LM0052  Books, Myths, and Memories

The morning air in Singapore carried the scent of freshly brewed coffee and the faint tang of the sea, mingling with the crisp sterility of air-conditioned buildings. The city's heartbeat thrummed through the streets—an intoxicating blend of modern sophistication and old-world charm. Mizuki walked at a leisurely pace, blending in with the crowd, taking in the familiar yet ever-evolving landscape.

It had been years since she last set foot in Singapore—at least in this life. The skyline stretched high, its glass towers reflecting the sky like giant mirrors, while below, colonial shophouses and bustling hawker centers anchored the city's history against its rapid modernization. Everything was familiar, yet today, she saw it with fresh eyes. She wasn't just another resident; she was a visitor in a city she once called home, a stranger retracing the steps of a life she had already lived.

Two days ago, she had done something she'd never bothered with in her past life—shopping for herself. The experience was strangely novel. Though her parents had filled her wardrobe before she arrived, there was something exhilarating about choosing her own clothes. She hadn't splurged—Mizuki despised waste and had no interest in hoarding unnecessary things. Instead, she visited various boutiques, picking only a few versatile pieces she could carry on her own. She avoided the high-end halls of Wolfe Mall, where assistants dutifully carried bags for VIPs; this time, she wanted to experience shopping like a regular person, feeling the weight of her own choices in her hands.

Alongside new clothes, she had finally secured a local SIM card for her Aster phone—a small, liberating step. Until now, she had depended on Pablo for calls and messages. Regaining control over something as simple as her phone felt profoundly empowering.

But today, her focus had shifted.

Bookstores.

There were several well-known ones in Singapore—Kinokuniya at Takashimaya, with its towering shelves and vast collection; Littered with Books, a cozy haven tucked away in Duxton Hill; and Grassroots Book Room, with its curated selection of literature and philosophy. Mizuki sought a quiet place to browse, not merely for entertainment but for inspiration. She had come for mythology.

Even with endless information available online, holding a book—flipping through its pages—made research feel immersive. She longed to lose herself in ancient stories, drawing ideas from myths that had survived centuries.

Of course, there was something else that had been gnawing at her since arrival.

Lizbeth.

And little Peanut.

Mizuki clenched her jaw as she stepped through the glass doors of Books Kinokuniya at Ngee Ann City, pushing the thought away before it could take root. Earlier, she had nearly caved—almost wandered into a children's boutique and filled a bag with clothes and toys—but that would have been too much, too soon. She still had no idea how to approach Lizbeth without frightening her off. Buying gifts for someone she wasn't even supposed to know yet? That was undeniably creepy.

No. Patience was key.

For now, she would let the pieces fall into place naturally.

Taking a steadying breath, Mizuki let her gaze wander over the towering shelves and the comforting scent of ink and paper. The store was as vast as she remembered—a booklover's haven spanning an entire floor of Takashimaya Shopping Centre. Soft classical music mingled with the quiet rustle of pages and the murmur of fellow customers, creating an ideal atmosphere for literary exploration.

She moved past displays of bestsellers and new releases, her fingers casually skimming over spines, until she reached the mythology section. Here, an entire wall was dedicated to myths and folklore—from the grand epics of Greece to obscure Asian legends. Golden-embossed spines shimmered under warm lighting, some adorned with haunting illustrations of gods and monsters, others heavy with scholarly analysis.

Mizuki pulled a thick hardcover bound in black leather with a full moon embossed on its cover. Flipping through the introduction, she noted its focus on lycanthropy across cultures—the French loup-garou, Japan's ōkami, and even lesser-known werewolf myths from Africa and South America. It was exactly the kind of material she needed.

The bookstore was peaceful, punctuated by the occasional beep of the cashier's scanner. Nearby, a few other customers sat on the benches, absorbed in their own discoveries—college students poring over textbooks, business professionals flipping through self-improvement guides. This was a sanctuary where people lost themselves for hours, just as Mizuki had done in her youth.

She didn't linger too long on other titles, though she mentally noted several to revisit later. Right now, her mind brimmed with ideas for her novel—a story that mingled her past life, her myths, and her unyielding determination. Her fingers tightened around the chosen book as she recalled that elusive dream—the one with the Moon Goddess. Unlike when she first returned, she could still remember that dream clearly. She wasn't certain she recalled every detail, but she remembered enough. Enough to grasp the story that had been given to her. Enough to know that she had to write it down.

Mizuki exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of her purpose settle over her shoulders. She had written books once—in another life. So what was stopping her from writing something new? Although her genre choices had often raised eyebrows and drawn amused smirks from critics, she was an author with a small but loyal readership. Stories, no matter their form, held power.

This time, the topic was different. It was personal. And she believed she could do it.

With an armful of carefully selected books on mythology, folklore, and the supernatural, she joined the short line at the cashier. Her mind raced with ideas, each title fueling her inspiration.

Then, a voice called her name.

"Mizuki Wolfe?"

The sound made her head snap up. Her pulse quickened—she was still new to Singapore in this lifetime. She wasn't supposed to have acquaintances here—at least, not yet.

Turning toward the source, Mizuki's breath caught. Standing before her was a familiar figure—a woman with kind eyes and a gentle presence who had once been a quiet, steady force in her life. Recognition blossomed on the woman's face, and her lips curved into a warm, knowing smile.

"Ah, I was right. It's really you."

She stepped closer.

Mizuki's grip on her books tightened as the past collided with the present.

"…Eugene."