school...
3 months skip
– Tokyo International Academy
The gates of Tokyo International Academy loomed like gilded bars, its manicured lawns crawling with children in navy blazers. Anna
She stood frozen at the entrance, her uniform hanging loose, Viktor's enforcer Yuri prodding her forward. "Move, devochka. The boss says play normal."
Ms. Tanaka, the homeroom teacher, greeted them with a stiff bow. "Welcome, Anna. Your uncle says you're… adjusting."
Anna blinked. The name Ms. Tanaka evaporated mid-air. "I… I'm sorry. What's your name again?"
Ms. Tanaka's smile tightened. "Let's find your seat."
Anna: ....
3 months more time skip
Classroom 5-B
The school bell screamed overhead, jolting Anna upright in her desk. Around her, chairs screeched and laughter erupted as students flooded the hallway. She stared at her open notebook, the page blank except for a single, trembling doodle—feathered wings she didn't remember drawing.
Student #1 (mocking): "Hey, Amnesiac Anna! Did you forget how to walk again?"
Student #2 (snickering): "Maybe she forgot her name this time!"
Anna's cheeks burned. She gripped the edge of her desk, the kanji on the chalkboard swimming into gibberish. Math. We're doing math. But the numbers blurred—12 x 9? 12… 12 times…
Ms. Tanaka (snapping): "Anna! Stand and answer!"
Anna rose, her knees buckling. "I… I don't…"
The class roared.
Yuri (lurking outside the door, texting Viktor): "Brat failed again as usual. Dosage working
The cafeteria buzzed with chatter and clattering trays. Anna sat alone at the far table, picking at her bento—stale rice, and cold fish, portions shrinking each week. A girl with pigtails (Aiko) slid beside her.
Aiko: "Trade my tamagoyaki for your pickled plum?"
Anna stared at the egg roll. "What's… tamagoyaki?"
Aiko: "You've never—?"
Yuri (slamming his fist on the table): "Boss says no friends. Eat. Alone."
Aiko fled. Anna's bento tipped, rice scattering. Across the room, students whispered:
Student #3: "Heard her uncle pays the nurses to drug her."
Student #4: "Why's she even here? She's a zombie."
---------
The nurse's office reeked of antiseptic and false concern. Nurse Sato hummed as she prepared the syringe.
Anna (slurring): "Why… why do I always forget?"
Nurse Sato smiled: "Just vitamins, dear. For your… nerves."
The needle pricked Anna's arm. Cold seeped into her veins.
Nurse Sato: "Now, what's your name?"
Anna: "Anna… Petrov?"
Nurse Sato: "Good girl. And your parents?"
Anna blinked. The words *Kallen* and *Sasha* dissolved like sugar in tea. "I… I don't have parents."
Nurse Sato clapped her hand and said "Okay Anna it's now time to head to art class."
The art room buzzed with the scratch of charcoal and the earthy scent of clay. Anna dipped her brush into crimson paint, her hand moving on its own—swish, slash, swirl—until metallic wings arched across the page, jagged and gleaming like shattered armor.
Art Teacher, Mr. Kobayashi (leaning over her shoulder): "Remarkable! The texture here—it's almost… alive. What inspired this?"
Anna blinked. "I… don't know."
Yuri (lurking by the door): "Boss says no drawing. Stick to numbers."
Before Anna could react, Yuri stormed forward and snatched the painting.
Tearing Canvas: A visceral rrrrip that silenced the room
Mr. Kobayashi (slamming his palm on the desk): "How dare you! This is her creation—her voice!"
Yuri sneered, tearing the canvas in two. "Voice? Brat's got no voice. Boss's orders."
Mr. Kobayashi (blocking Yuri's exit): "You can't just—"
Yuri shoved him against the kiln, ceramic mugs rattling. "Try me, *sensei*. See what happens."
The classroom fell into more silence. Students froze and brushed mid-air.
Mr. Kobayashi (voice trembling with rage): "This is a school, not a prison. That drawing was—"
Yuri (crumbling the torn wings into a ball): "Trash. Just like her."
He tossed the shreds into the sink, dousing them with turpentine. The crimson feathers bled into brown sludge.
Mr. Kobayashi (quietly, to Anna): "Some art… can't be destroyed. Remember that."
But Anna was already staring at her empty hands, the echo of wings fading like a half-remembered dream.
As the shreds fluttered down, Anna's hand drifted to her throat, where her mother's locket once hung. Empty. *Did I lose it? Or did he take it?*
Turpentine Splash: Liquid hitting the sink with a hollow *glug-glug*.
Kiln Hum: A low, angry drone as Mr. Kobayashi's fists clenched.
Student Whispers: "Sensei's gonna get fired…" "Why's that Russian guy so scary?"
The school gates creaked shut behind Anna, the sound drowned out by the honking chaos of Tokyo's rush hour. Cherry blossoms swirled in the exhaust-choked air, their pink petals sticking to Anna's scuffed loafers. Yuri gripped her elbow, his tattooed knuckles whitening as he shoved her toward the idling black sedan.
Yuri (snarling): "Walk faster, devochka. Boss ain't got patience for your zombie shuffle."
Anna stumbled, her vision blurring at the edges. The world tilted—
Yuri (yanking her upright): "Pathetic. Even the pills can't make you useful."
Inside the car, Viktor hunched over his tablet, its blue glow reflecting off his bald scalp. The leather seats reeked of cigar smoke and greed.
Viktor (not looking up): "Well? How'd the little imbecile do today?"
Yuri (shoving Anna into the seat): "Failed math. Again. The teacher asked her 8 times 7. She stared like a cow at traffic."
Viktor (slamming his tablet): "8 times 7?! Even a *dog* knows 56! What's wrong with you?!"
Anna flinched. "I… I tried—"
Viktor (mocking): "Oh, you tried? How sweet. Let's try again. What's…"—he leaned closer, his breath hot and sour—"12 times 9?"
Anna's throat tightened. The numbers slithered away like eels. "12… 12 times…"
Viktor (slapping the headrest): "108! It's 108! How do you not know this?! You're 12!"
Yuri (snickering from the front seat): "Brain's mush, boss. Like I said."
The sedan lurched into traffic. Anna pressed her forehead to the window, the cold glass sharp against her skin. A billboard flashed—"Louvre Exhibit: Lost Treasures of Mnemosyne"—and for a heartbeat, something twisted in her chest.
Anna (whispering): "Mnemosyne…"
Viktor (freezing): "What did you say?"
Anna: "I… I don't know. The sign—"
Viktor (grabbing her jaw): "You don't look at signs. You don't *think* about museums. You're nothing. A *ghost. Understand?"
Anna nodded, tears blurring the billboard into streaks of neon.
Viktor (releasing her with a shove): "Good. Now—"—his phone buzzed with an alert—"€800 million?!" He whooped, spittle flying. "The Caravaggio sold! Finally, those Vatican rats coughed up!"
Yuri: "What'd they want it for, boss?"
Viktor (grinning): "Who cares? Money's money. Though…"—he eyed Anna—"Legends say it's a map to some temple. Maybe we'll dig it up after we ditch the brat."
Anna: "Ditch… me?"
Viktor (patting her cheek, hard): "Oh, kotik. You didn't think you'd live to 18, did you?"
The sedan merged onto the highway, the engine roaring like a beast. Somewhere in the haze, Anna's fingers twitched toward her empty neck—*where a locket once hung*—and for a flicker, she heard a voice:
"ΜΝΗΜΟΣΥΝΗ… WAKE UP…"
Then the pills dragged her under again.
The penthouse was silent except for the hum of the air conditioner—a sterile, mechanical breath that did nothing to soothe the tightness in Anna's chest. She lay curled on the cold marble floor, her cheek pressed to the ground, tears pooling beneath her. The pills had worn off just enough to leave her stranded in this limbo: too numb to scream, too broken to sleep.
Anna (whispering to the dark): "Why… why does it hurt?"
Her fingers crept to her throat, tracing the space where the locket once rested. The skin there felt raw, haunted as if the necklace had been carved out of her. She dug her nails in, desperate to scratch away the phantom weight.
Anna (louder, frantic): "What's missing? What's—?"
A sob choked her. She didn't know. She'd never know.
Down the hall, Viktor's laughter boomed through a cracked door, his voice slurred with vodka. "Another billion! I told you the brat was worth it!"
Anna crawled to the mirror, its edges frosted with dust. The girl staring back was a stranger—pale, hollow-eyed, lips cracked from biting back words she couldn't remember.
Anna (to her reflection): "Who… are you?"*
The girl didn't answer.
---
A blue capsule rolled across the floor, kicked there by Yuri hours earlier. "Take it, devochka. The boss says sleep."*
Anna clutched it, her tears dissolving the bitter powder. She swallowed.
The numbness spread faster this time—a cold tide drowning the ache, the questions, the *missing*. As she slumped against the wall, her hand slid back to her throat, fingers twitching in a rhythm she didn't understand:
Tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap.
-.-- --- ..- .-. . -- .. -. .
YOU'RE MINE.
---
Sunlight stabbed through the blinds. Anna blinked, her cheeks salt-stained, her throat sore.
Yuri (kicking her awake): "Up. School."
Anna touched her neck. Why does it feel empty?
But the thought slipped away, like everything else.
...