The school courtyard was beginning to empty. Students poured out the gates in pairs and clusters, voices filling the afternoon air with laughter and chatter. Lily moved slower than the rest — measured steps, quiet breaths, her hands brushing against the hem of her skirt.
Even after months in this body, Ethan still felt like a guest inside his sister's skin.
He'd made it through another day. Barely. But even small victories mattered now.
He was halfway to the street when a voice behind him stopped him in his tracks.
"Excuse me…"
Ethan turned slowly.
"…Do I know you?"
It was a boy. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark uniform jacket half-zipped and hair slightly tousled from the wind. There was something sharp in his gaze — not threatening, just… focused.
His name came to Ethan's mind in a flash, like a name carved into stone:
Yuki.
Not the Yuki from his memories — the one who used to call him "Ethan-bro" during study breaks and always stole the last can of coffee from the vending machine.
This Yuki didn't recognize him.
Of course he didn't.
"I'm sorry," Ethan said quietly, voice steady in the way Lily had learned to speak. "I don't think so."
Yuki tilted his head slightly, looking at her — no, through her.
"It's weird," he muttered. "You just… reminded me of someone I used to know. Not the way you look — more like… the way you paused just now. The way you turned."
Ethan felt a chill crawl up his spine. His heartbeat thudded harder.
"I get that sometimes," he murmured, offering a weak smile.
Yuki stared for a beat longer, then shook his head. "Sorry. My mistake. I guess I just miss him."
"Who was he?"
"I don't really know anymore," Yuki said, frowning. "It's strange. I remember… feelings more than details. He was important. But his name's like a blur now. Stupid, right?"
Ethan's breath hitched.
The world had forgotten Ethan Nakamura.
But something — some part — had stayed behind in Yuki's heart.
Not memory.
But impression.
A soul's shadow.
"I'm sorry," Ethan said again — this time truly meaning it. For leaving. For being here. For not being able to say: It's me. I'm right in front of you.
Yuki gave her one last, puzzled glance. "Anyway… take care."
He walked off, hands in his pockets.
Ethan stood still, wind teasing strands of Lily's hair across his face. Something fragile pressed against his ribs, like his chest might crack open from the weight of it all.
He wasn't just forgotten.
He had been replaced.
And yet, in some corner of the world, a piece of him still clung to those he'd loved — not as memory, but as instinct. A thread the world couldn't fully sever.
But that thread, too, would fade.
Unless he found a reason to hold on.