Chapter 8: A Day I Don’t Remember

The Blood on My Knuckles

Renji woke up to the sound of his alarm.

His room was dim, the soft glow of his phone screen the only source of light.

His eyes felt heavy. Hadn't he just gone to sleep?

He sat up, stretched—and then froze.

His knuckles were bruised.

Not just bruised—cut. The skin was raw, slightly dried blood sticking to the fabric of his bedsheet.

His stomach twisted.

What the hell happened?

He tried to remember yesterday, but his thoughts were blurry. Fragments of moments surfaced—going to school, talking to his brother, coming home—

Then, nothing.

A gap. A blank space where hours should have been.

His heart pounded.

"What did you do?" he asked silently.

Shin didn't answer.

Which meant only one thing.

He was hiding something.

---

A Friend Who Knows Something I Don't

At school, Renji found himself dreading interactions.

Because someone—someone—was going to bring up something he didn't remember.

It happened at lunch.

Takashi sat beside him, setting down his bag with a sigh.

"You still sore from last night?"

Renji's blood went cold.

He forced his expression to stay neutral. "…Last night?"

Takashi frowned. "What, you forgot? You nearly decked that guy in the alley."

Renji's chest tightened.

"A fight?"

Takashi chuckled. "I mean, I get it. That dude was acting tough, but when you stepped up, he practically pissed himself."

Renji's hands clenched under the table.

I don't remember that.

Takashi took a bite of his sandwich. "I was actually kinda impressed. You used to be the guy avoiding fights, but last night? You looked like you wanted to kill him."

Renji's stomach twisted painfully.

Because it wasn't his achievement.

It was Shin's.

"You enjoyed it, though," Shin whispered. "Didn't you?"

Renji's grip on his chopsticks tightened until they nearly snapped.

---

The Memory That Doesn't Fit

Later that evening, Renji stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at his own reflection.

His knuckles. His face. His eyes.

It all looked the same.

But he didn't feel the same.

He turned on the tap, letting the water run. The sound calmed him.

Then, suddenly—

His vision flickered.

Not in a normal way.

For a split second, he saw himself in a different place.

A dark alley. His breath ragged. His fist connecting with someone's jaw.

A memory.

But it wasn't his.

Or at least—he didn't remember living it.

Then—another flicker.

A classroom. A conversation. Shun laughing.

"You serious about what you said earlier?"

The words hit him like a knife.

He knew this memory.

Because he had read that exact text message yesterday.

Except now—

He was remembering the conversation that led to it.

A conversation he had no memory of having.

Renji staggered back.

His breath hitched.

What the hell is happening to me?

Shin's laugh echoed in his mind.

"You're just now realizing? I've been borrowing you for a while now."

Renji's vision blurred—his reflection in the mirror seemed to distort, flickering between himself and something else.

Someone else.

His chest tightened.

For the first time, he felt it clearly.

He wasn't losing himself.

He was being rewritten.

---

The Only Memory That Feels Real

Renji needed stability.

He needed to remember something true.

Something that couldn't be manipulated.

So, he went to the one place in the house that was only his.

The kitchen.

Cooking was the one thing he did purely on instinct. It wasn't something he studied or analyzed—he just felt the right measurements, the right timing.

His hands moved automatically, peeling, cutting, stirring.

The warmth of the stove. The familiar scent of spices.

His breathing steadied.

And suddenly—

He remembered.

Dancing.

His feet moving. The music playing. The moment when he had stepped onto the stage as a child, in front of hundreds of people, and performed without hesitation.

It had been real.

And he had loved it.

That memory was his.

"Ah, but that's interesting," Shin murmured.

Renji stopped stirring.

"You remember the dance so clearly. But isn't it funny?"

Renji's fingers tensed.

"You don't remember what happened after."

Renji's pulse spiked.

Because it was true.

He remembered performing.

But after that—

Nothing.

The event ended. He must have gone home. It must have been a normal night.

Then why—

Why was there a gap?

Why couldn't he recall what happened right after the dance?

Shin laughed softly.

"Some memories aren't missing, Renji."

"Some are just locked away."

Renji's breath shook.

What had happened that night?

And why—

Why did Shin know the answer when he didn't?

---

End of Chapter 8