Bound by Love

Victor’s grip on Kento tightened, his knuckles whitening as he nearly shoved the aged photograph into the man’s face. His jaw was clenched so tightly it felt as if his teeth might crack under the pressure.

“I’m going to ask you one last time…” His voice was low, seething, his arm locked around Kento’s throat like a steel vice. “How'd you know Azumi Yanai?! How are you related to her?!”

Kento, still recovering from the sheer exhaustion of the earlier zombie attack, could barely process the words being hurled at him.

His breath was ragged, his body still trembling from adrenaline and fear. Sweat clung to his brow, mixing with the dirt and grime smeared across his skin. He blinked rapidly, disoriented, his mind scrambling to make sense of Victor’s sudden aggression.

Around them, the others were frozen in stunned silence.

Amanda had a hand on her sidearm, her sharp eyes scanning Victor’s face, assessing whether or not she needed to intervene.

Hiroshi, standing just a step behind Victor, looked torn between reason and panic, his fingers twitching slightly as if debating whether to physically pull his friend back.

Esther, Kento’s girlfriend, had gone pale, her body tensed like a cornered animal. Her eyes darted between Victor and Kento, uncertain whether she should try to defend him or stay out of it entirely.

The tension in the air was suffocating.

“V-Victor, I think you should calm down,” Hiroshi said cautiously, tugging at his shoulder. His voice was gentle, yet urgent. “You’re not thinking s-straight.”

But Victor didn’t move. Didn’t even acknowledge him.

Kento, struggling against the tightening grip, coughed and raised his hands slightly, a sign of surrender. “R-Relax, man! I don’t know who she is!” His voice cracked, both from strain and genuine confusion.

Victor’s grip didn’t loosen.

“Then how do you explain this?!” he snarled, shaking the photograph in front of Kento’s face.

The image, old and yellowed at the edges, wavered slightly in the dim lighting. The ink had faded, but the details remained clear—Azumi, radiant in a white gown, standing beside a much younger Kento Yanai.

They were in a lavish ballroom, surrounded by high-society figures, the kind of people whose wealth could buy silence, power, and secrets.

Secrets that now seemed to be unspooling right before Victor’s eyes.

Kento’s gaze flickered to the photograph, his brow furrowing. For a brief second, there was something there—a hesitation, a flicker of familiarity—but it vanished almost instantly. His lips parted, but no words came out.

Victor saw it. That split second of something—recognition? Fear? Guilt?

“Liar,” Victor growled, his voice barely above a whisper, but it carried a weight that sent a shiver down Hiroshi’s spine.

Kento shook his head frantically. “I swear—I don’t know her! I don’t remember this! I don’t know why I’m in that picture!”

Victor’s fingers twitched, his pulse roaring in his ears. Something wasn’t right, but he couldn't even begin to argue. Even he had no memory of this day. Yet, he was there, in that ballroom, alongside Azumi—so how was he only learning of it now?

He was certain he hadn’t forgotten anything before the outbreak. His mind was sharp, his past clear. He had no history of missing time, no gaps in his memory. So why were these visions surfacing now? Why was his own past revealing itself only now?

"What else am I forgetting?"

“Fuck!” Victor snarled, aggressively shoving Kento away. The man barely managed to keep his balance, stumbling back into Esther’s arms as she quickly caught him, steadying him with a concerned look.

"Calm down, will you?" Amanda hissed, stepping between them. Her stance was firm, a warning gleam in her eyes. "Getting aggressive isn’t going to help. Besides, we’ve already gathered enough weapons, and the sun’s about to set. We need to get back to the safehouse."

Victor clenched his jaw. He could still feel the phantom weight of Azumi’s touch, hear the echoes of a waltz long faded. There was something here.

Something buried beneath the dust and ruin. And if he left now, would it slip away again? Would he ever get another chance to understand what was happening?

"You go," Victor growled. "I'm staying. This place holds memories I don’t remember. I might uncover something crucial overnight."

Amanda scoffed, folding her arms. "Bold of you to think you’d survive out here till tomorrow." She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Look, if you really want to find your girlfriend, then you better stay alive."

"Amanda’s right, Victor," Hiroshi sighed, rubbing his temples. "And could you please calm down a little? The guy could barely move, and you already shook him up real bad." He gestured toward Kento, who was rubbing his neck, wincing.

Victor glanced at Kento and exhaled sharply. He knew he was being unfair—lashing out at someone just as lost as he was. But a part of him still wanted to shake Kento until the answers spilled out. If he was in that photo, then he had to remember something.

But Victor didn’t remember either. That made them the same.

"Fine," he finally muttered, dragging a hand down his face. "We better go back now."

Without another word, he turned to the weapons they had scavenged earlier. He slung a modified shotgun across his back—its sawed-off barrel made it easier to carry, but it still packed a deadly punch.

A belt of extra shells hung at his side. Strapped to his thigh was a military-grade knife, its serrated edge still sharp enough to carve through flesh. Slung over his other shoulder were two semi-automatic rifles they had found, their magazines already loaded.

A bundle of extra supplies—handguns, ammo, a few makeshift explosives—was carried in a worn-out duffel bag, the strap digging into his shoulder.

Once he was ready, he turned to Kento, walking up to him and tapping his shoulder.

"I apologize," Victor sighed. His voice was calmer now, but the exhaustion was evident. "I never should have lashed out at you."

Kento and Esther exchanged a brief glance before Kento let out a small chuckle, rubbing the back of his head.

"It’s okay," he said. "I guess this Azumi is someone you deeply care for."

Victor hesitated for only a second before nodding. "She is."

"I'm sorry, but I really do not know her," Kento's eyes flicked on the photo Victor is holding beside him. "I-I don't even know how I got into that p-photo. I've never been into an extravagant parties before, let alone a ball."

Kento turned to Esther. "Perhaps, do you remember anything about me going into such, babe?"

Esther shook her head, body still tensed. "Kento and I have been dating for five years; two years before the outbreak. And we're just average people, t-there's no way he'd get invited onto balls for the wealthy people," she glanced at the photo. "B-But there's no denying that he's the man in there."

Victor looked at Amanda and then Hiroshi.

"Perhaps, The Codes aren't just the ones who have lost their memories here," Hiroshi muttered, just enough for the other four to hear.

"I suppose we could talk more about it in the safehouse," Amanda scratched the corner of her brows. "We can't be out here for too long."

With that, they all began their slow, cautious journey back toward the safehouse using another route.

The streets stretched before them like a graveyard frozen in time. The setting sun cast a haunting glow over the skeletal remains of buildings, their windows shattered, their walls scarred by bullet holes and fire.

The asphalt beneath their boots was cracked, weeds pushing through like nature reclaiming what they own.

The air was thick with the scent of decay. Bodies—some fresh, some long decomposed—lay strewn across the roads, their flesh torn, their bones picked clean by scavengers.

Some had collapsed where they once stood, frozen in their last desperate moments. Others were piled in heaps, remnants of failed evacuations or brutal massacres.

A rusting sedan sat on the side of the road, its doors hanging open, the backseat stained dark with dried blood. A child’s stuffed rabbit lay on the pavement beside it, half-covered in dirt, its once-white fur now gray.

No one spoke.

Even Hiroshi—usually quick with a joke—had gone silent, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow, gripping his rifle just a little tighter.

Finally, after a long stretch of quiet, he sighed in relief. "So, there really are supposed to be a lot of survivors still," he muttered, forcing a weak smile. "I really thought humans had gone extinct and that only Adelina and I were the last hope to repopulate the world—"

He turned to Victor, expecting some reaction, but his friend wasn’t paying attention. Instead, Victor’s focus was on the three women walking behind them, engaged in a hushed conversation.

"Right?! It’s so weird that none of us can remember Xianyu Zhao’s face," one of them murmured. "I swear he was all over those damn billboards before the outbreak, but now? It’s like he never existed."

"That’s what I’m saying," another woman agreed, crossing her arms. "The only thing I can remember is that he was young. Too young to be the mastermind behind all of this."

"And not to mention," the third chimed in, "his family had a damn good reputation. But honestly? Wealthy people are just psychopaths with dignity..."

The three men chuckled, their laughter carrying an edge of mockery. Victor’s eyes narrowed. The way things were unfolding suggested something—or someone—had deliberately erased their pasts. Could it have been Xianyu? But how? And more importantly, why?

"Hiroshi," Victor turned toward him, his tone measured.

"Yeah? What now?" Hiroshi groaned, his voice tinged with exasperation. Whatever amusement he'd found in the conversation had long since faded.

Victor stepped closer, lowering his voice slightly. "Have you had any sudden flashbacks lately?"

Hiroshi gave him a puzzled look. "Flashbacks? Of what?"

"Memories. Ones you might have forgotten—or worse, ones that might have been taken from you."

Hiroshi shrugged, his expression unreadable. "If I did, how would I even know? It’s not like I keep a checklist of my own memories. Honestly, if I ever snap after everything we’ve been through, I wouldn’t be shocked. Is that what’s been bothering you?"

Victor studied him for a moment before lifting the photo in his hand. "Kind of. And as you can see here," he tilted the image slightly, letting the light catch its glossy surface, "this was taken at a ball. A formal event, held in that very building behind us. Azumi was there. And so was I." He exhaled sharply. "But I have no recollection of it ever happening."

"Just like Kento?" Hiroshi muttered, covering his mouth. "Well, damn."

Victor exhaled sharply, sliding the photo back into his pocket. "These lost memories don’t mean a damn thing," he hissed. "But somehow, I know they’ll lead me to Azumi."

Hiroshi winced. "Don’t you trust Amanda? I mean, she and the others have that Code sense or whatever," he said, glancing toward Amanda as she spoke with a woman ahead of them.

Victor’s jaw tightened. "I’ve never trusted anyone but Azumi—especially not another woman. The more time I spend around Amanda, the more I just want to be with my Azumi."

Hiroshi swallowed hard. He suddenly felt small, insignificant. He had never been a good partner to Adelina. He was a womanizer at best, and hearing Victor talk about Azumi like she was the most precious thing in the world made something in him ache.

"I never thought men were capable of loving only one," Hiroshi mumbled.

Victor turned to him, but Hiroshi just smiled. "Don’t worry. No matter what, I’ll help you find her."