The Echo of a Name.

Chapter 26: The Echo of a Name.

It started with a name.

Not a desperate plea, not a cry of urgency-just a quiet question that lingered in the air like cigarette smoke.

"Have you seen Kurosawa Takeshi?"

The bartender didn't even glance up from polishing a glass. "Who?"

The man at the counter exhaled sharply, as if he'd been expecting that answer. His name was Shouhei, and he wasn't the kind of man who searched for people. He wasn't sentimental. He didn't chase ghosts.

But Takeshi wasn't a ghost.

Not yet.

Shouhei rapped his knuckles against the counter, a slow, deliberate rhythm. "Kurosawa Takeshi. Black hair, giant build, quiet. He drinks, but never gets drunk. Talks, but never really says much."

The bartender frowned, finally looking up. "Sounds like half the guys who come through here. Except the build. But that's still 20% of our regular customers."

Shouhei's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Yeah. That's the problem, isn't it?"

Takeshi didn't vanish-he simply erased himself.

No footprints in the dirt. No trails left behind.

Shouhei moved through the city, retracing old paths. The ramen shop Takeshi used to sit in, always in the same seat, picking at his food like he wasn't really eating-just thinking. The train station where he took the last ride, blending into the quiet exhaustion of late commuters. The rundown bar where he once pulled Shouhei out of a bad deal before things got messy.

Nothing.

No one had seen him.

Shouhei wasn't surprised. Takeshi was never a man you found. He was a man who found you if he wanted to.

Still, Shouhei wasn't the type to give up.

Because if Takeshi had truly wanted to disappear, he would have done it cleanly.

But something was off.

There was an unfinished edge to his absence, like a door left half-open.

And Shouhei had never been the kind of man to leave doors like that untouched.

"You're wasting your time," Ichika said, not even looking up from her book as Shouhei dropped into the seat across from her.

"You say that like you don't care."

"I care," she said, flipping a page. "But Takeshi isn't the kind of person you find just because you go looking."

Shouhei leaned back, rubbing his jaw. "So what, I just wait? Hope he magically appears?"

"If he wants to be found, he'll let you find him."

"And if he doesn't?"

Ichika sighed, finally meeting his gaze. "Then maybe you should ask yourself why he left in the first place."

Shouhei scoffed. "You say that like he's some tragic loner running from his past. He's not."

"Then what is he?"

He opened his mouth, then shut it.

Because the answer wasn't simple.

Takeshi wasn't running. He wasn't hiding.

He was just... gone.

The kind of gone that felt intentional. The kind of gone that made you question if he had ever really been there at all.

And yet, the absence hurt.

Shouhei hated that.

Because it meant Takeshi had left them with something. A weight. A realization. A truth they had to carry-whether they wanted to or not.

And Takeshi?

The problem with ghosts is that they don't leave shadows.

The next few days, Shouhei followed rumors.

A man matching Takeshi's description spotted near the docks. Another sighting near a bookstore, flipping through old philosophy texts. Someone swearing they saw him at a train station, hands in his pockets, staring at nothing.

Each time, by the time Shouhei got there-nothing.

No traces. No proof.

Until-

A matchbook.

Wedged into the cracks of a wooden table at a small roadside diner.

Shouhei almost missed it, but something about it made him stop. The logo on the front was from a bar Takeshi used to go to, but inside-when he flipped it open-there was only a single line of scribbled handwriting.

Stop searching.

Shouhei stared at the words.

His fingers curled around the matchbook, grip tightening.

"No," he muttered under his breath.

This wasn't a warning.

It was a challenge.

Some names refuse to be forgotten.

When Shouhei finally found Takeshi, it wasn't in some dramatic confrontation or a calculated move.

It was on a rooftop, overlooking the city.

Takeshi was standing at the edge, hands in his pockets, watching the neon glow below.

"You're a real bastard, you know that?"

Takeshi didn't turn. "Figured you'd give up."

"You should know me better than that by now."

A breath of amusement. Barely there.

Shouhei stepped closer, the matchbook still in his grip. "Why do you do this?"

Silence.

"Why do you keep disappearing? Why can't you just let people- He exhaled sharply. "Let people be there for you?"

Takeshi finally looked at him. And for the first time in a long time, Shouhei saw something close to hesitation in his eyes.

"Because I don't need them to be."

Shouhei scoffed. "Bullshit."

Takeshi didn't argue.

He never did.

Shouhei shoved the matchbook at him. "I don't care how many times you pull this act. I'm not letting you just-fade away."

Takeshi glanced down at the matchbook, then back at Shouhei.

"Then you're wasting your time."

"Yeah?" Shouhei's jaw clenched. "Then so be it."

A beat.

Then Takeshi sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You never learn."

"And you never stop running."

Takeshi didn't deny it.

The city buzzed below them, neon lights painting the night in artificial colors.

"You're not some ghost, Takeshi, Shouhei said, voice quieter this time. "You exist. You matter. Even if you don't want to."

A long pause.

Then, finally-

A small, tired smile.

Not agreement. Not surrender.

Just an acknowledgment that, for once, Takeshi wouldn't walk away.

Shouhei leaned against the railing, mirroring his stance. "You know," he muttered, "for a guy who doesn't want to be found, you sure leave a lot of breadcrumbs."

Takeshi let out a quiet breath-something that might've been a laugh in another life. "And yet, you keep picking them up."

Shouhei ran a hand through his hair. "You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?"

"Yeah."

Silence settled between them. Not an awkward one. Not tense. Just the kind that sat between two people who had known each other long enough to let quiet say what words couldn't.

Shouhei reached into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled cigarette pack. He offered one to Takeshi.

Takeshi shook his head. "Quit a long time ago."

Shouhei snorted. "Didn't stop you from sitting in smoking lounges."

"Old habits."

"Right." He lit his own, taking a slow drag. "So. You gonna tell me what this is all about?"

Takeshi didn't answer right away. His gaze was fixed on the cityscape, watching the glow of distant windows, the silhouettes of people moving in their own little worlds.

Finally, he spoke.

"You ever look at something for so long, you stop recognizing it?"

Shouhei exhaled smoke, watching it curl into the night.

"Yeah. Happens more often than I'd like."

Takeshi nodded, almost absently. "That's how it feels. Everything. Like I've been here too long, seen too much, and now-" He gestured vaguely at the skyline. "It all just looks the same."

Shouhei frowned. "That's not like you."

"No?"

"No. You're not some brooding existentialist. You don't sit around and mope about shit you can't change. You do something about it. So what's different now?"

Takeshi didn't answer.

Because the truth was, he didn't know.

Or maybe he did, and he just didn't want to say it.

Shouhei sighed, rubbing his face. "Look, man. I don't care if you want to disappear off the grid, play ghost, do whatever it is you do. But at least let someone know you're alive."

Takeshi tilted his head slightly. "Why?"

Shouhei gave him a deadpan look. "Because some of us actually give a damn."

Takeshi's fingers twitched in his pocket. He looked away, but the weight of Shouhei's words settled somewhere in his chest, heavy and undeniable.

"I'm not trying to be an asshole," Shouhei continued, softer now. "I just-hell, I don't even know what I'm trying to say. I just know that if I woke up one day and you were actually gone, for real this time, I'd be pissed. And not because you left. But because you didn't say anything before you did."

Takeshi's shoulders tensed, barely noticeable.

Shouhei let out a slow breath. "I don't need an explanation, man. Just... don't make us dig through shadows to find out whether you're dead or alive, alright?"

Takeshi's lips parted slightly, as if to argue. Then, after a moment, he sighed.

"Alright."

Shouhei blinked. "Alright?"

"Yeah."

Shouhei narrowed his eyes. "That easy?"

Takeshi shrugged. "Would it make a difference if I fought you on it?"

"No. But I was expecting more resistance."

Takeshi gave him a small, tired smile. "Guess I'm too tired to fight."

Shouhei stared at him for a long moment. Then, finally, he flicked his cigarette away, watching the ember die against the concrete.

"Come on," he said, turning toward the rooftop door. "I'm buying you a drink."

Takeshi raised a brow. "That so?"

"Yeah. And don't pull that 'I don't drink' crap. I know for a fact you do when no one's watching.'

Takeshi smirked, the first real expression of amusement he'd shown all night. "Guess I've been caught."

Shouhei rolled his eyes. "For a guy who's always watching everyone else, you really suck at covering your own tracks."

Takeshi chuckled, a quiet sound, but one that felt real.

For the first time in a long time, he let himself follow.