call ended, but the silence that followed was different. Heavy, yes—but threaded with a faint strand of hope. Reinhard gripped the wheel tighter and, for the first time in a long time, felt like he was heading in the right direction.  

The car glided to a stop in front of a discreet storefront, nestled between renovated buildings and neon signs:  

Appa d’Oro. 

The sign was slightly burnt at the corner but still boasted the same retro style—gold cursive letters on a wine-red background. The fogged front window offered a vague glimpse inside: warm light, small tables, muffled voices, and the familiar sound of cutlery and laughter.  

Reinhard turned off the engine and took a deep breath. Even now, dressed in a designer suit, wearing a watch worth more than a car, and carrying the weight of an empire on his shoulders, he hesitated.  

It felt like stepping through a portal. As if, by crossing that threshold, he would cease to be the CEO of Astrea Technology & Software and become just… Reinhard. A boy with a restless heart, missing a time he hadn’t realized was slipping away.  

He pushed open the glass door. A bell jingled overhead—the same as always, out of tune and annoying. And then, the smell hit him: curry, hot oil, ginger, and nostalgia. Everything exactly the same.  

Inside, the restaurant was nearly full, but there was one corner where the laughter was louder, the gestures more animated—and the faces unmistakable.  

Otto Suwen was standing, telling a story with exaggerated hand gestures while his wife, Frederica, watched him with a mix of affection and tolerance. Garfiel laughed loudly, head thrown back, with Mimi nudging him to lower his voice. Felt, with her short hair and defiant expression, chewed on a skewer like she was challenging the world. Rem and Ram, identical yet different, observed everything with sharp eyes. Beatrice, perched on two stacked cushions, read a book amid the chaos as if it were the most natural thing. Felix was already on his feet, about to dance to the background music—much to Crusch’s chagrin, who watched him with an almost maternal look.  

And there, at the counter… **Emilia.**  

Her silver hair was tied in a messy bun, and she wore a light-purple sweater with jeans. She laughed lightly, a cup of tea in her hands. And beside her, Julius. Who, upon seeing Reinhard frozen at the door, raised an eyebrow and lifted his sake cup in greeting.  

"Took your time, but you made it," he said, loud enough for the group to hear.  

In seconds, all eyes turned to Reinhard. And for a brief moment, time stopped. Conversations ceased. Smiles froze in surprise, emotion… and something harder to name.  

Reinhard walked toward them, his steps steady but his heart slightly off-beat. Emilia was the first to rise. She hugged him without hesitation—an embrace full of memories and absences.  

"You haven’t changed," she said, smiling.  

"And you still say that to everyone, even when it’s not true," Reinhard replied with a rare, genuine smile.  

One by one, the hugs and greetings followed. Rem shook his hand gently. Ram simply nodded. Otto hugged him like it had been decades. Garfiel slapped his back hard enough to dislocate a shoulder. Crusch greeted him with a general’s solemnity. Mimi handed him a bag of sweets "just because." Felix hugged and spun him—literally. And Beatrice, without looking up from her book, said only:  

"You’re eleven years late, I suppose." 

Reinhard smiled with a hint of pain in his eyes and replied:  

"I know." 

Julius pulled out a chair for him at the counter. The one on the right. Where Subaru used to sit.  

And for a second—just one—Reinhard almost saw him there. Smiling, a spoonful of curry in hand, about to crack a bad joke.  

But when he blinked, the chair was empty.  

Still… something about tonight whispered that maybe it wouldn’t stay that way for long.  

---  

The food arrived quickly, as if the restaurant also recognized the ghosts seated at the table. Plates of steaming curry, crispy gyoza, molded rice bowls, and a pot of jasmine tea passed from hand to hand. For a moment, Appa d’Oro became a time capsule.  

"I still can’t believe this curry tastes the same,"* Otto said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. *"They must’ve frozen the seasoning from 2009."  

"Same flavor as when you pretended to be allergic just so you wouldn’t have to share with Subaru," Ram accused, sipping her tea with sharp elegance.  

"I never said that! It was one time!" Otto defended himself between laughs. Frederica lightly smacked his arm.  

"And yet he still ate it secretly in the sports field," Felt added, throwing her head back as she laughed.  

Garfiel, mouth full, tried to say something, but Mimi stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.  

"Swallow first, champ. Then comes the impressions."  

Felix, holding a glowing pink drink, spun his chair back and forth.  

"You know what’s weird? We always thought this group would drift apart. But somehow, everyone found their way back." 

"Not everyone," Beatrice murmured, not lifting her eyes from the book. The words hung in the air like a dissonant note, but no one contradicted her.  

Crusch cleared her throat, adopting a more composed tone.  

"When we left school, I thought I’d go into diplomacy. But the military academy hooked me, and… well, here I am. Leading operations across the country and still trying to understand the political decisions of teenagers with diplomas." 

"And you still use that pen with the school crest?" Rem asked with a gentle smile.  

"Of course. It’s my ‘secret weapon’ in tough negotiations," Crusch replied, and everyone laughed.  

Emilia leaned back in her chair, watching the group.  

"You know what stood out to me back then? The promises. Those afternoons on the rooftop. We’d say things like ‘we’ll conquer the world’ or ‘nothing will tear us apart.’ And even after everything… part of that came true."  

"Yes," Julius said. "But another part got lost along the way."  

Reinhard, silent until now, twirled his spoon between his fingers. He looked around at the familiar faces. The same spark in their eyes, now shaped by experiences, losses, choices.  

"Remember the literature club? When Subaru read poems in a fake French accent?" he asked, and laughter rippled across the table.  

'‘Le croissant de la solitude,’ he’d say," Felix guffawed. "And then he’d mix up Baudelaire and Buddha."  

"He never had a talent for it," Ram said with a rare, genuine smile. "But he was the only one who could make us listen till the end." 

"Because he made everything seem more important than it was,"* Beatrice said, now closing her book. "Even the bad poems. Even the silences."

The group fell quiet for a few seconds. A pause that wasn’t uncomfortable, but weighted. Reinhard sighed.  

"I don’t know if any of us would be who we are today if we hadn’t met Subaru. Or if he hadn’t disappeared."

"And that’s why we’re still here," Julius finished, setting his glass down. *"Because his absence still shapes us."  

"Well…" Otto said, trying to lighten the mood, "if he were here now, he’d probably be hitting on the waitress with some analogy about stars." 

"Or asking if anyone wanted to split dessert, only to eat it all himself," Rem added, laughing.  

Reinhard looked at the empty chair on the right. Still reserved. Still waiting. And without realizing it, he murmured under his breath:  

"Where are you, Subaru?"  

The murmur of conversation and clinking cutlery began to blend with the sound of a small TV mounted in the corner of the restaurant. The screen, framed by a simple bracket, played the local news.

BREAKING NEWS –

Reporter: — This is a live special report from Hiroshima. Just minutes ago, local police confirmed the shocking discovery of a man held in unlawful captivity for an indeterminate period. The victim was found in an abandoned warehouse in the Minami district following an anonymous tip. The footage is graphic, so we advise viewer discretion.  

(The camera cuts to the scene: police officers, ambulances, and spotlights illuminating a dilapidated building. The reporter, wearing a bulletproof vest, speaks urgently.)  

Reporter: — According to authorities, the man was in critical condition due to severe malnutrition and showed signs of psychological torture. He was rushed to Hiroshima University Hospital, where he is receiving emergency treatment. His identity had not yet been confirmed, but… (dramatic pause, hand to earpiece, expression shifting to shock) — We’ve just received a bombshell update from police headquarters. The victim managed to identify himself as… Natsuki Subaru, missing for eleven years after the tragic accident that claimed his parents’ lives.  

(Archive footage of Subaru as a teenager appears on screen, contrasting with his current, unrecognizable photo.) 

Reporter: — Yes, you heard right. Natsuki Subaru**, whose case was one of the greatest unsolved mysteries of the past decade, is alive. The question on everyone’s mind now is: Who did this to him? And why?

(Cut to the police spokesperson, surrounded by reporters.)

 Police : — We can’t disclose details while the investigation is ongoing, but this is a case of prolonged abduction with extremely disturbing elements. We urge anyone with information about Subaru’s whereabouts over the past years to contact the tip line…  

(Shaky footage shows paramedics wheeling Subaru out on a stretcher, his face covered by a blanket, but a skeletal hand slips free, revealing a distinctive scar on the wrist.)

Reporter: — Subaru’s family and friends, many of whom had long presumed him dead, must be in shock at this moment. There’s no confirmation yet on whether he has been able to speak or provide clues about his captivity. We’ll return with more updates shortly. This is Koji Takamura, JNN, reporting live from Hiroshima.  

(The broadcast cuts back to the studio, where anchors discuss in grave tones.)  

Anchor: — A chilling story… Natsuki Subaru, long thought to be missing, has now resurfaced under horrifying circumstances. What has he endured all these years? And could others be involved?  

(A red ticker flashes at the bottom of the screen: "VICTIM OF 11-YEAR ABDUCTION")

---  

The noise in the restaurant vanished.  

The glass Reinhard was holding slipped from his fingers, shattering on the floor in pieces as sharp as the pain now tearing through his chest. Every eye was locked on the TV, but no one moved. No one breathed.  

"Subaru…" The name escaped Emilia’s lips like a stolen gasp, her hands trembling over the table.  

Julius was already on his feet, his face pale, fingers pressing into the tabletop as if he needed to steady himself from collapsing.  

"Hiroshima…" he murmured, eyes glued to the shaky footage of the stretcher. "Why there?"

Reinhard no longer felt his body. Everything around him had dissolved into soundless void, except for that image on the screen—the skeletal hand, the scar on the wrist. The same scar Subaru got when he tried to perform a knife trick at school.

"He’s alive."

Beatrice’s voice cut through the silence, dry and sharp.  

"But he is not well, I suppose."  

Garfiel slammed his fist on the table hard enough to make plates jump.  

"Who the hell did this to him?!" he snarled, teeth clenched.  

Felt already had her phone out, fingers flying across the screen.  

"Next flight to Hiroshima leaves in two hours. Who’s in?"

There was no debate. No hesitation.  

Emilia stood so fast her chair toppled backward. Rem and Ram exchanged a single glance before moving in sync, grabbing their bags. Otto and Frederica were already up, and even Crusch—usually the most composed of the group—clenched her fists with determination.  

Reinhard still hadn’t moved.  

His eyes were fixed on the empty chair beside him.  

Subaru.  

Eleven years.

Eleven years of searching. Of sleepless nights scouring records. Of contracts signed with private investigators and lobbyists. Of hope slowly dwindling until it nearly vanished.  

And now…  

"Reinhard." Julius placed a hand on his shoulder. "Let’s go."

Finally, Reinhard took a deep breath, as if surfacing from a deep dive.  

"Yes."

The group moved as one, leaving behind half-eaten plates, unpaid bills, and a restaurant in stunned silence. No one cared about protocol now.  

Appa d’Oro, which for a brief moment had been a refuge of happy memories, was now just the place where everything changed again.

As they left, Reinhard glanced back one last time.  

Subaru’s chair was still empty.  

But not for long. 

---  

Hiroshima University Hospital – 23:47

The fourth-floor hallway was bathed in cold fluorescent light, the stench of antiseptic burning their nostrils. Two plainclothes officers stood guard outside Room 407, their faces unreadable, but Reinhard barely registered them.  

He could barely think.  

The flight had been a blur. The hours, torture.  

Now, finally, they were here.  

Julius stood beside him, shoulders tense, eyes locked on the closed door.  

"They said only two can go in at a time," Emilia whispered from behind, her hands clutching her dress tightly.  

Reinhard didn’t answer. He just stepped forward, ignoring the officers, and pushed the door open.  

The room was small, lit only by a dim light above the bed.  

And there…  

Lying still, frail, with closed eyes and a face marked by years of suffering…  

Was Subaru.

Reinhard’s legs nearly gave out.  

Eleven years.  

Eleven years.  

He was thinner—so much thinner. His once-black, unruly hair was dull and long, falling over his pale face. His arms, stick-thin, rested on the sheets, veins visible beneath nearly translucent skin.  

But it was him.  

It was Subaru.

Julius swallowed hard, fingers twitching at his sides.  

"Is he… asleep?" he asked, his voice barely audible.  

A nurse monitoring the vitals turned to them, her eyes filled with pity and caution.  

"He’s sedated. The doctors had to stabilize him before any questioning. He was… very agitated when they brought him in."

Reinhard didn’t hear her. He stepped closer to the bed, each step heavy as lead, until he stood beside Subaru.  

"Subaru…"  

His voice came out broken, unrecognizable even to himself.  

He reached out, hesitant, and touched Subaru’s wrist.  

The scar was still there.  

And then…  

Subaru’s eyes opened.  

Slow, heavy, as if lifting his eyelids took inhuman effort.  

They met Reinhard’s.  

And Reinhard saw.  

Saw the fear. 

The confusion.

And something worse…  

Subaru didn’t recognize him.

His lips moved, weak, trembling, and the voice that came out was a hoarse whisper, dragged out, as if unused for years:  

"Who… are you?"  

Reinhard’s heart stopped.  

Julius took a step back, as if punched.  

"Subaru…" he tried, but the words died in his throat.  

Subaru stared at them, his dark, hollow eyes empty—and then…  

He started screaming.

A raw, gut-wrenching shriek of pure terror.  

"NO! NOT AGAIN! DON’T TAKE ME BACK!" 

He thrashed, IV tubes swinging, monitors beeping in alarm.  

Reinhard stumbled back, stunned, as the nurse rushed to restrain Subaru.  

"CALL A DOCTOR! HE’S HAVING AN EPISODE!" 

Emilia burst into the room, her face twisted in horror.  

"WHAT’S HAPPENING?!"

Subaru saw her—and his screams cut off for a second.  

His eyes widened.  

"Emilia-tan…?" he whispered, as if seeing a ghost.  

And then, before anyone could react, his body gave out, and he collapsed unconscious.  

Doctors rushed in, shoving everyone away from the bed.  

Reinhard stood frozen, unmoving, as chaos erupted around him.  

He didn’t recognize us.

But he recognized Emilia.

And in the depths of his eyes…  

There was something Reinhard had never seen before.  

Something that wasn’t just fear.  

It was despair.  

As if Subaru wasn’t seeing friends after years…  

But something far, far worse.

Chapter Text

The hospital corridor was wrapped in a heavy silence, broken only by the buzzing of fluorescent lights. The group remained huddled in a corner while the police took their statements. The officer in charge — a man with deep eye bags and a rigid posture — watched them with a mix of suspicion and exhaustion.

“So, to confirm,” he said, snapping his notebook shut, “none of you are blood relatives of Natsuki Subaru?”

“No,” Beatrice replied, lifting her chin with determination. “But we’re the only ones who still care about him.”

The officer sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“We need information about him before the disappearance. Anything that might help us understand what happened.”

Reinhard crossed his arms, the muscles tense beneath his suit.

“Subaru vanished right after his parents died. We never stopped looking for him.”

“And why would anyone kidnap him?” The officer studied their faces, searching for any reaction. “Did he have enemies? Debts? Anything that could explain this?”

The silence that followed was sharp.

“Not that we know of,” Emilia replied, frowning. “He was well-liked in the neighborhood he lived in. No one had a reason to... do that to him.”

The officer scribbled something quickly, but his expression remained impassive.

“Do you have a place to stay here in Hiroshima?”

Julius and Reinhard exchanged a glance before responding in unison:

“We can arrange it.”

The officer shut his notebook with a final gesture.

“Get some rest. Tomorrow, I need a few of you at the station to sign documents regarding Natsuki Subaru.”

“Wait,” Reinhard interjected, grabbing his arm. “When will we be able to see him again?”

The officer’s eyes darkened.

“When the doctors allow it. And when he’s stable enough... not to scream when he sees you.”

The response hit like a blow. Reinhard let him go, and the officer disappeared down the corridor, leaving the group in oppressive silence.

It was Otto who broke the mood, rubbing his face with both hands.

“Let’s go to the hotel. There’s no point in staying here.”

“Sleep? Now?” Rem murmured, her hands trembling slightly.

Ram pulled her by the arm.

“If we want to help Barusu, we need to be clear-headed, sister.”

Julius nodded, but his eyes were distant, calculating something only he could see.

“Tomorrow, before we go to the station, we need to talk. All of us.”

Reinhard understood perfectly.

No police around.

---

Garden Hotel Hiroshima – 01:23 AM

The room was simple, but clean. Reinhard dropped his suitcase on the floor without ceremony, not even bothering to remove his tie before collapsing onto the bed. The white ceiling above him seemed to spin, the city lights casting dancing shadows.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

“Come in.”

Julius appeared in the doorway, holding two whiskey glasses from the hotel bar

“I assume you’re not sleeping either.”

Reinhard gestured for him to enter. Julius closed the door with his foot and set the glasses on the table.

“I already spoke to Anastasia. She saw the news.”

“And?” Reinhard raised an eyebrow.

“She said I’m on ‘early vacation.’” Julius smiled without humor. “But we both know she’s going to investigate behind the scenes.”

Reinhard took the glass Julius offered him.

“And your contacts in Astrea?”

“Already activated. They’re checking records from eleven years ago"

Julius downed his drink in one go.

“Why didn’t he recognize us, Reinhard?”

The question hung in the air like a blade.

“I don’t know. But he remembered Emilia.”

“And looked at her like she was a ghost.” Julius narrowed his eyes. “What the hell did they do to him?”

Reinhard didn’t answer. He got up and walked to the window, staring at the sleeping city.

“Do you think he still... loves us?” His voice nearly cracked. “Sorry. That’s selfish of me.”

Julius laughed. A dry, humorless sound.

“If it’s selfish, then we’re both guilty. I thought the same thing on the way to the hotel.”

Reinhard looked at him, surprised. He never would have expected such an admission from Julius, always so composed.

“I have a proposal,” Julius said, shifting into a professional tone. “His family is dead. And whoever did it might still be after him.”

Reinhard sat back on the bed, the empty glass in his hands.

“Go on.”

“We protect him. Together. We use our influence, our contacts... our ‘little armies.’” Julius said the last part reluctantly.

Reinhard smiled — tired, but genuine.

“Looks like we’re on the same page, Julius.”

Julius spun the empty glass between his fingers. The dim room light reflected off the crystal.

“‘Little armies’ is a generous euphemism for what we actually have, isn’t it?” He smiled, but his eyes remained cold, calculating.

Julius nodded.

“House Astrea has access to some... not exactly public databases. And Hoshin?”

“Anastasia has eyes all over Japan. If Subaru moved at all in the last eleven years, she can track it.” Julius leaned forward, elbows on knees. “But there’s a problem.”

“The police.”

“Exactly. They’ll want to keep Subaru in custody until the case is resolved. And if they find out he’s connected to two of the biggest conglomerates in the country…”

“They’ll suspect we’re involved.” Reinhard finished, drumming his fingers on the mattress.

Julius raised his phone, showing a coded message.

“I already had Hoshin’s legal team prepare documents. A request for temporary custody, claiming Subaru is a ‘person of vital interest in ongoing corporate investigations.’”

Reinhard raised an eyebrow.

“We’re pretending he worked for us?”

“No. We just need a legal thread to pull. If the police believe he knows something about a ‘corporate crime,’ they might release him under our supervision.”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

Julius looked at him seriously.

“Then we go with Plan B.”

“Which is?”

“Bribery,” Julius said without hesitation. “Or, if you prefer, a ‘generous donation to the Hiroshima Police Department.’”

Reinhard let out a short laugh.

“Straight to the point. I like it.”

“I’ve always been the pragmatic one among us three.” Julius stared at the ceiling, thoughtful. “Subaru was the idealist. You... the leader.”

Reinhard swallowed hard. Eleven years later, and it still hurt to remember those roles.

“We need to talk to Emilia before anything else.”

Julius frowned.

“Why?”

“Because Subaru recognized her. And if there’s a chance he’ll regain his memories…”

“…She’s the key.” Julius nodded, but his expression darkened. “But you saw how he looked at her, Reinhard. That wasn’t relief. It was panic.”

Reinhard clenched his fists.

“You think Emilia is involved?”

“No.” Julius shook his head. “But I think whoever did this to Subaru used her somehow. Maybe by planting false memories. Maybe…”

“…By making him believe she was part of his torment.” Reinhard finished, voice hoarse.

The silence that followed was dense. Outside, the wind rattled the window like a whispered warning.

Julius stood, stretching his back.

“Tomorrow, before we head to the station, we gather the group. Everyone needs to be on the same page. Everyone.”

Reinhard nodded.

“And if someone leaks information?”

“They won’t.” Julius paused at the door. “Because if there’s one thing this group has always known how to do… it’s protect their own.”

The door clicked softly shut. Reinhard remained alone, staring at the empty glass in his hands.

Protect their own.

But… what if Subaru no longer remembered he was one of them?

         Hospital Room, Hiroshima

Subaru was awake.

Doctors would swear he wasn’t — the sedatives were strong enough to drop a bull — but his eyes were open, fixed on the ceiling.

Something inside him had awakened.

He didn’t know what. Or why.

But when that silver-haired woman walked into the room…

...something hurt.

Not physically. It was deeper. Like his brain trying to tear through a wall, a thick fog covering everything.

He shut his eyes, forcing himself to dive into the darkness.

And then, for a brief moment, he saw.

“We promised, right? No secrets between the three of The voice was a boy’s"

His voice.

And two smiling faces beside him — one with hair red as fire, the other with pale violet hair.

Reinhard.

Julius.

Subaru gripped the sheets, his body trembling.

And then, like a breath, the memory dissolved.

But its taste remained.

Sweet.

And bitter.

Like longing.

And one more feeling.

Something he couldn’t yet understand.

Chapter Text

Hiroshima University Hospital

POV: Natsuki Subaru

(“I don’t recognize this ceiling.”) He forced his eyes to stay open. (“This… doesn’t look like… the… the my cell .”)

He looked around with difficulty—his entire body was numb. His vision was blurry, but he could make out the white hospital gown he was wearing. With what little strength he had, he tried to lift his hand, but failed miserably.

“I wouldn’t recommend moving, Mr. Natsuki.” A calm, sweet voice spoke.

Subaru flinched at the sound. Slowly, he turned his head toward the source. His vision was still hazy, but he could see the figure of a woman in a nurse’s uniform. She approached him, holding a clipboard, and checked the IV bag hanging beside him.

“W-Where… am I?” His voice was weak, barely audible. “W-What… year is it?”

“You’re at Hiroshima University Hospital, Mr. Natsuki,” the nurse replied as she replaced the IV bag. “It’s October 21, 2023.”

Subaru was stunned. 2023? With great effort, he grabbed the nurse’s sleeve. She startled at the sudden movement.

“2023? Th-That’s… a mistake… It’s 2012.” His voice carried genuine confusion.

The nurse hesitated for a second, her fingers tightening around the clipboard. Her eyes softened, as if she were looking at a frightened child

“Yes, Mr. Natsuki… of course. 2012.” Her voice was gentle—not quite a lie, but not the truth either.

Subaru’s heart pounded faster. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“Wh… Where are my parents?” His voice cracked, as if he already knew the answer would hurt.

The nurse bit her lip, avoiding his gaze.

“Rest now. I… I’ll get someone to explain properly.”

She left too quickly, leaving Subaru alone with the hum of machines and the echo of a question no one wanted to answer.

The door opened again minutes later. Subaru expected to see the nurse or maybe a doctor in a white coat.

But instead, a man in a police uniform stepped in—his eyes red and swollen, his hands trembling.

Subaru recognized him instantly.

“U-Uncle Haruo…?”

The policeman froze mid-step, as if he’d been shot. His face, weathered by years of hard service, crumbled into silent tears.

“Subaru… my boy…”

In three strides, he was at the bedside, pulling his nephew into a hug so tight it almost hurt. Subaru smelled the familiar scent of tobacco and stale coffee on his uncle’s coat—just like always—and suddenly, he remembered.

He remembered afternoons at his uncle’s house, eating rice cakes while listening to work stories.

He remembered how Uncle Haruo always hid candy in his pocket for him, even when his parents said no sweets before dinner.

He remembered…

…The funeral.

The embrace tightened even more, and Subaru realized he was crying too.

“I thought I’d lost you… thought you’d gone with them…” Uncle Haruo sobbed, his words breaking apart. “Eleven years, Subaru… ELEVEN YEARS!”

Subaru tried to speak, but only a hoarse whimper came out. His weak hands clutched his uncle’s uniform like a lifeline.

“What… happened to me?”

Haruo pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, tears streaming uncontrollably.

“You were kidnapped, Subaru. After your parents’ funeral. We… we searched. I swore I wouldn’t stop until I found you, but…”

He swallowed hard, wiping his face with his sleeve.

“Time passed… the leads dried up… until yesterday, we got an anonymous call. Someone led us to an abandoned warehouse. And you… you were there.”

A chill ran down Subaru’s spine.

“I don’t… I don’t remember.”

Haruo gripped his shoulders, his expression a mix of relief and pain.

“It doesn’t matter now. You’re safe. And I swear on everything sacred, no one will hurt you again.”

Subaru wanted to believe him. But something deep inside whispered that the danger wasn’t over yet.

The hospital room seemed to fade away. In that moment, there were only the two of them:

Subaru, fragile as a bird with broken wings, and Uncle Haruo, his safe harbor in the storm.

The policeman wiped Subaru’s tears with his sleeve—an old gesture, from when the boy cried after nightmares.

“Remember that time you fell off your bike at the park? Seven stitches on your chin.” Haruo laughed, his voice still thick. “You screamed so loud I thought you’d broken your neck. But the next day, you were begging me to take them out because they ‘ruined your style.’”

A shaky smile tugged at Subaru’s lips. The memory flashed vividly in his mind.

“Y-You bought me watermelon ice cream after… and said real men cry, but they don’t give up.”

Haruo squeezed his eyes shut, as if holding back another wave of tears.

“And you never gave up, did you? My stubborn boy.”

The silence that followed was warm, full of comforting ghosts. Subaru looked at his uncle’s hands—calloused, marked by old scars—and saw in them all the untold stories.

“Uncle… my parents… how…?”

Haruo took a deep breath. He knew this question would come.

“Car accident. On Aioi Bridge.” His voice was soft but firm. “The truck driver fell asleep at the wheel. It was quick, Subaru. They didn’t suffer.”

A lie.

A merciful lie. Subaru knew—there was something in his uncle’s tone, in the way his fingers twitched slightly at the word “accident.” But for now, he chose to accept it.

Two young policemen entered, the taller one holding a tablet.

“Captain Haruo-sama! We need you now! We found something in the cold case files!”

Haruo tensed, but Subaru gripped his wrist.

“Don’t go.” His voice sounded small, fragile.

The uncle looked at him, then at the officers, and made a decision.

“Show me later. Not now.”

The agents hesitated but obeyed. When the door closed again, Haruo cupped Subaru’s face

.

“Listen carefully. No matter what they say, what they show you… you survived. This?” He touched Subaru’s wrist, where a star-shaped scar hid beneath the hospital bracelet. “This is a warrior’s mark. Understand?”

Subaru nodded, but his eyes were distant, fixed on the window. Outside, the sky over Hiroshima was heavy with dark clouds.

As if, at any moment, the rain might begin to fall.

Chapter Text

POV: Natsuki Subaru

The dawn light filtering through the blinds painted pale stripes across Uncle Haruo’s face. He was exactly where he’d promised to stay—perched on a crooked plastic chair beside the bed, his ink-stained fingers clutching a thick report. When he noticed Subaru was awake, he snapped the file shut, but not fast enough.

"NATSUKI CASE: CONFIDENTIAL"

The red letters burned into Subaru’s retina for an instant before disappearing into his uncle’s folder.

"Did you sleep at all?" Haruo asked, discreetly wiping his swollen eyes.

Subaru tried to sit up, but a stabbing pain in his abdomen pinned him to the sheets.

"Sleeping here is like trying to rest on a bed of nails," he joked weakly, though it came out as a hoarse whisper.

Haruo didn’t smile. His thumb rubbed nervously against the folder’s edge, leaving sweat marks on the plastic.

"Subaru... I need you to help me piece this together."

The air left Subaru’s lungs as if his chest had been punctured. He studied his own hands—bony, pale, crisscrossed with scars that formed constellations of suffering.

"I... I don’t know if I can—"

"Not now." Haruo cut in, softer. "But every detail you remember is another bullet in our gun against those bastards."

Subaru swallowed hard. Catching them. The thought was as sweet as it was impossible.

"It was... a damp place. Smelled like mold and old disinfectant." He started, staring at a patch of peeling paint on the ceiling. "I wasn’t alone. There were... others."

Haruo leaned forward, elbows digging into his knees.

"How many?"

"Children. Always between twelve and fifteen." Subaru tasted metal on his tongue. "They gave us nicknames... they called me... Flugel."

Haruo froze, but Subaru saw the tendons in his neck twist like snakes beneath the skin.

"What... exactly did they do?"

Subaru closed his eyes. The memories came in jagged flashes:

"They turned us into... entertainment." His voice cracked. "Forced us to... touch each other. While they filmed."

Haruo didn’t move, but Subaru heard teeth grinding.

"If anyone refused..." Subaru raised his right hand, where two fingers—the pinky and ring finger—were missing. "...They cut pieces off. Until we learned."

Haruo erupted like a waking volcano, the chair shattering as he stood. He spun toward the wall and drove his fist into the concrete, leaving bloodied smears.

"GODDAMN IT!" The roar shook the room, but what truly terrified Subaru was the silence that followed—the silence of a man who had just decided to kill someone.

When Haruo turned back, his face was a mask of ice. Only his eyes burned—two black embers swallowed by fire.

"Describe them." His voice was so cold it made Subaru shiver.

"Long robes... purple, with red embroidery." Subaru traced shapes in the air with trembling fingers. "Pointed masks. Like those... Spanish penitents?"

Haruo yanked a notebook from his pocket and scribbled furiously. When he flipped the page, Subaru’s stomach lurched.

It was exactly as he remembered—a near-perfect sketch of the kidnappers.

Subaru nodded, his throat tightening like a fist.

"You... know them?"

Haruo didn’t answer. Instead, he snapped the notebook shut with a sound like a death sentence and pulled out his phone.

"I need to make some calls."

He marched toward the door, but not before Subaru caught the whisper that slipped from his lips:

"The Witch Cult."

The sound of the door closing echoed like a gunshot in Subaru’s skull. He lay there, motionless, watching the droplets of blood Haruo had left on the wall trickle down like red tears.

The hospital’s silence was oppressive. Even the machines seemed to have stopped beeping, as if respecting the weight of the revelations hanging in the air.

Subaru looked at his hands again. Flugel. The name echoed in his mind like a cruel mantra. Why Flugel?

"You survived. That’s what matters."

His uncle’s words rang hollow now. Surviving wasn’t the same as escaping. The memories were still there, carved into his flesh, his bones. He could still feel the phantom fingers of his captors on his skin—even now, even here, supposedly safe.

He looked at his right hand—scarred all over, most notably missing two fingers.

Subaru’s fingers trembled over the stumps, the flesh slightly pink where blades had severed them. Two fingers less. Two pieces of himself he’d never get back.

And then, the pain came.

Not physical pain—that had long since scarred over. But phantom pain, sharp as an icy knife driving into nerves that no longer existed.

"Aah...!"

He choked, his left hand clawing at his right wrist as if he could squeeze the suffering out.

And then, he heard it.

"Nii-san..."

A child’s voice, soft as torn silk.

Subaru’s eyes flew open. The room was empty.

"Why didn’t you save us, Nii-san?"

Another voice, this time a teenager’s, broken by sobs.

"W-Who...?" Subaru turned his head, searching for the source. Nothing. Only the elongated shadows of dawn.

"You promised we’d go home together."

"You were our big brother..."

"Traitor..."

The voices multiplied, whispering in casual Japanese—just like the children in captivity had spoken. Voices he recognized. Voices he hadn’t heard since...

"N-NO!" Subaru curled into himself, hands pressed to his ears."S-Stop! I tried! I swear I tried!"

But the voices only grew louder.

"You watched as they took me."

"You stayed silent when I screamed!"

Hot tears streamed down Subaru’s face. He saw them now—pale ghosts of boys and girls in tattered clothes, their eyes hollow as black holes.

"I... I was scared too!" He sobbed, curling into a fetal position. "They broke me first... made me watch... p-please..."

The cruelest part was that he remembered every face.

The short-haired girl who shared her moldy bread with him on the first day.

The boy who drew stars on the wall with his own blood.

His brothers and sisters in suffering.

"I should’ve died instead of you," Subaru confessed to the void, guilt eating his chest like acid. "I was weak... so weak..."

Then, the door burst open violently.

"SUBARU!"

His uncle was back, his face a mask of horror. He rushed to the bed, gripping Subaru’s shoulders.

"Who are you seeing?!"

Subaru looked around, panting. The voices were gone. The ghosts had vanished.

"Th-Them... the children..."

Haruo held him tight, his heart pounding so hard Subaru could feel it through his coat.

"There’s no one here. You’re safe. It’s just your mind trying to process the trauma."

But Subaru knew it wasn’t just that. Those voices... they were there. Somehow.

And the worst part?

They were right.

He had failed them.

Haruo held him for a long minute, until the trembling stopped. When he pulled away, his eyes were red, but his voice was steady:

"Subaru, the doctors said you can leave the hospital in five days. They need to run more tests." His tone was firm, ruffling his nephew’s hair with a forced smile. "...Unfortunately, I can’t take care of you myself." His voice wavered slightly.

"Don’t worry, Uncle Haruo," Subaru replied, gently removing his uncle’s hand from his hair. "I can stay with Grandpa Kenji."

Haruo went completely still, his hand hovering in the air where it had rested on Subaru’s head. The dawn light now fully illuminated the room, revealing every line of grief on the policeman’s face.

"Subaru..." His voice cracked like wood under pressure. "Grandpa Kenji... he’s... he’s no longer with us."

Subaru felt the floor vanish beneath him, even though he was lying down.

"W-What?"

Haruo swallowed hard, his fingers twisting the edge of the bed.

"Two years after you disappeared... he... he couldn’t hold on. The doctors said it was his heart." A pause. A sigh. "But we all knew it was grief. First losing his son and daughter-in-law... then his grandson..."

Subaru couldn’t breathe. Grandpa Kenji—the man who taught him about the stars, who told him folktales, who always carried watermelon candy in his pocket for him—was gone.

And he never got to say goodbye.

"Wh... What about Aunt Misaki?" Subaru asked, already knowing the answer.

Haruo closed his eyes.

"Suicide. On the third anniversary of the accident. She jumped from the same bridge where Kenichi and Naoko died."

Something inside Subaru shattered. Aunt Misaki, always so full of life, who insisted on calling him "my little samurai"...

"The rest of the family..." Haruo continued, each word like a knife,"drifted apart. Some out of fear. Others out of guilt. Your family’s home was sold. Your belongings... donated."

Subaru stared at his mutilated hands. They hadn’t just taken his fingers—they’d taken his entire history. His past. His place in the world.

"So I... I have no one left?" The question came out smaller than a whisper.

Haruo gripped his hand tightly.

"You have me." His eyes burned with a sacred fury. "I swore to your father I’d take care of you if anything happened. And even if the rest of the world turned its back, I will never abandon you."

Subaru wanted to believe it. Wanted to so badly. But the voices of the children still echoed in his skull, reminding him how many promises had already been broken.

"But you said you can’t take care of me..."

Haruo rubbed his face, leaving red marks on his skin.

"Not now. I’m in the middle of an operation to catch the bastards who did this to you. But when it’s over..." He leaned in until their noses almost touched. "You’re coming to live with me. End of story."

Subaru didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on the window, where the sun now shone with false cheer.

"Where will I stay, Uncle Haruo?" His voice trembled.

Haruo looked at him with pity—he understood his nephew’s fear.

"Do you remember Reinhard and Julius?" he asked, watching Subaru’s confused expression. "You used to call them... uh..." He tapped his chin, then snapped his fingers. "Right! You called the red-haired one 'Rein-tan' and the light-purple-haired one 'Juli-san'!"

Subaru felt an inexplicable warmth rise up his neck at those names. Rein-tan. Juli-san. The nicknames sounded strangely intimate in his ears, like echoes of a past life.

"They... were my friends?" Subaru asked, restless fingers picking at a loose thread in the sheets.

Haruo let out a rough laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

"'Friends' is an understatement. You three were glued together like rice on nori. Your dad joked about accepting them as sons-in-law."

Subaru turned even redder at that.

"Do they... know I’m here?" His voice held more hope than he’d intended.

Haruo’s expression turned serious.

"They know. In fact..." He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "They never stopped looking for you. Especially those two."

Something strange tightened in Subaru’s chest—a warmth he couldn’t name.

"But Reinhard is now..." Haruo started, only to be interrupted by his blaring phone.

The policeman cursed under his breath at the caller ID.

Subaru didn’t hear the rest. His eyes were locked on the muted TV in the room, where a news segment showed a tall, red-haired man being interviewed.

"REINHARD VAN ASTREA – The Genius Behind Astrea Tech & Software"

The caption flashed beneath the image of the impeccably dressed man, his face serious and mature—so different from the "Rein-tan" of his foggy memories.

"Wait... is that...?" Subaru pointed at the screen, his throat dry.

Haruo sighed, hanging up the phone forcefully.

"The heir to the biggest tech company in the country? Yeah. And Julius is now a director at Hoshin Company." He crossed his arms. "Seems your old friends climbed pretty high these past years."

Subaru looked at his own scarred hands—the missing fingers, the burn marks. While they rose in life, he had fallen into ruin.

"They won’t want to see me like this," he murmured, feeling the weight of the gap between them.

Haruo grabbed his chin firmly, forcing eye contact.

"Listen here, kid. Those two drove me crazy for eleven years, calling every week for updates. Julius even hired private investigators with his own money."

Subaru’s eyes burned. Why? Why would they care so much?

"But I don’t remember us clearly... what if... what if I never do?"

Haruo released him, his expression softening.

"Then they’ll just have to win you back, won’t they?" He patted Subaru’s shoulder. "Rest now. The psychologist is coming tomorrow to evaluate your mental state, and..."

His phone rang again, more insistent this time. Haruo growled at the caller ID.

"Dammit, it’s my boss. I have to go, but I’ll be back before dark." At the door, he hesitated. "Subaru... no matter what happens, you’re not alone. Got it?"

Subaru nodded, but when the door closed, his eyes returned to the TV, where Julius was now at a charity event, his perfect smile distant.

Juli-san.
Rein-tan.

The names felt like they belonged to someone else. To another life.

He closed his eyes, trying to fish more memories from the fog of his mind, but all that came was a strange fluttering in his chest—like trapped butterflies beating against his ribs.

The hospital door opened softly. Subaru looked up, still dazed by the revelations about Reinhard and Julius, and then...

She was there.

Emilia.

Her silver hair shimmered under the fluorescent lights, loose and reaching just past her shoulders. Her amethyst eyes were so familiar—yet so different—from the ones that haunted his nightmares. Subaru’s heart stopped. His fingers dug into the sheets, his knuckles turning white.

No. Not her. Please, not her.

But then, something strange happened.

As Emilia stepped into the room, Subaru noticed details that didn’t match his torturous memories.

This Emilia hunched slightly, as if carrying an invisible weight—nothing like the arrogant posture of the woman from his nightmares.

These eyes were brimming with warm tears, not the obsessive, sickly gaze he remembered.

"S-Subaru...?"

And then, he understood.

The woman from captivity wasn’t Emilia.

She was someone who looked exactly like her.

Subaru swallowed hard, his body trembling like a leaf in the wind. Logic warred with trauma in his mind.

Emilia took another step, and Subaru instinctively flinched. She froze immediately, as if she’d stepped on glass.

"I... I won’t hurt you," she said, raising her empty hands. "I swear on everything."

Subaru watched her like a cornered animal. Every fiber of his being screamed to run, but something deeper—some memory buried under layers of pain—whispered that this person was safe.

"You... you used to bring me rice cakes when I was sick," he blurted out, his voice rough.

Emilia’s eyes lit up like twin full moons.

"You remember!" She covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking. "I... I made them with honey because you said it helped your throat..."

Something inside Subaru broke. It was true. He remembered. Remembered the real Emilia—the one who sang off-key in the music club, who always forgot her umbrella, who blushed when people complimented her hair.

Not the impostor from captivity.

Subaru swallowed hard, his trembling fingers twisting the hospital sheets. His heart pounded so hard it hurt, as if trying to escape the cage of his ribs.

"Y-You can... come closer," he murmured, his voice so quiet it was almost lost in the hum of machines. "But... only to the chair. Please."

Emilia froze, her lilac eyes widening. A storm of emotions crossed her face—relief, hesitation, hope.

"Okay," she replied, more to herself than to him. "Okay, Subaru."

She moved as if walking on eggshells, each step calculated not to startle him. When she reached the plastic chair beside the bed—right where Haruo had been minutes earlier—she sat with her hands carefully visible on her lap.

Subaru studied her like a prisoner studying a jailer, searching for intent behind those familiar features.

"You... cut your hair" he said without thinking.

Emilia touched the nape of her neck, where her silver strands ended in an asymmetrical cut.

"After... after you disappeared," she admitted, fingers playing with a shorter strand. "I kept pulling at it nervously. Until one day, Ram grabbed scissors and..."

She mimed cutting the air, forcing a smile. It didn’t reach her eyes.

Subaru felt a chill. Ram. Another name that brought a storm of conflicting feelings.

"Is she... doing okay?"

"She is. She and Rem work at a café near Shibuya Station." Emilia tilted her head. "Do you... remember them?"

Subaru closed his eyes, sifting through the fog of his memory.

"Twins. Blue... hair?" He frowned. "Ram always called me 'barusu'..."

Emilia covered her mouth.

"Yes! Exactly!" Her eyes shone wetly. "What about Rem? Do you remember Rem?"

Subaru tried. Tried with all his might. But where Ram came to him clear as a photograph, Rem was just a blurred shadow.

"I... can’t..."

"It’s okay!" Emilia leaned forward but stopped abruptly when Subaru recoiled. "Sorry. I’m just... so happy you remember anything at all."

An uncomfortable silence settled between them. Subaru stared at his mutilated hands, involuntarily comparing them to Emilia’s flawless ones—clean, intact, unmarked by torture.

"Emilia..." He started, then hesitated.

"Yes?"

"Where I was... there was someone. Someone who looked exactly like you."

Her reaction was instant. Emilia paled, her lips parting in shock.

"What? But... how?"

Subaru squeezed his eyes shut, trying to recall the face that haunted his nightmares.

"She wore your face. Your voice. But her eyes... they were different. Like..." He swallowed hard.

Emilia was visibly shaking now, her fingers interlaced so tightly her knuckles turned white.

"Subaru, I swear on everything sacred, it wasn’t me. I would never... I could never do that to you."

He believed her. Not because of her words, but because of how she said them—with a mix of horror and revulsion that couldn’t be faked.

Subaru looked at his mutilated hands against the white hospital sheets. The fading evening light made them look even more grotesque—the pink stumps of missing fingers, the scars like random scribbles from a mad artist.

The hands of a coward, he thought.

"Do you want water?" Emilia’s voice was gentle, but he still flinched.

Subaru shook his head, the fingers of his left hand (the less damaged one) tracing the grooves on his right. Each line was a failure. Each flaw, a life he hadn’t saved.

"They cut pieces off us every time someone tried to escape," he murmured, more to himself. "At first, I screamed. Then... then I just closed my eyes and counted until it was over."

Emilia swallowed hard but didn’t interrupt.

"The girl in the bed next to me... Hinata... she was eleven." Subaru clenched his eyes shut, seeing her again—scrawny, with a lopsided haircut she’d proudly said she did herself before being taken. "She tried to escape in the third week. When they brought her back..."

His index finger traced the longest scar on his wrist.

"They made all of us watch as they cut off her right hand. Not just cut—they crushed the bones with a hammer first, so she’d feel everything."

Emilia choked back a whimper.

Subaru continued, his voice now monotone, as if reporting the weather:

"After that, Hinata stopped talking. Stopped eating. She just stared at the ceiling with these... these empty eyes." His own eyes burned, but no tears came. "Then one night, she called for me."

"Nii-san... it hurts so much..."

Hinata’s ghostly voice echoed in his ears, so vivid he turned his head, half-expecting to see her there. Only the empty chair greeted him.

"She asked me to tell her about the stars. Grandpa Kenji... he taught me so much about constellations." Subaru laughed, a dry, broken sound. "I told her about Ursa Major, Orion... and she smiled. For the first time in months, she smiled."

His fingers dug into his own scars now, hard enough to leave red marks.

"The next morning, she was dead. Hung herself with her own clothes."

Emilia could no longer hold back her tears—they streamed freely down her face, soaking her dress.

"Subaru... you couldn’t have—"

"I SHOULD’VE DONE SOMETHING!" The shout tore his throat raw. "It was my turn to watch that night! If I’d stayed awake... if I’d seen..."

His fists pounded against his thighs—once, twice, three times—until Emilia carefully caught his wrists.

"She was already dead before that night," Subaru whispered, his body shaking like a bamboo rod in the wind. "She just didn’t know it yet."

The room fell silent except for the hum of machines and Subaru’s ragged breathing. He stared at where Emilia touched him—her perfect hands encircling his ruined wrists. The contrast was almost comical.

How could someone so pure touch something so filthy?

"I let them die," he confessed, his voice so quiet Emilia had to lean in. "All of them. Hinata. The boy who drew stars. The girl who shared her bread. I... I survived, and they didn’t."

Emilia didn’t say "it wasn’t your fault." She didn’t offer empty words of comfort. Instead, she did something unexpected.

She let go of his wrists and hugged him.

Firm. Tight. Like an anchor tying a drowning man to shore.

Subaru went rigid, every muscle locking up. It was the first affectionate touch he’d received since... since before.

"They would’ve been happy," she whispered in his ear, her voice steady despite the tears. "Happy that at least one of you got out. That at least one can tell their story."

Subaru wanted to believe it. Wanted to so badly. But the voices in his head were relentless.

Traitor.
Coward.
Unworthy survivor.

"I don’t deserve this," he protested, but his body betrayed him—leaning slowly into the embrace, like a plant starving for light.

"You do." Emilia held him tighter. "You deserve this and more."

And then, as if a dam had broken, Subaru shattered.

Sobs wracked his frail body violently. He clutched Emilia’s dress like a drowning man, his mutilated fingers unable to grip properly but desperate for something solid.

"It hurts so much," he cried between gasps, his voice splintering. "Remembering hurts so much..."

Emilia just held him, her own face wet with tears.

"I know, Subaru. I know."

And for the first time in eleven years, someone witnessed his pain without judgment. Without trying to fix him. Without saying it would all be okay.

Just by being there.

When the sobs finally subsided, Subaru was exhausted, his body heavy as lead. Emilia carefully laid him back, adjusting the sheets with steady hands.

"Rest now," she said, wiping his tears with her sleeve. "I’ll come back tomorrow, okay?"

Subaru wanted to beg her to stay. Wanted to scream that he was afraid of the dark, afraid of the dreams, afraid of himself. But instead, he just nodded.

Before leaving, Emilia hesitated at the door.

"Subaru... that person who looked like me..." She bit her lip. "Do you remember her name?"

Subaru closed his eyes, sifting through the darkest corners of his memory.

"They... they called her Satella."

The name hung in the air like an omen

Chapter Text

The name Satella cut through the air like an icy blade. Something in those syllables awakened a deep echo in her memory—a fragment buried beneath layers of oblivion.  

— "Satella..." She repeated, her fingers involuntarily tightening on the fabric of her dress. "You... mentioned that name to your uncle?"  

Subaru suddenly seemed aware of his mistake, his eyes widening. His left hand—the less scarred one—rose to smack his own forehead with a sharp *thwack*.  

— "Shit, I forgot. If you see him before I do... could you tell him?"  

Emilia nodded automatically, but her mind was already elsewhere. *Satella.* Why did that name make her heart race? It wasn’t just fear... it was something more intimate. Like recognizing her own reflection in a shattered mirror.  

— "I... I’ll tell him," she agreed, her fingers now twisting the fabric of her dress. "But first..."  

Her gaze involuntarily swept over Subaru’s frail body, lingering on the scars exposed by the sheets. Something twisted inside her—not just pity, but an inexplicable guilt.  

— "You need to rest. Tomorrow... I’ll bring you honey rice cakes. Like before."  

Subaru blinked, a shadow of surprise crossing his battered face.  

— "You still remember?"  

Emilia’s smile was a conditioned reflex—lips curving while her eyes remained clouded.  

— "How could I forget? You always said they were the only thing that cured your winter colds." She hesitated, her fingers now restless.  

The moment was interrupted by the door opening. A nurse entered with a tray of medication.  

— "Time for your meds, Mr. Natsuki." Her unnaturally vivid yellow eyes landed on Emilia. "And you are...?"  

— "Emilia. I'm... a friend."  

— "What a lovely name." The nurse’s smile stretched, revealing teeth too white. "Sato Aiko, pleasure."  

Subaru watched the woman—silver hair streaked with purple, movements too precise—and something in his chest tightened. When their eyes met, a cold shiver ran down his spine. He looked away first.  

— "Sorry for the interruption," the nurse said as she arranged the pills, her perfume—lavender and something deeper, like burning amber—filling the room. "I’ll be back in twenty minutes."  

When the door closed, Subaru let out a rough exhale.  

— "Weird..." he muttered, his fingers fidgeting.  

Emilia leaned forward.  

— "What is it?"  

— "Nothing. Just... that perfume." His nose wrinkled. "It’s familiar. But I can’t remember from where."  

Emilia hugged him again, too quickly for him to pull away.  

— "Tomorrow will be a good day," she promised against his shoulder, her voice laced with a hope she didn’t fully feel. "Some special people want to see you."  

Subaru leaned back just enough to look at her.  

— "Who else besides those two?"  

Emilia’s smile was almost genuine this time.  

— "That would ruin the surprise."  

The hospital room door closed softly behind Emilia, leaving Subaru alone with the hum of machines and the lingering scent of lavender and amber the nurse had brought. He stared at the pills on the tray before him—small, harmless, yet promising a nightmare-free sleep.  

With a sigh, Subaru took them one by one, placing them on his tongue before swallowing with a sip of water. The liquid was cold, almost icy, sending another shiver down his spine.  

As he settled into the pillows, his eyelids grew heavy as lead. The medication was taking effect, dragging him under like a gentle tide. But before darkness claimed him, one last thought crossed his mind:  

And then, like a switch being flipped, he fell asleep.  

Emilia walked quickly, almost running, her footsteps echoing on the linoleum floor. She needed to get out. She needed air. She needed—  

— "Miss Emilia?"  

The voice made her freeze. The nurse—Sato Aiko—stood a few meters ahead, her yellow eyes glowing under the fluorescent lights.  

— "You seem upset. Everything alright?"  

Emilia forced a smile, her fingers laced together in a white-knuckled grip.  

— "Yes, it’s just... hard seeing him like that."  

The nurse tilted her head, her silver-and-purple hair swaying like a pendulum.  

— "I understand." Her smile was kind, but something in her eyes... said otherwise. "You’re close to him, aren’t you?"  

— "We... we’re old friends."  

— "He’s in good hands now. Don’t worry." The nurse stepped closer, placing a hand on Emilia’s shoulder. "You two make a lovely couple," she said, sounding genuine.  

Emilia felt a chill on the back of her neck.  

— "Yes. Thank you."  

She pulled away too quickly, nearly tripping over her own feet. Only when she turned the corner did she realize she’d been holding her breath.  

Something’s wrong here.  

But before she could process the thought, her phone buzzed in her pocket. A message from Julius:  

"Come to the hotel… Subaru’s uncle is here. He wants to talk to everyone. You’re the only one missing."  

Subaru slept, his face finally at peace. In the dim light, the shadow of a figure leaned over him, long fingers hovering inches from his forehead.  

— "Sleep well, Flugel," she whispered, her lavender-and-amber perfume filling the air.  

Morning sunlight streamed softly through the hospital window as Dr. Hayashi opened the door, his slender frame casting an elongated shadow on the floor. He carried a

clipboard and a glass of water, his round glasses reflecting the light in a way that hid his eyes.  

— "Good morning, Subaru. May I come in?"  

Subaru, sitting on the bed with his knees drawn to his chest, nodded wordlessly. His fingers—the ones that remained—gripped his arms hard enough to leave red marks.  

The psychologist closed the door carefully and sat in the chair beside the bed, keeping a safe distance.  

— "Your uncle told me a little of what you went through," he began, his voice calm as the surface of a lake. "But today, I’d like to hear your version."  

Subaru laughed, a dry, broken sound more like a bark of pain.  

— "My version? You really want to hear how I let children die while surviving like a coward?"  

Dr. Hayashi didn’t flinch.  

— "I want to hear how *you* see yourself in this story."  

Subaru swallowed hard, his eyes burning.  

— "I was the oldest. They called me Nii-san... Flugel." His trembling fingers touched the stub of his missing pinky. "The first time they cut someone, I threw up. They beat me until I stopped."  

The psychologist noted something, his face impassive.  

— "And how do you feel when you remember that?"  

— "Disgust," Subaru spat the word like poison. "Disgust that I trembled. That I cried. That I... obeyed." He raised his hands, the scars exposed like a map of horror. "Look at me! I survived because I was weak! Because I didn’t fight to the end like the others!"  

His voice broke, tears now flowing freely.  

Dr. Hayashi leaned forward, his glasses finally revealing brown eyes filled with a compassion that made Subaru flinch.  

— "Subaru, the instinct to survive isn’t weakness. It’s pure biology."  

— "That’s self-help bullshit!" Subaru shouted, fists pounding the mattress. "You think that erases what I did? What I let them do to me?"  

The psychologist remained unshaken.  

— "What exactly do you think you did wrong?"  

Subaru froze. The words spilled out like an overflowing river:  

— "I watched. When they took Hinata... when the boy who liked drawing screamed... I closed my eyes and hummed to drown it out!" His fingers dug into his own arms. "Then I washed their clothes. Ate their food. Survived while they rotted in that place."  

A heavy silence fell over the room. Even the machines seemed to stop beeping.  

Dr. Hayashi discreetly wiped his eyes before asking:  

— "How old were you when you were taken?"  

Subaru blinked.  

— "Fifteen."  

— "And the other children?"  

— "Twelve to fourteen."  

The psychologist tilted his head, as if Subaru had just proven his point.  

— "So you were a child taking care of children. Not a soldier. Not a superhero. A child."  

Subaru opened his mouth to protest, but no sound came out.  

Dr. Hayashi continued, softer:  

— "You mentioned two names earlier—Reinhard and Julius. Would you tell me about them?"  

Subaru felt an inexplicable warmth in his face.  

— "They... my uncle said we were friends. That we were close." He bit his lip. "But I don’t remember clearly. Just... feelings."  

— "What kind of feelings?"  

Subaru hesitated, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on the sheets.  

— "Safety. Warmth. Like... like I could be myself with them." His face twisted. "But now look at me. How can I face them like this? Like *this*?"  

He gestured at his own body—the protruding bones, the scars, the missing fingers.  

Dr. Hayashi studied him for a long moment before asking:  

— "Subaru, do you think they’ll love you less for being hurt?"  

The question hit like a punch to the gut. Subaru choked, the words tumbling out before he could think:  

— "I don’t... we weren’t... like that."  

But even as he denied it, a fragmented memory surfaced—Julius brushing his bangs aside during a fever, Reinhard carrying him piggyback after he sprained his ankle on a hike. Small moments of care that spoke louder than words.  

The psychologist smiled, as if he knew exactly what Subaru was thinking.  

— "People who truly love us don’t love our bodies or our pasts. They love the spark inside us." He leaned forward. "And yours, Subaru, is still there. Shining even in the dark."  

Subaru didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His chest ached as if someone had reached inside and squeezed his heart.  

Dr. Hayashi gave him time, jotting something down before asking:  

— "These two... do you know what they do now?"  

Subaru nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.  

— "My uncle said they’re important. CEOs. Powerful."  

— "And that scares you?"  

— "Yes! Because I... I’m not who I was anymore. What if they come and only see... this?"  

The psychologist removed his glasses, cleaning them carefully.  

— "One thing I’ve learned in this profession, Subaru: real love doesn’t vanish because the packaging is damaged." He replaced his glasses. "It adapts. Reinvents itself. Like water flowing around a stone."  

Subaru looked at his hands again, but this time, he saw something beyond the scars—he saw the same hands that, in another life, might have held theirs with confidence.  

— "What if I never remember properly?" he whispered.  

Dr. Hayashi smiled.  

— "Then you’ll make new memories. Start over."  

When the session ended, Subaru lay staring at the ceiling, the psychologist’s words echoing in his mind alongside the voices of the children. But for the first time, perhaps, the former were beginning to grow louder.  

The sweet scent of honey and cooked rice filled the room before the door even fully opened. Subaru, still lost in thought from his session with the psychologist, looked up to see Emilia standing in the doorway, carefully balancing a wicker basket of still-steaming rice cakes.  

— "A promise is a promise," she announced with a timid smile, though her lilac eyes were nervous, darting behind her. "And... I brought reinforcements."  

Before Subaru could respond, a blond-and-gold hurricane burst into the room.  

— "CAPTAIN!!"  

Garfiel, all 1,90 cm of muscle and tattoos, crossed the space like a linebacker, closely followed by Mimi—170 cm of pure energy, . The two collided with the bed in a hug that made the machines shake and Subaru choke on the impact.  

— "G-Garf?! Mi— oof!"  

The air was knocked from his lungs as Mimi buried her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking.  

— "Dummy mini-boss! Disappearing like that! Making us cry!" she sobbed, her claws (literally—Mimi still wore those fake claw nails) gripping his shoulder tightly.  

Garfiel didn’t speak—just wrapped both of them in his massive arms, his face buried in Subaru’s hair. When he finally lifted his head, his green headbands were damp with tears.  

— "Ya smell like hospital and sadness, Captain," he growled, as if it were an insult. "That ain’t like you."

Subaru didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. His fingers (the ones he still had) clung to Garfiel’s back like a drowning man to a lifeline.  

— "You guys... you grew up," was all he managed, taking in Garfiel’s sharper jawline, the tiger tattoo now snaking down his neck.  

Mimi pulled back to glare at him, her cat-like eyes blazing.  

— "And you shrank! Skinny as a twig!" She poked his ribs, making him flinch.  

Otto arrived first, his once-youthful face now lined with worry. Frederica, tall and elegant as ever, carried a bag of gifts. Felt, her short, messy hair even wilder than before, flopped onto the foot of the bed with familiar ease, while Crusch and Felix lingered by the door—Felix waving exaggeratedly with his gloved hand.  

— "Looks like we survived the worst two," Otto grumbled, helping Frederica arrange the packages. "They nearly took down the reception desk."  

Frederica set a bag of fruits on the bedside table, her golden eyes soft.  

— "Subaru... it’s good to see you with better color."  

Felt, ever blunt, tossed a package into his lap—a handheld gaming console.  

— "So you don’t die of boredom in here. Loaded with all the horror games you loved—I even added some new ones."  

Subaru picked it up with trembling hands. Something inside him clenched at the realization that she remembered—how he’d adored horror games, even though he was a coward.  

— "Felt... still an angel disguised as a little devil," he murmured, making her blush and swear.  

It was Crusch who broke the moment, her military tone softened by genuine concern:  

— "Natsuki Subaru. The military has excellent rehab programs. When you’re ready, my team is at your disposal."  

Felix, beside her, finally cracked and threw himself into the group hug, nearly squashing Mimi in the process.  

— "And I’ll be your personal doctor, nyaa! No skipping sessions like in school!"  

Subaru was being crushed, smelled like Mimi’s shampoo, Garfiel’s sweat, and Felix’s expensive cologne—and for the first time in years, he felt truly alive.  

Then Emilia, still at the door with her basket of rice cakes, gave a small nod to someone in the hallway.  

— "There’s... someone else who wants to see you."  

The room fell silent. Everyone knew who she meant.  

Subaru froze. His fingers dug into the blanket.  

— "Th-They’re here now?"  

Garfiel sensed the tension and released him, his feline eyes narrowing.  

— "Captain... if ya ain’t ready, we’ll send ’em—"  

— "No." Subaru took a deep breath, staring at his scarred hands. "They... waited eleven years. I at least owe them..."  

But when footsteps echoed in the hall, his heart pounded so hard it hurt. Reinhard. Julius. The two names burned in his mind like embers.  

Mimi, perceptive as ever, cupped his face.  

— "Little bro. Breathe. They’re just your old friends, remember?"  

Subaru wanted to believe her. But when the silhouettes appeared in the doorway—one towering and red as fire, the other slender and elegant—his body reacted before his mind could process.  

He flinched.  

A small movement, almost imperceptible. But everyone saw it.  

Reinhard, who’d been about to step inside, stopped as if he’d hit an invisible wall. His blue eyes—once bright with anticipation—darkened with understanding.  

Julius, beside him, read the situation instantly. With a gentle gesture, he took Reinhard’s arm and whispered something.  

It was Otto who broke the awkward silence:  

— "Well, that was anticlimactic. You two just gonna stand there like statues, or are you coming in?"  

Subaru saw Reinhard swallow hard before the man took a step back.  

— "Another time," he said, his voice so soft it was barely audible. "When... when he’s ready."  

And then they were gone, their footsteps fading down the hall faster than they’d arrived.  

The room erupted:  

— "The hell—" Garfiel started.  

— "Wait, why’d they—" Felt yelled.  

But Subaru didn’t hear them. His eyes were fixed on the empty doorway, his hands (always the damned hands) shaking in his lap.  

— ("They saw me.")He thought. (That’s why they left.)

Mimi, ever perceptive, grabbed his chin.  

— "Hey, hey, come back to us." Her golden eyes burned with determination. "They didn’t run, dummy. They gave you space. Because they know you better than you know yourself."  

The sweet honey scent filled the air. The same scent from eleven years ago. Subaru looked at the rice cake Emilia shyly offered, then at the faces around him—his friends, his chosen family.  

Maybe... maybe he wasn’t *that* broken after all.  

At least not enough to be left behind.  

The silence in the room lasted all of three seconds before a new commotion erupted in the hallway. Familiar bickering voices grew louder outside:  

— "Pathetic."  
— "Disgraceful."  

Two pairs of quick footsteps approached, accompanied by desperate shuffling.  

Subaru barely had time to blink before Reinhard and Julius were shoved into the room, each with a blue-haired twin dragging them firmly by the ear.  

— "OW—! R-Ram, that hurts—!" Julius, normally so composed, was bent at a ridiculous angle to accommodate her grip.  

— "You’re both idiots." Ram released his ear with a shove, sending the well-dressed man stumbling. "Eleven years of waiting, and you bolt at the first sign of hesitation?"  

Beside her, Reinhard—the mighty CEO of Astrea Tech—was equally humiliated, with Rem tugging his red ear as if he were a misbehaving child.  

— "Reinhard-sama, this is beneath you." Rem’s voice was sweet as honey... and hard as steel. "You face down executives and governments, but tremble before your own

Subaru?"  

Garfiel nearly fell off the bed laughing.  

— "Shut up, Garf! This is beautiful! Romantic!" Mimi smacked her boyfriend’s shoulder.  

Subaru was paralyzed. His brain barely processed the scene:  

— "Now sit down and talk. Like adults."  

Rem added, pointing at the bed:  

— "And if you run again, I’ll cook you both in the spiciest sauce at Appa d’Oro."  

A heavy silence fell. Everyone looked at Subaru, waiting for his reaction.  

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then, unwittingly, a laugh escaped his lips.  

A weak, broken laugh... but genuine.

— "You guys... you’re absolutely pathetic," he managed between laughs, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.  

Subaru’s laughter echoed through the room like the first ray of sun after a storm. His shoulders shook, tears now flowing freely—not from pain, but from relief so intense it hurt.  

Chapter Text

5 Days Later

POV: Natsuki Haruo

The morning sun filtered through the apartment curtains, illuminating the mess his life had become over the last eleven years. Haruo adjusted his police cap with hands that stubbornly trembled—not from age, but from an anxiety that burned through his veins like gunpowder.

A gust of wind slipped through the half-open window, making the scattered papers on the floor dance. Missing persons reports. Photographs of children with faces crossed out in red marker—"found dead," "not located." In the center, a photo of Subaru smiling. Untouched. His school uniform clean. Hope, frozen in time.

Haruo swallowed hard.

— "Forgive me, Kenichi… and Naoko…"

His voice echoed through the empty apartment. The smell of stale coffee and instant noodles hung in the air. The couch, where he’d slept for months, bore the sunken imprint of his body.

He picked up the framed photo from the table—his younger brother holding Subaru on his shoulders, all of them smiling at a summer festival. The glass was cracked in the corner.

— "I hope one day you can forgive me, otōto." His calloused fingers tightened around the frame as if they could touch the past. "I swear I’ll hunt down those bastards… for everything they did to Subaru." His voice trembled, fighting not to imagine what his beloved nephew had suffered at the hands of those monsters.

Unwanted images flooded his mind.

The missing fingers on Subaru’s right hand.

The medical reports describing signs of abuse.

The empty look in the boy’s eyes when they found him—as if his soul had been ripped out.

Haruo clenched his fists until his nails dug into his palms.

— "No. Not now."

He set the frame back in place, opened the drawer, and grabbed his car keys. As he walked down the hallway, he paused in front of a photograph hanging on the wall.

There, the whole family was gathered. In the picture, Kenichi and Naoko held a baby Subaru. In the bottom corner, the date was handwritten: *06/02/1993*.

Haruo’s heart sank. He touched the dusty glass with trembling fingers, slowly tracing the smiling faces. He lingered on Kenichi’s face—that warm smile that could chase away any pain.

— "Don’t worry, otōto. I’ll take care of your boy."

A faint smile appeared, fragile as a sliver of sunlight breaking through dark clouds. Even with all the emotional scars, there was still a reason to keep going.

After one last look, he left the apartment and locked the door. He rubbed his neck, glancing around. No noise. No living soul. Just the silence of the aging hallway.

The apartment building’s corridor was quiet, echoing only the heavy footsteps of Haruo. As he reached the last steps of the staircase, a familiar voice made him stop:

— "Natsuki-san! Finally caught you!"

Mrs. Tanaka, his longtime neighbor, climbed the stairs with difficulty. She carried a thermal bag, the comforting aroma of home-cooked food wafting from it. Her small eyes sparkled behind round glasses.

— "For your Subaru-kun." She lifted the bag. "My famous gyudon. He always asked for it when he visited you. And some rice balls too… oh, I almost forgot: a little mayonnaise."

Haruo’s throat tightened. She remembered. After eleven years, she still remembered.

— "Thank you, Tanaka-san." His voice came out rougher than intended.

She frowned and lightly smacked his arm with the bag.

— "Stop with that funeral face! The boy is alive, Natsuki-san! That’s a miracle." She adjusted her glasses. "You should smile. He needs to see that there’s still joy in the world."

Haruo looked at the bag. The warmth of the food seemed to radiate hope through the fabric. For a moment, he could almost imagine Subaru—now fifteen—sitting at his table, devouring the gyudon with that carefree smile.

— "You’re right." He straightened his shoulders. "It’s a happy day."

Mrs. Tanaka nodded, satisfied.

— "Now go! And don’t let the gyudon get cold!"

— "Have a good day, Tanaka-sama." He gave a slight bow.

Haruo left the building and crossed the parking lot.

His car—an old sedan with scratched doors and a faded police sticker on the windshield—started with a rough growl. He placed the bag carefully on the passenger seat, as if carrying a treasure.

The drive to the hospital was painfully familiar. How many times had he traveled these streets? How many nights had he spent parked outside, watching the hospital lights turn off, wondering if Subaru was still alive inside?

The morning sun bathed Hiroshima’s buildings in gold. The city awoke, indifferent to the weight in his chest.

The traffic flowed smoothly. Haruo, stopped at a red light, watched pedestrians crossing the street—mothers with children, elderly people, teenagers laughing at their phones. Ordinary lives. Lives that carried no guilt.

— "You know, otōto…" he murmured, staring at the broken air conditioner. "I miss your stupid laugh."

The light turned green. The car moved forward.

— "I miss the weekends… when you and Naoko would visit me. I miss Subaru, back when he was just a kid who didn’t know the world’s cruelty…" He turned left. "I miss Dad… Kenji… Misaki… when we were still a family."

With every kilometer, the engine growled like a wounded animal. Haruo gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white.

— "After the accident… after you were gone… and with Subaru’s disappearance…" He swallowed hard. "Everything left of our family shattered. Like glass."

At the next traffic light, he braked abruptly. The seatbelt yanked him back. He glanced to the side—a mother and her son shared an ice cream cone, smiling under the clear sky.

Haruo’s chest tightened. A shameful feeling bloomed—envy.

But he shook his head, pushing the thought away.

In the rearview mirror, hanging by a frayed thread, was an old photograph: him, Kenichi, and Misaki—young, carefree, smiling at a summer festival. Haruo in the middle, arms around his siblings.

A sad smile formed.

Two of those smiles were gone forever.

— "...I’m a terrible oniisan… and a terrible uncle." His hands trembled. His eyes welled up. His breathing grew heavy.

3 Months After Subaru’s Disappearance

The smell of incense filled the Natsuki household. Relatives gathered but distant. Each avoided the other’s gaze as if their presence brought unbearable memories.

Haruo, standing in a corner, wore his pressed police uniform.

— "It’s his fault." Aunt Mitsue whispered to her husband. "If he’d done his job right… Kenichi, Naoko, Subaru… they’d still be alive."

Old Kenji, once a pillar, sat sunken in a chair, clutching a photo of baby Subaru in his father’s arms.

— "My grandson… my little Kenichi…"

Misaki, eyes swollen, leaned against the wall. When their gazes met, she looked away.

Back in the present, Haruo didn’t realize he was crying. Tears streamed silently.

— "Old Kenji died holding that photo." He whispered. "Heart failure, the doctors said. But we knew… it was grief."

The light turned green. He accelerated.

— "Misaki… held on for three years. But on the anniversary of their deaths… she couldn’t take it anymore."

The Aioi Bridge appeared in the distance—the same place where Kenichi and Naoko had died. The same place where Misaki took her own life.

But something had changed.

Guilt was no longer his only fuel.

There was another force now: determination.

He wiped his tears with his sleeve.

— "But I never gave up on you, Subaru. Not when they called me crazy. Not when they took me off the case."

The hospital loomed ahead, shining in the sun like a beacon.

Haruo smiled for the first time in a long time.

— "Because family doesn’t give up on its own." He said firmly.

And then, he sped up.

POV: Natsuki Subaru

Sitting in the wheelchair, Subaru stared at his own reflection in the hospital room window.

The reflection showed a gaunt figure—his face pale and nearly skeletal, cheeks sunken. His once-short black hair now reached his shoulders. Lifeless eyes, dark circles from countless sleepless nights—all signs of a broken body.

He wore a white shirt, too large for his emaciated frame, printed with an anime character. Over it, a dark green jacket with two pockets, blue pants, and a pair of white gloves.

A storm of emotions raged inside him as he faced his reflection—disgust, hatred, shame.

The word disgust couldn’t capture the revulsion he felt for his own body. It was overwhelming, unbearable. Even if his skin were peeled away, the feeling wouldn’t leave.

Hatred—for being a puppet in the hands of vile people. And for himself. Why hadn’t he fought? Why hadn’t he protected his younger siblings?

Shame—for surviving in their place. How could someone so useless live through all that? Shame for his own repulsive actions. He wished for punishment, for atonement. Guilt for tarnishing his family’s name.

The white gloves—hiding his missing fingers—pressed against his face like a veil of shame. Even the fabric smelled like hospital, like disinfectant, like something artificial that would never wash away his guilt.

His head throbbed with pain. Negative thoughts consumed his mind, the agony worsening with each second—as if a sledgehammer were pounding his skull. His vision darkened slightly.

— "...I deserve this." Subaru pressed his hands against his head, trying to ease the consuming pain.

"Are you blaming yourself, Nii-san?"

A childlike voice echoed in his mind. He didn’t react, as if he’d grown used to the voices.

— "Yes… I am." His voice was weak. "I deserve the worst."

"You really are a pathetic Nii-san. I don’t know why I trusted you."

The venom in the voice made Subaru shrink into the wheelchair.

— "I’m sorry… I’m useless." His voice was barely a whisper. Tears welled in his eyes from the unbearable pain—both physical and emotional.

"If you really want redemption… you should just kill yourself."

The cheerful tone clashed with the morbidity of the moment. Subaru lifted his head slightly, staring at the window in front of him. As far as he knew, he was on the fifth floor of the hospital.

His thoughts screamed at him, begging him to jump and end the suffering.

But something interrupted him—a hand on his left shoulder.

He flinched and turned, only to see his uncle’s worried expression.

— "Are you okay, Subaru?" Haruo asked, seeing the pain on his nephew’s face.

— "Just a slight headache, Oji-san."

— "Should I call a nurse?"

Subaru shook his head slowly, avoiding his uncle’s gaze. The throbbing pain remained, but he was used to ignoring it.

— "No need… It’ll pass."

Haruo hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly on Subaru’s shoulder as if afraid he might dissolve at the slightest touch. Subaru could feel the warmth of that hand—real, alive. Unlike the haunting voices.

— "I brought something for you." Haruo picked up the thermal bag from the floor and placed it on Subaru’s lap. The smell of still-warm gyudon filled the room—a scent that should have been comforting. "Remember? Tanaka-san’s gyudon. You loved it."

Subaru looked at the bag. His gloved hands trembled slightly as he opened it. Steam rose, fogging his vision for a moment.

— "Thank you, Oji-san." His voice was mechanical, distant.

Haruo pulled up a chair and sat beside him, eyes fixed on his nephew’s pale face.

— "The doctor said you’ll be discharged soon." Haruo’s voice tried to sound cheerful, but Subaru heard the tension beneath.

He was about to say something else, but stopped when he saw Subaru pick up a piece of meat with chopsticks and put it in his mouth.

The meat dissolved on his tongue, the rich, comforting flavor of gyudon spreading. It was hot, almost burning, but Subaru barely reacted. He chewed slowly, as if each movement required immense effort. The rice was soft, the beef tender, the sauce slightly sweet—just as he remembered.

But the taste didn’t reach him.

His mind was elsewhere, drowning in voices.

"Nii-san, you don’t deserve this."

The childlike voice echoed, sweet yet sharp as a knife wrapped in honey.

Subaru closed his eyes briefly, trying to focus on eating. He took another bite, mechanically bringing it to his mouth. The motion was robotic, repetitive—as if his body knew what to do, but his soul had already abandoned the task.

Haruo watched in silence, fingers interlaced over his knees. His eyes traced every detail of his nephew—the pallor, the hunched shoulders under an invisible weight, the slight tremble in his gloved hands with each movement.

The morning breeze drifted through the half-open window, stirring Subaru’s long black hair. His reflection in the glass still stared back—those dead eyes.

"You should jump, Nii-san. It’d be easier for everyone."

Subaru clenched his eyes shut, trying to block the voice. He focused on the gyudon—the smell, the warmth radiating from the dish. It was real. It was something tangible.

Haruo, without a word, reached over and adjusted Subaru’s green jacket, pulling it a little higher on his shoulders. The gesture was small, almost imperceptible, but Subaru felt it.

For just a moment—just one—the world stopped.

No voices.

No pain.

Just the taste of gyudon, the sun’s warmth on his skin, and the silent presence of his uncle beside him.

The moment shattered as the door opened and the doctor walked in. Subaru and Haruo turned their attention to him as he approached, holding some papers.

The doctor adjusted his glasses, fingers tapping lightly on the documents. His gaze shifted between Haruo and Subaru, as if measuring how much he could say in front of the boy.

— "Mr. Haruo, the tests confirm Subaru is physically stable. But..." He paused.

Haruo’s back tensed. There was always a but.

Subaru kept his eyes fixed on the gyudon, as if the plate were a safe point in a turbulent sea.

— "He still suffers from severe malnutrition, and the scars—both physical and psychological—will require long-term care." The doctor handed over a folder with reports and prescriptions. "Here are medications for pain, anxiety, and sleep. We’ve also referred him to a trauma-specialized psychologist and a psychiatrist, in case medication adjustments are needed later."

Haruo took the papers, fingers tightening involuntarily as he read the words "severe PTSD," "dissociative episodes," "deep depression."

— "I need you to sign this so Subaru can be discharged." The doctor held out a form and a pen.

Haruo took the pen, his hand shaking slightly as he signed. Each stroke carried the weight of a decade of guilt and waiting. When he finished, he looked at Subaru, who remained still, gloved hands resting on the barely touched gyudon.

Haruo folded the documents carefully and tucked them into his inner coat pocket. He turned to Subaru, trying to catch his gaze.

— "All set, Subaru. We can go."

The boy only nodded, eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the window. His gloved hands clenched slightly on his knees, as if bracing himself for the world outside.

Haruo took the thermal bag with the gyudon and placed it in a backpack he’d brought. Then, he positioned himself behind the wheelchair, ready to push.

— "Let’s go, Subaru."

The walk down the hospital hallway was silent. Fluorescent lights reflected off the polished floor, creating an almost surreal glow. Nurses and doctors passed by—some casting curious glances, others hiding expressions of pity. Subaru kept his head down, black hair obscuring part of his face.

When they reached the elevator, Haruo pressed the button and waited. The silence between them was thick, heavy with unspoken words.

— "The car’s in the parking lot." Haruo said, more to fill the void than out of necessity.

Subaru didn’t respond.

The elevator arrived with a soft ding. Haruo maneuvered the wheelchair inside, standing beside his nephew. As the doors closed, their reflections in the mirror showed ghostly figures—Haruo, face lined with exhaustion and resolve; Subaru, a pale, broken shadow.

The parking lot was cold and dimly lit when they exited the elevator. The smell of concrete and motor oil hung in the air. Haruo guided the wheelchair toward his old sedan, parked near the exit.

— "Wait here a second."

He opened the passenger door and adjusted the seat back, creating more space. Then, he returned to Subaru.

— "Need help?"

Subaru looked at the car, then at his own legs. Slowly, he shook his head.

— "I can do it."

His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. With visible effort, he pushed himself up from the wheelchair, legs trembling slightly. Haruo reached out, ready to steady him if needed, but respected the boy’s space.

Subaru managed to lean on the car door and, with slow movements, lowered himself into the passenger seat. Haruo folded the wheelchair and placed it in the trunk.

When he got into the car and shut the door, the interior fell into muffled silence. Haruo took a deep breath, hands on the wheel.

— "Ready?"

Subaru didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on the rearview mirror, where the small family photo still hung.

Haruo followed his gaze, and for a moment, they both stared at the ghosts of the past.

Then, Haruo turned the key in the ignition. The engine growled to life, the radio tuning to a random station—a soft, almost melancholic song.

He shifted into gear and began to drive, leaving the hospital behind.

Through the window, Subaru watched the city pass by—buildings, people, the sky.

Haruo glanced at his nephew’s serene face, and a small smile formed. But it faded as he remembered he couldn’t take care of him right now.

— "Oji-san… why can’t I stay with you?" Subaru asked.

— "My apartment isn’t in the best condition for you right now." Haruo paused. "And I’ll be helping with the investigation into your case, Subaru."

Subaru only grunted and looked at his uncle.

— "Like I said, Reinhard and Julius will take care of you for now. Once this is all over, you can stay with me."

When Subaru heard those two names, a strange warmth spread through his body. He had spoken with them a little.

His face became hot. This feeling was unfamiliar to him, what was this feeling?