Chapter 29 – Forget Me Not

"Love isn't just remembered. It must be chosen — even when the world tells you to forget."— Hoshino Souta

Scene 1: Glitch

In a sunlit classroom filled with the low hum of chatter, Souta walks in with a tentative smile, excited to greet his friends and settle into another day. Yet today feels off—his heart thumps with uncertainty. As he scans the room, he freezes. His own seat is already occupied. Sitting there, with an expression caught somewhere between polite greeting and distant resignation, is a boy who looks exactly like him. Only older. Only different.

The teacher, as if carried along by routine, waves cheerily. "Souta, good—you're here. Find a seat—we're full today."

Stunned, Souta's voice trembles, "I… am Souta."

A heavy silence falls. Yamato, who had been fiddling with a paperclip necklace, blinks in disbelief, "Didn't you transfer yesterday?" he asks softly, as if questioning his own eyes.

Between the two identical figures, Reina's dark eyes dart back and forth, her brows furrowing in quiet concern. Only Happy, ever loyal, clings tightly to Souta's shoulder—though now it seems invisible to anyone else in the room, as if the very air recognizes the fracture in reality.

In a hushed tone only he can hear, Happy whispers, "You're fading."

Souta glances at his hands and sees them—flickering for just a single heartbeat. In that moment, the familiar becomes fragile, and the boundaries between present and past, real and imagined, blur into a slow, weighty uncertainty.

Scene 2: The Slow Forgetting

At lunch break, the warm sunlight spills over the school's courtyard. Ruby sits beside Souma, laughing over an old video that rekindles memories of simpler times. Her laughter holds a bittersweet quality—joy tinged with an unspoken worry. Meanwhile, Souta hides in a quiet stairwell, his heart aching as he watches from afar. Each laugh, each casual word, cuts like a reminder: in the gentle chatter, she still calls him by his name—Souta.

Only Happy is there to comfort him. "She doesn't know, not yet," the bear murmurs quietly, his voice full of empathetic sadness.

Souta's voice cracks under the weight of his fear, "How could she forget me?"

A quiet truth echoes in Happy's soft reply, "Because Souma's not erasing your body, Souta. He's replacing your story."

In that moment, Souta's chest tightens with the terror that his essence—his memories, his identity—might be overwritten by someone who looks exactly like him, by a ghost of the past determined to claim his narrative.

Scene 3: Reina Holds On

Later that day, as the final bell rings and the corridors slowly empty, Reina steps out of class and nearly collides with a pensive Souta in the hallway. She begins with a hesitant, almost habitual, "Ah—sorry, Sou—" but stops as her eyes meet his steady gaze.

"Souta," she breathes, the single word heavy with unsaid empathy. Tears glisten at the corners of her eyes as she confesses, "They're forgetting you. Even Ruby. Even Aqua."

Souta's voice, barely a whisper, carries his quiet resignation: "I know."

Desperation and tenderness mix as Reina grips his arm. "But I won't." She refuses to let go of him, as if her strength alone can anchor his fading self.

Souta's voice shakes with vulnerability, "Even if I vanish?"

Her reply is immediate, gentle, yet unyielding, "Then I'll find you again."

In that brief touch lies a promise—one that defies the creeping dread of oblivion—and a shared determination to hold onto what remains real.

Scene 4: A Whisper in the Night

Later that night, in the quiet, lamplit darkness of Souta's room, the boundary between dreams and reality begins to blur. Ruby, half-awake and still caught in the haze of sleep, drifts into the room. She lies down next to him, her breathing soft and unguarded.

"You're warm," she mumbles, almost as if trying to convince herself. "Just like… him…"

Souta bites his lip, his heart caught in a tangle of hope and fear. "Ruby… who am I to you?" he asks, his voice laced with the vulnerability of a soul who has known both light and loss.

Without fully waking, she giggles in a dreamy murmur, "My brother, dummy. My little-big brother..."

In that small, tender moment, Souta gathers courage and, with a weighty pause, asks, "Would you still love me if I wasn't?"

There's no answer—her eyes flutter shut again as sleep reclaims her. In the fading darkness, Souta is left with the echo of her affection, a promise unspoken yet deeply felt.

Scene 5: The Confrontation

The next morning, with the sky a mosaic of early light and lingering musk of night, Souta finds himself on the school rooftop. Across the vast view of the city, he sees Souma, gazing quietly at the horizon. The cool air carries the tension of unspoken challenges as Souta steps toward him.

"You said this was a game," Souta states, voice steady but edged with hurt.

A small, enigmatic smile crosses Souma's face, "And you're losing."

Souta's fists clench as he retorts, "I never agreed to play."

Souma turns, gesturing vaguely toward the school below. "But they did. They chose the version of you they needed— not the one who cries at night."

Souta pauses, his eyes reflecting both defiance and pain. "Maybe they don't need me to protect them."

Souma's voice grows insistent, "Exactly. So disappear."

Shaking his head, Souta responds firmly, "No. I'll ask them."

For a moment, Souma tilts his head, puzzled: "What?"

Then Souta turns away, leaving behind a promise that echoes in the thin morning air, "If they want to be strong— even without me— then I'll help them. I don't want to be their shield anymore. I want them to protect themselves. But I'll be there until they can."

As Souta walks away, Souma's ever-slick grin falters. For the first time, the eyes that had once been so sure now betray a hint of genuine fear—fear of losing what little he has of himself.

Scene 6: That Night – The Question

At dinner, the warmth of home battles the chill of hidden truths. The dining room is filled with the delicious aroma of curry, laughter, and the soft clatter of utensils—a semblance of normalcy after an unsettling day. The family gathers around the table, every face bathed in the glow of shared love.

In a sudden shift, Souta stands up from his seat. The room grows silent as every pair of eyes turns to him. His voice, small yet resolute, cuts through the quiet, "Can I ask something?"

The table falls into an expectant hush. "Would you want to be strong enough… to protect yourselves?" he asks, searching their faces as though he could read their hearts.

"Even if I wasn't there?" he continues, and the question hangs in the air like a delicate plea.

Ruby sets her spoon down with a furrowed brow, Aqua leans back with an unreadable expression, and Ai—learning to hide her own worry behind steady eyes—meets her son's gaze.

"Souta… why are you asking this?" Ai asks gently.

Souta swallows hard before replying, "Because one day… I might not be here. Not because I want to leave, but because someone might try to take me from you. And I won't let that happen unless I know you'll be okay."

Aqua chimes in with a gruff, almost exasperated tone, "You're still a kid."

Ruby adds softly, "But he's our kid."

Ai stands and walks around the table until she is close to Souta. Placing her hand tenderly on his cheek, she looks him in the eyes and declares, "If you teach us to be strong… we will."

"But no matter what— don't disappear without saying goodbye," Souta adds, voice breaking with the raw honesty of a child who loves too fiercely.

Ai gathers him into a warm embrace and promises, "I won't let you go. I promise."

In that moment, amidst the shared vulnerability and the weight of impending responsibilities, the family finds reassurance in togetherness. Despite the creeping menace of an identity slipping away, they are bound by something stronger—a love that will persist, even when the stars flicker uncertainly overhead.