Chapter 9: The Memory Behind the Curtain
Renji sat on his bed, hands clasped tightly together. His breathing was steady, but his mind was anything but.
He had spent the last twenty minutes trying to recall what happened after the dance.
Nothing.
Every time he tried to focus, it was like staring into a fog—thick, impenetrable, refusing to let him through.
And yet, he knew something was there.
Something locked away.
"You're not ready," Shin's voice murmured.
Renji ignored him.
He wasn't going to let this go.
Not this time.
---
A Childhood That Doesn't Add Up
He needed evidence—something real, something physical.
So, he went to the storage room.
His grandmother's secret stash.
She had always favored him over Riku. She might have kept something from that time.
The door was unlocked.
Which was strange. His grandmother always locked it.
Renji pushed it open, stepping inside.
Jars of pickles lined the shelves, the faint scent of preserved fruit lingering in the air.
He scanned the room.
Old albums. Stacks of papers. Handwritten notes.
And then—
A box.
Tucked away in the corner, covered in a thin layer of dust.
His fingers trembled as he lifted the lid.
Inside were old photographs.
And there it was.
A picture of himself.
Standing on the stage after the dance performance.
His smile was forced.
His eyes looked off.
Not happy. Not excited.
Something else.
Something unsettled.
The back of the photo had a date.
And a name.
Renji's breath hitched.
It wasn't his name.
It was someone else's.
A person he didn't remember at all.
---
The Name That Shouldn't Exist
He hurried to his grandmother.
She was in the kitchen, rolling out dough, humming softly.
"Grandma," Renji said, trying to keep his voice calm.
She looked up, smiling. "Hm? You want a snack?"
He handed her the photo. "Who is this?"
Her smile faded instantly.
Her hands froze.
For the first time, his grandmother—who always had something to say—was silent.
Renji's pulse pounded. "Grandma."
She swallowed. "Where… did you find this?"
"Storage room," he said. "Who is this?"
Her fingers trembled as she touched the photo.
Then she did something that made his stomach drop.
She tore it in half.
Renji grabbed her wrist. "What are you doing?!"
His grandmother never destroyed anything.
She avoided his gaze. "It's better if you forget."
A chill ran through him. "Forget… what?"
She finally looked at him.
And her next words shattered him.
"You already forgot once," she whispered.
Renji's breath hitched.
A sharp, piercing pain exploded in his head.
And suddenly—
His mind snapped open.
---
A Memory He Was Never Meant to Remember
The world tilted.
The kitchen blurred.
And suddenly—
Renji wasn't in the house anymore.
He was somewhere else.
A cold hallway.
His feet were wet.
His hands were shaking.
Someone stood in front of him.
Not a teacher. Not a family member.
A child.
A boy his age.
Crying.
His face was blurred in Renji's memory.
But one thing was clear—
Blood dripped from his forehead.
The scene snapped back to the present.
Renji staggered, gripping the counter for support.
His grandmother was staring at him.
Her face was filled with fear.
Not fear for him.
Fear of him.
And in his mind, Shin whispered, far too amused.
"I told you. Some memories are locked away for a reason."
---
End of Chapter 9