Arata's Apartment – 2:04 AM
The rain hadn't let up.
It painted the city in endless ripples of silver, each drop tapping against the windows like impatient fingers.
Inside, the air was warmer, but not by much. The heater hummed, doing its best to chase away the dampness that clung to their clothes, their skin… their thoughts.
Arata sat on the couch, a half-empty mug of tea cooling in his hands. Across from him, the girl—still nameless—sat cross-legged on the floor, wrapped in a blanket he'd pulled from the closet. She hadn't said much since the question she'd asked earlier.
He found himself studying her again.
Her hair had mostly dried now, soft brown strands catching the dim light from the table lamp. Her gaze was distant, like she was looking through the rain rather than at it. Every now and then, her fingers would curl into the fabric of the blanket, as if she was bracing herself against something invisible.
Finally, Arata broke the silence.
"You're sure you don't remember anything? Not even your own name?"
She shook her head slowly. "It's like… there's a wall in my mind. I can feel things on the other side. Faces. Places. But when I try to reach for them, they slip away."
Her voice cracked slightly. She looked down, hiding her face in the shadows. "I don't even know if I've always been like this… or if something happened to me."
Arata leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"I don't think you were always like this. Someone put you in that place. Someone wanted to keep you locked up."
She looked up at him. "And you… you came for me. Why?"
It was the second time she'd asked, but this time, her voice was different. Softer. As if she wasn't looking for a logical answer—she wanted something deeper.
Arata searched for the truth in himself.
"I don't know," he admitted. "When I saw you there… it felt like I'd already failed you once. Like if I walked away, I'd never forgive myself."
Her lips parted slightly, but she said nothing. Just watched him, as if trying to see inside him.
The silence broke when a faint metallic click echoed from the door.
Arata's eyes flicked to it instantly. His hand moved to the pistol on the table.
The girl noticed. Her blanket slipped from her shoulders as she tensed. "What is it?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he moved to the door silently, every step careful. The hallway outside was empty when he checked, but a folded piece of paper lay just under the frame.
He picked it up.
The paper was damp, the ink smudged—but the words were still legible.
"She isn't safe.
Neither are you.
Don't trust anyone."
No name. No sender. Just those lines.
And a black symbol at the bottom—a circle with three intersecting lines. Arata had seen it before. Years ago. But where?
When he returned to the living room, she was standing now, her bare feet making no sound against the wooden floor. "What did it say?"
He handed it to her. She studied it, frowning. "This symbol… it feels familiar. Like I've seen it before. But I don't know where."
Arata took the note back and slipped it into his jacket pocket.
"Whoever left this knows about you. Which means they could be watching."
Her shoulders tightened. "So what do we do?"
He glanced at the rain-blurred cityscape outside. Neon signs glowed faintly through the storm, painting their faces in shifting colors.
"We find out who's looking for you… before they find us."
Two hours later – Shinjuku Backstreets
The storm had softened to a cold drizzle. The streets glistened under pale streetlights, puddles rippling when taxis splashed past.
Arata led her through the maze of narrow alleys. He moved like someone who knew how to disappear in plain sight—avoiding security cameras, keeping to the shadows.
She kept close, her steps quiet, her eyes scanning the unfamiliar world around her. Every sound seemed to put her on edge—a barking dog, the slam of a car door, a distant shout. But she didn't complain. She didn't ask where they were going.
Arata finally stopped outside a rusted metal shutter. Faded lettering above it read "Okabe Electronics – Repairs & Parts." The shop looked abandoned, but Arata knocked in a pattern—three short, two long.
A moment later, the shutter rattled and rolled up halfway. A man in his late forties peeked out, his hair messy, his face unshaven. His eyes narrowed when they landed on Arata.
"Arata? What the hell—" His gaze shifted to the girl. "—and who's this?"
"Someone who needs answers," Arata said. "And I think you still owe me a favor."
The man—Okabe—grunted, stepping aside. "Fine. Get in. But make it quick."
Inside, the shop was a mess of old monitors, tangled wires, and the faint smell of soldering metal. A workbench in the back glowed under a single desk lamp, scattered with circuit boards and dismantled cameras.
Okabe sat behind the bench, pulling out a battered laptop. "Alright, what am I looking for?"
Arata pulled the damp note from his jacket and slid it across the table. "This symbol."
Okabe squinted at it, then frowned. "Haven't seen this in years… Where'd you get it?"
"Outside my apartment. After I got her out of somewhere I shouldn't have been able to get into."
Okabe's eyes flicked to the girl again, studying her in a way that made her shift uncomfortably. "You're telling me you broke into NOKRA's lower levels? You're insane."
At the mention of NOKRA, she flinched—just slightly, but Arata saw it.
"You know that name?" he asked.
She hesitated, then nodded slowly. "It… feels like it's connected to me. But I can't remember why."
Okabe kept typing, pulling up files that scrolled too quickly for her to follow. "If this symbol is back in circulation, you're in deep trouble. It belonged to a black-ops division inside NOKRA. Experimental projects. Stuff even their own board didn't know about."
"And what kind of projects?" Arata pressed.
Okabe gave a humorless laugh. "The kind they erased people for asking about."
Before Arata could ask more, the sound of screeching tires echoed outside.
Okabe's expression hardened. "You weren't followed, were you?"
Arata moved to the window. Down the alley, two black SUVs had stopped. Figures in tactical gear were stepping out, their faces hidden by visors.
"They're here," Arata said sharply. "Back door—now."
The girl's heart was pounding so loud she could hear it in her ears as they slipped through the back of the shop. The alley behind was darker, narrower. Rain dripped from loose wires overhead.
Voices shouted in the distance. Heavy boots splashed in puddles.
Arata kept his hand on her wrist, pulling her along at a pace just shy of running. His voice was low but firm: "Don't stop. No matter what."
They reached the end of the alley—only to find it blocked by a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire.
Behind them, footsteps were closing in fast.
Arata glanced at her once. "Hold on."
Before she could ask why, he gripped the fence, hauled himself up, and swung over in seconds. He landed and turned back, reaching up.
She hesitated—then grabbed his hand. He pulled her up, his grip strong enough to steady her even when her foot slipped.
When they landed on the other side, she realized her hand was still in his. She didn't let go until he did.
They melted into another set of backstreets, disappearing before the SUV squad reached the fence. But she knew—this wasn't over. They'd been found once. They'd be found again.
As they slowed to catch their breath, Arata finally looked at her, his voice quiet but certain.
"We need to leave Tokyo."
She stared at him. "And go where?"
He didn't blink. "Somewhere they won't look. And somewhere you can remember."
End of chapter 2