project 1940

Andy stood abruptly, his chair screeching against the floor. He glared at the scientist, his chest heaving. "Useful? You're asking me to give her up—to let you turn her into… into this?!"

The scientist didn't flinch. "It's the only way she can wake up. Otherwise, she stays like this—indefinitely."

Andy's throat tightened, his mind racing. The weight of the choice pressed down on him like a vice.

"Think about it," the scientist said, turning to leave. "But don't take too long. The process has a limited window."

As the door closed behind him, Andy sank back into his chair, his head in his hands. His heart was torn between the desperate need to see Akari awake again and the fear of losing her entirely—to a world where she would be nothing more than a tool, a shadow of the girl he loved.

He glanced at her again, his voice barely a whisper. "What should I do, Akari? What would you want?"

The silence was deafening.

Andy sat in the heavy silence, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions. His fingers grazed over Akari's hand as he wrestled with the impossible choice before him.

Suddenly, a faint green flash caught his eye. He turned toward the source—the recorder tape lying on the table beside Akari's bed. It pulsed softly, as though alive, beckoning him.

His heart raced. The device hadn't done this before. Slowly, cautiously, he reached for it, the glow reflecting in his eyes. As his fingers brushed against its cold surface, it flickered again.

"What now?" he muttered under his breath.

With trembling hands, Andy pressed the play button.

Static crackled to life, and then—his own voice echoed back at him.

'Start with the good.'

Andy froze, his breath catching. The tape was replaying his earlier conversation with the scientist, every word and inflection captured perfectly.

'With a few adjustments, we can turn her on now… She'll be operational—ready to serve.'

His chest tightened as the scientist's detached tone filled the room once more.

'A year? That's all she gets?'

Each word hit him harder than the last. The cold clinical detachment of the scientist's explanations contrasted sharply with Andy's raw desperation. Hearing himself again—pleading, questioning, breaking—was like reliving the nightmare.

As the recording continued, Andy's fists clenched. The green light on the tape flickered, casting an eerie glow over Akari's still form.

Finally, the tape reached its haunting conclusion.

'What do you say, Andy?'

Then silence.

Andy sat in stunned disbelief, the weight of the moment crashing down on him like a tidal wave. His heart pounded as he stared at the recorder, the implications twisting in his mind.

The device had recorded everything—without anyone knowing. Not just Akari's memories, but the present, the here and now.

He glanced at Akari, her face serene and unchanging. Could this be her? Was she somehow aware of what was happening, silently bearing witness to the life she was forced to leave behind?

The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

"Akari," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Are you… still in there?"

The room offered no answer, only the faint hum of machinery and the steady rhythm of her heart monitor. But the green light on the recorder blinked again, as if waiting.

Andy clenched his jaw, his resolve hardening. Whatever this was—whatever faint shred of her remained—he wouldn't let it be erased.

He stood abruptly, gripping the tape tightly in his hand. "You're not going to be their puppet," he muttered. "Not while I still have a say."

With one last glance at Akari, he strode toward the door, determination burning in his eyes.

Andy stormed down the cold, sterile corridor, the tape gripped tightly in his hand. His jaw was set, his mind made up. He needed answers, and he needed them now.

He found Dr. Marcus Steele in the lab—a man as cold and methodical as the machines he surrounded himself with. The scientist looked up from a console as Andy barged in, his face a mask of irritation.

"Andy," Marcus said, his tone clipped, "this is highly irregular. What are you doing here?"

Andy slammed the recorder tape onto the desk between them. "We need to talk. Now."

Marcus raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking to the device. "I assume this is about Akari."

"You know damn well it is," Andy snapped, his voice sharp with anger. "This tape—this thing recorded everything. Her memories, her past, even what just happened between us. You can't tell me that means nothing."

Marcus sighed, adjusting his glasses. "It's a feature of the neural device. It's designed to catalog information directly from her brain. But it's irrelevant to the procedure."

Andy leaned forward, his fists planted on the desk. "Irrelevant? Are you kidding me? This is proof that she's still in there! Her memories, her emotions—they're not gone. You can bring her back as a normal human, not some emotionless shell."

Marcus shook his head firmly. "No, Andy. We've been through this. Her neural pathways are too damaged to restore her humanity. The only viable option is to activate her as she is—a blank slate. It's the only way to ensure she functions."

Andy's voice rose, a mix of desperation and fury. "You mean the only way to ensure she serves your agenda. I'm not letting you strip her of everything she is—everything she was. There has to be another way!"

"There isn't," Marcus said flatly, his calm demeanor like a wall Andy couldn't break through. "You're letting your emotions cloud your judgment. She's a valuable asset, Andy. That's all she can be now."

Andy clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. His heart raced as he imagined Akari, alive but hollow, a puppet dancing to someone else's strings.

"No," he said firmly, his voice trembling with resolve. "If you can't bring her back as the person she was, then I'm taking her out of here."

Marcus's eyes narrowed, his voice low and cold. "You don't understand what you're saying, Andy. She's property now—government property. You can't just take her."

Andy's gaze burned with defiance. "Watch me."

Marcus stood, his posture rigid. "This is treason. If you go through with this, you'll be hunted. There's no escaping what she's become."

Andy stepped closer, his voice deadly calm. "I don't care. She's not just a machine. She's Akari. And if you won't fight for her, then I will."

For a moment, the two men stared each other down, the room thick with tension.

Marcus finally broke the silence, his voice cold and final. "You're making a mistake, Andy. You can't save her."

The lab was bathed in an eerie blue light as Dr. Elara Hayes, a sharp and efficient scientist, entered the room. She glanced briefly at Marcus, who stood with arms crossed, then at Akari's still form on the table.

"She's ready," Elara said curtly, her voice calm and authoritative.

Marcus nodded, stepping aside. "Do it."

Elara approached Akari, her fingers moving swiftly across the console. With a deep breath, she pressed the final button. A faint hum filled the room, and Akari's body twitched slightly.

Andy, standing just outside the lab, felt his stomach churn. He couldn't bring himself to enter, couldn't bear to watch what they were doing to her.

"Activating neural system… now," Elara announced.

Akari's eyes fluttered open, their once warm, expressive glow replaced by a dull, mechanical sheen. Her head turned stiffly, her gaze scanning the room as though processing every detail.

"System online," she said in a flat, emotionless tone, her voice perfectly clear but devoid of warmth.

Elara smiled slightly, satisfied. "Excellent. Akari, stand up."

Without hesitation, Akari swung her legs over the edge of the table and stood, her movements unnervingly precise.

"Walk," Elara commanded.

Akari obeyed, each step perfectly measured, her body moving like a finely tuned machine.

"Talk," Elara continued.

Akari's lips parted. "I am operational. Awaiting further instructions."

Andy's heart clenched as he listened from the doorway. This wasn't her. It couldn't be.

Elara turned to Marcus with a pleased expression. "She's functioning perfectly. Let's test her service protocols."

She turned back to Akari. "Akari, go to the man outside the lab and give him a tissue to wipe his tear."

Akari's head tilted slightly, processing the command. Then, without a word, she walked out of the lab and stopped in front of Andy.

Andy's breath caught as he looked at her. She was standing there—alive, moving, breathing—but everything about her felt wrong. Her skin was pale, her eyes distant, and there was no trace of the warmth he once knew.

"Here," she said, handing him a tissue with mechanical precision. "For your tear."

Andy's hands trembled as he took the tissue. "Akari?" he whispered, his voice breaking.

She said nothing, simply standing still, her head slightly tilted as if awaiting another command.

"Akari, it's me," Andy said, his voice rising with desperation. "It's Andy. Don't you remember me?"

When she didn't respond, he couldn't stop himself. He pulled her into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around her fragile frame.

But instead of the warmth he remembered, her body was cold—metallic. She didn't move, didn't react. She simply stood there, her arms limp at her sides.

Andy pulled back, his hands gripping her shoulders as he searched her face. "Akari, please. Say something. Anything."

She blinked slowly, her expression blank. "Awaiting next command."

Andy stumbled back, his heart shattering. The reality hit him like a freight train—she wasn't Akari anymore. She was a hollow shell, a machine wearing the face of the girl he loved.

"No," he muttered, his voice shaking. "This isn't you. This isn't who you are."

Inside the lab, Marcus watched through the glass, his expression unreadable. Elara crossed her arms, observing the scene with clinical detachment.

Andy turned toward them, his eyes blazing with fury. "You call this success?" he yelled. "You think this is her? She's not even… human anymore!"

"She's functioning as intended," Marcus replied coldly. "You wanted her alive. She's alive."

"This isn't life!" Andy shouted, his voice cracking. He turned back to Akari, his hands trembling as he reached for her again. "Akari, please… please come back to me."

But she stood motionless, her head slightly tilted, waiting for the next command.

Andy sank to his knees, tears streaming down his face as he clutched the tissue she had given him.

For the first time, he truly understood what he had lost.

The lab was eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of machinery in the background. The dim light from the monitors cast a ghostly glow over the room. Late into the night, Akari stood by her bed, staring blankly out the window at the night sky.

Her face was serene, devoid of emotion, but her eyes were fixed on the stars, as though searching for something.

Andy, unable to sleep, found himself drawn to her. The weight of the day pressed heavily on him, but he couldn't leave her alone—not like this. Slowly, he approached her, his footsteps quiet against the sterile floor.

"Akari," he whispered, his voice soft, hesitant.

She didn't turn to him, her gaze still locked on the stars.

Andy lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, sitting beside her. He looked at her profile, hoping for some flicker of recognition, some trace of the girl he had once known.

"Do you remember anything?" he asked, his voice breaking.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, Akari tilted her head slightly, as though processing his question.

"I am taking a picture of the sky," she said, her voice monotone. "To print on a magazine's front page."

Andy froze, his heart skipping a beat. It wasn't the response he had hoped for, but it was something. It sounded familiar—like a fragment of a memory, buried deep within her.

She turned her head to look at him then, her blank eyes meeting his. "Why were you sad earlier?"

Andy's breath hitched, her question cutting through him like a knife. For a moment, he couldn't speak. He simply stared at her, his throat tightening with unshed tears.

Finally, he forced the words out, his voice trembling. "Because I love you, Akari. More than anything. More than life itself. And seeing you like this… it's killing me."

Akari blinked, her head tilting slightly as she processed his words. "Love," she repeated, her tone flat, as though the word was foreign to her.

Andy felt his heart shatter all over again. He reached for her hand, holding it gently, even though it was cold and unresponsive. "You used to know what that meant," he whispered. "You used to feel it. You used to feel everything."

She looked down at their joined hands, then back at him. "I am always ready to give a service," she said, her voice steady.

The words hit Andy like a blow to the chest. He let out a shaky breath, his grip on her hand tightening as tears streamed down his face.

"This isn't service," he said, his voice raw with pain. "This isn't what I want from you. I don't want you to follow orders. I want you, Akari. The real you. The girl who laughed at my stupid jokes, who dreamed of making the world better, who looked at the stars because she loved them—not because someone told her to."

But Akari just stared at him, her expression blank, her head tilted slightly as though waiting for his next command.

Andy's shoulders shook as he buried his face in his hands, the weight of it all too much to bear. He stayed like that for a long moment, the sound of his quiet sobs filling the room.

When he finally looked up, Akari was still staring at him, her head tilted in that same lifeless way. But something flickered in her eyes—just for a moment. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but Andy saw it.

"Akari," he whispered, his voice trembling with hope.

She blinked, her gaze unfocused, and then… nothing. The flicker was gone, as though it had never been there at all.

Andy let out a shaky breath, his hope slipping through his fingers like sand. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers, his tears falling freely.

"I'll bring you back," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I don't care what it takes. I'll bring you back."

Akari didn't respond. She simply stood there, staring blankly ahead, as the stars continued to shine outside the window.

The lab was shrouded in silence as the night stretched on. Akari lay motionless on the sterile bed, wires snaking from her body to the machines around her. A soft hum filled the room as her battery recharged, the cold glow of monitors casting faint shadows on her face.

Andy sat slumped in a chair by her side, his head resting in his hands, his exhaustion finally pulling him into a restless sleep.

Suddenly, a low whimper broke the quiet. Andy's eyes snapped open, his heart racing. He turned to see Akari's fingers twitching, her body trembling slightly.

"Akari?" he whispered, leaning forward.

Her trembling grew more violent, her body jerking uncontrollably as if electricity coursed through her. Her eyes shot open, wide with fear, and a piercing scream erupted from her lips.

"ANDY!"

The sound wasn't mechanical or monotone—it was raw, human, filled with agony. Andy froze, his blood running cold.

"Akari!" he shouted, rushing to her side. He grabbed her shoulders, trying to steady her, but her body convulsed violently, her screams cutting through the air like knives.

Her voice cracked as she cried out again, "Andy! Help me!"

The door to the lab burst open, and Dr. Hayes and Marcus stormed in, their faces pale with urgency.

"What's happening to her?" Andy yelled, panic lacing his voice.

Elara rushed to the console, her fingers flying over the keys. "Her neural pathways are overloading!" she exclaimed. "It's like she's… remembering something, but it's too much for her system to handle."

Marcus grabbed a syringe from the counter. "We need to sedate her before she damages herself."

"No!" Andy shouted, stepping between Marcus and Akari. "She's in pain—you can't just sedate her!"

"She'll destroy her system if we don't!" Marcus snapped, his voice sharp.

Akari's screams grew louder, her body arching off the bed as her convulsions intensified. Tears streamed down Andy's face as he turned back to her, his hands trembling.

"I'm here, Akari," he said, his voice breaking. "I'm here. I won't leave you."

Her head jerked toward him, her eyes locking onto his for a brief, fleeting moment. For the first time, he saw something in them—fear, pain, recognition.

"Andy…" she whispered, her voice trembling, before another wave of convulsions wracked her body.

Elara's voice was urgent. "She's going to crash if we don't stabilize her now!"

Reluctantly, Andy stepped back, his heart shattering as Marcus injected the sedative into Akari's arm. Slowly, her jerking subsided, her screams fading into soft whimpers until her body went limp.

"She's fainted," Elara said, her voice quieter now but still tense. "Her system is in critical condition. We need to run diagnostics immediately."

Andy sank to his knees beside the bed, his hand gripping Akari's cold fingers. "What was that?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "She called my name… she sounded like herself."

Elara hesitated, glancing at Marcus before answering. "It's possible that something in her memory was triggered. A fragment of her old self. But her system isn't designed to handle it. It's too unstable."

Andy shook his head, tears streaming down his face. "She's still in there. I know she is. You can't give up on her."

Marcus sighed, rubbing his temples. "Even if she is, her system won't survive another episode like this. We built her to be a machine, not… whatever this is."

Andy shot him a glare, his voice filled with quiet fury. "She's not just a machine. She's a person. And I won't let you treat her like she's nothing."

He turned back to Akari, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Her expression was peaceful now, but her earlier screams still echoed in his ears.

"I'll save you," he whispered, his voice trembling. "No matter what it takes, I'll bring you back."

Elara watched him silently, her usually detached expression softening for a moment.

"She's stable for now," she said. "But this isn't over. If she keeps experiencing these… nightmares, we may not be able to keep her functioning."

Andy didn't respond. He stayed by Akari's side, his hand holding hers as though his touch alone could tether her to him.

The morning light filtered softly through the sterile windows of the lab. Andy stirred from his sleep, the weight of last night's events still pressing on him. As he groggily rubbed his eyes, his heart quickened with a small flicker of hope. Maybe today, things would be different. Maybe Akari would remember.

He stepped out of his room and paused, his breath catching in his throat. There, standing in the hallway as usual, was Akari. Her back was straight, her posture perfect, her eyes empty but fixed forward, awaiting her next command.

She was just like before—the same cold, mechanical presence, waiting to serve. Andy's heart sank.

"Akari…" His voice faltered as he approached her. He couldn't hide the crack in his voice as he looked at her, desperately searching her face for any hint of recognition, any trace of the woman he loved.

"Akari, do you remember anything from last night?" he asked, his voice trembling.

She turned to him, her expression still as vacant as it had been the day she first woke up. Her lips parted, and she spoke in her usual monotone.

"The cup of water just spilled and hit my charger pot," she said, the words robotic and devoid of emotion. "It disturbed the system. I am ready to serve again."

Andy's heart shattered all over again. She didn't remember. She didn't remember him, or the pain she had gone through, or the human emotions that had once made her real.

Tears welled in his eyes as he took a step closer, his hands trembling.

"Akari…" he whispered, a sob rising in his chest. "Don't you remember anything? Don't you remember me? The way we used to talk? The way we…" His words trailed off as the weight of his grief crushed him.

Akari looked at him blankly, her face impassive. She blinked once before speaking again, as though reading from a script.

"Thank you for loving me," she said. "I will make sure to prepare a tissue factory only for you."

The words hit Andy like a physical blow. She didn't even understand. She didn't know how much her memory meant to him, how much she meant to him.

His knees buckled, and he sank to the floor, tears streaming down his face. "Please, Akari…" he whispered through his sobs. "Please… come back to me."

But she didn't respond. She stood there, her gaze blank, her hands folded in front of her as if she were waiting for instructions.

The silence in the hallway was suffocating, and Andy couldn't breathe. It was like a cruel twist of fate—she was physically there, standing before him, but the person he loved was gone.

He wiped his tears, choking on his sobs. "I don't care about the tissue factory, Akari. I don't care about anything if I can't have you back. Please, remember… remember what we had."

Akari tilted her head slightly, the only movement she made. Then, in the same monotone voice, she added, "I will serve you to the best of my ability, Andy. You will be satisfied."

And as she turned away, as she walked away to stand in the same spot she had been every day, Andy couldn't help but feel like his heart had been ripped from his chest.

I must been important to you before. I wish I could understand your feelings. But I think my top priority should be to serve."

Her hand moved to the side of her head, and the faint whirr of machinery filled the air as she played her recording tape.

"Wow," she remarked, her voice tinged with an odd curiosity. "I looked so normal. Like human."

Andy's chest tightened as her words hit him like a cold, sharp blow. She was studying herself, detached, like an observer rather than the woman he loved.

She looked at him blankly. "I was designed to serve. This is my purpose."

Tears welled in Andy's eyes. "Akari, you're not just a machine. You're the woman I loved."

She said nothing in response, standing motionless, waiting for the next command.

"I will serve you," she said again, her voice empty.

And Andy, shattered, realized with growing sorrow that the woman he had loved was gone, trapped in a body that no longer remembered her heart.

As the sterile lights overhead flickered, a soft, tremulous breath escaped Akari's lips. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open, though they were clouded with confusion and fear. She shivered, her body trembling uncontrollably, as if fighting against some invisible force. Dr. Mitchell moved forward with a calm command, but there was no immediate reaction from her. She remained still, her chest rising and falling in shallow, erratic breaths.

"Akari," Dr. Mitchell said, his voice stern. "Walk."

But she didn't move.

As Andy stood frozen, still processing the cold emptiness of her earlier words, a faint tremor broke through Akari's robotic tone.

"Andy?" Her voice, once mechanical and flat, now wavered with a tremor—human, fragile. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, filled with confusion and fear.

Before he could respond, her body swayed, struggling to remain upright. In a moment of weakness, she collapsed into his arms. Her breath quickened, and she gasped, "Y-you… please help me, they did something while you were gone."

Andy's heart raced as he held her, his arms instinctively tightening around her fragile form. "Akari, what happened? What did they do to you?" he whispered, panic flooding his chest.

But before she could answer, her body went limp in his arms, and her eyes fluttered shut once more.

"Akari!" Andy's voice cracked as he shook her gently, desperate to wake her up, to understand what had just happened. But there was no response.

She was gone again.

He could only hold her tighter, the weight of helplessness pressing down on him. What had they done to her? And why could he feel like he was losing her all over again?

Andy's mind raced as he stood there, holding her lifeless form in his arms. His heart hammered in his chest as he looked down at her, unable to shake the fear that gripped him. They controlled her. They did something to her. His hands trembled as he tried to make sense of it all—how everything was spiraling out of control, and how helpless he was to stop it.

Suddenly, a voice broke through the haze of his thoughts.

"Andy…"

His head snapped up. It was the scientist from earlier, Dr. Mitchell, standing in the doorway, his face grim. Behind him, two more technicians hurried into the room.

"What did you do to her?" Andy demanded, his voice cracking with fury. He shifted Akari in his arms, trying to protect her as if his embrace could shield her from the horrors she'd endured.

"We didn't do anything… yet," Dr. Mitchell replied, his voice calm, but there was an undercurrent of something darker in his words. "But we can fix it. The process isn't complete. She's… still incomplete."

Andy's eyes burned with anger. "Incomplete? She's human! She was human! What did you do to her?!"

Dr. Mitchell didn't answer right away. Instead, he stepped forward slowly, his expression unreadable. "She's not fully operational. We were only able to program the basics—obedience, functionality, service. She's still a prototype, Andy. She's not—"

"I don't care about your prototypes!" Andy yelled, clutching Akari closer. "She was mine! She was real, and now you've turned her into this… this thing!"

Dr. Mitchell's eyes flickered for a moment, a subtle flicker of remorse, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He sighed, taking a step closer. "There's only one way to reverse this. But it's dangerous. The device we put in her brain—it can be… manipulated. If we try to undo it, we risk losing everything. Her memories, her humanity… everything."

Andy's voice dropped to a whisper, the weight of the decision crashing down on him. "I don't care. I'll risk it. She deserves a chance to be human again."

As the sterile lights overhead flickered, a soft, tremulous breath escaped Akari's lips. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open, though they were clouded with confusion and fear. She shivered, her body trembling uncontrollably, as if fighting against some invisible force. Dr. Mitchell moved forward with a calm command, but there was no immediate reaction from her. She remained still, her chest rising and falling in shallow, erratic breaths.

"Akari," Dr. Mitchell said, his voice stern. "Walk."

But she didn't move.

Instead, she stood frozen, her gaze distant and unfocused. Her hands clenched into fists, and her entire body quivered as though she were struggling against something deep within.

And then, in a quiet, desperate voice, she spoke—her words barely a whisper, but they carried all the weight of her suffering.

"Andy?" Her voice cracked as tears welled up in her eyes. "I… I want to laugh again…"

Andy's heart shattered at the sound of her voice. This wasn't the emotionless machine they had created. This was Akari, the woman he loved—broken, lost, and desperately reaching out for something that felt human again.

He rushed to her side, his hands trembling as he cradled her in his arms. "I'm here, Akari. I'm here…"

She clung to him, her body shaking violently. "They put it… in me," she whispered. "It's like a drug… controlling me…"

Andy held her tighter, her words sinking into him like a dagger. Whatever they had done, whatever device they had planted in her brain—it was poisoning her, taking away her humanity, piece by piece.

Dr. Mitchell stood frozen, his face pale as he watched the scene unfold before him. The woman they had thought was nothing more than a machine was acting human, displaying the emotions they had tried so hard to suppress. This was something they hadn't anticipated, and it shook him to his core.

"Her… her emotional response," Dr. Mitchell murmured, almost to himself. "It shouldn't be possible. We removed her emotional core… She's not supposed to feel…"

Andy's grip on Akari tightened. He didn't care about the science, the programming, or the machine. All he cared about was the woman in his arms, the woman who was still fighting to feel something, to remember who she was.

"I can't lose you, Akari," he whispered, his voice breaking. "You're not a machine. You're my Akari. Don't let them take you away from me."

Her tear-filled eyes met his, and for a brief, fleeting moment, he saw a flicker of recognition, of the woman he had loved so desperately.

"I don't want to lose you, either ," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I don't want to be just… a thing…"

Dr. Mitchell, still stunned, looked between them, his scientific mind battling with the humanity unfolding before him. "This isn't possible," he muttered. "She's not supposed to feel…"

But Akari, in Andy's arms, looked up at him with pleading eyes, the remnants of her old self fighting to resurface. "Please help me… Please make me human again…"

Andy could feel her fading, the grip on her slipping away. If they didn't act now, they would lose her forever.

"I will make you human again, Akari," Andy vowed, his voice fierce with determination. "I won't stop until you're free of this."

Dr. Mitchell's voice broke through the haze of their emotions. "It's dangerous. If we try to undo what we've done, we could erase everything… her memories, her very soul… everything."

"I don't care," Andy snapped, his eyes fierce with love and desperation. "I'll take the risk. Do whatever it takes."

Dr. Mitchell hesitated, looking between Andy and Akari, his mind racing with the ethical implications of what Andy was asking. But there was something in Andy's eyes—a desperate, fierce resolve—that made him pause, as though, for the first time, he questioned the choices they'd made.

Akari's procedure went smoothly, her fragile body adjusting to the intricate process that would allow her to live as human again. It was a delicate journey, and the doctors warned it would take time for her to recover fully. Meanwhile, Andy had taken the opportunity to fly to Italy, both to visit his family and to escape the weight of everything that had happened.

In Italy, Andy immersed himself in the warmth of his relatives and the beauty of the country. The vibrant streets of Florence, the serene countryside, and the laughter-filled dinners with his family gave him a sense of peace he hadn't felt in years. Yet, no matter how far he traveled or how much he tried to distract himself, his thoughts always drifted back to Akari.

Back at the facility, Akari's recovery unfolded slowly. Two months after the procedure, she finally opened her eyes and began to experience life again—but something was different. Her memories, the essence of who she was, had been erased. She couldn't recall her past, her connections, or even Andy. The doctors called it a side effect of the experimental procedure, a necessary sacrifice for her survival.

Confused and vulnerable, Akari struggled to piece together her identity. It was during this time that she met Haruto, a young man whose family had been close to hers before everything fell apart. Haruto, with his calm demeanor and unwavering patience, became her anchor in the storm. His family had known Akari when she was younger, and they were eager to reintroduce her to a world she no longer remembered.

Haruto often shared stories about her past, painting a picture of the person she used to be. He accompanied her on walks through the gardens, helped her relearn simple tasks, and reminded her of the beauty in life she'd once cherished. Over time, Akari began to feel a connection to him, a quiet bond born from his kindness and their shared history—even if she couldn't remember it.