The golden rays of the setting sun slipped through the gaps in the office curtains, casting long streaks of light across the wooden desk cluttered with stacks of paper. The room was silent, save for the sound of pages being turned—an almost suffocating kind of quiet.
Across the desk, Shoko sat with her arms crossed. Her face looked tired, but her eyes remained sharp. In front of her, Yuuji stared at the scattered documents. His brow furrowed, fingers tapping against the desk in an irregular rhythm—a sign that his mind was working harder than usual.
"So, this is everything you found?" he finally asked, his voice lower than usual.
Shoko nodded and slid a few sheets toward him. "Yeah. Most of the important information was burned. But at least some of it is still readable."
Yuuji picked up one of the intact documents and examined it. Standard information—full name, age, date of birth, orphan status, and registered adoptive parents.
His eyes moved down, scanning further. "And you tried calling these numbers?" he asked without looking up. Shoko leaned back in her chair, exhaling briefly before replying. "I did. Every single one."
Yuuji raised an eyebrow, finally meeting her gaze. "Did anyone answer?"
"Yeah."
Silence hung between them before Shoko continued, her tone carrying a mix of sarcasm and something darker—disbelief. "But they all said... they don't know anything."
Yuuji's frown deepened. "What do you mean?"
Shoko pressed a fingertip against one of the documents, pointing to a section listing the contact numbers of prospective adoptive parents. "I called them one by one. These people were supposed to have applied to adopt children from that orphanage. But every time I mentioned the orphanage's name—every time I brought up these kids' names—they all reacted the same way."
Yuuji stayed quiet, waiting for her to continue.
"They said they never applied for adoption. They don't even remember ever hearing about the orphanage."
A cold sensation crept down Yuuji's spine. "So… they're lying?"
Shoko shook her head. "I don't know. I listened closely. Normally, when someone lies, there's a slight pause, a change in their voice, a shift in tone. But them… they sounded honest. As if they genuinely have no memory of it."
Yuuji placed the paper down, pressing his fingers against his temple. "That doesn't make sense."
"Exactly." Shoko slid more documents across the table. "And this makes it even weirder—some of them still live at the addresses listed here. That means these records can't be fake."
Yuuji clicked his tongue in frustration. "But they're saying they don't know anything."
Shoko nodded slowly. "And I believe them. Not because I'm naïve, but because I can tell the difference between someone who's lying… and someone who has truly forgotten."
That last word hung in the air like a slow-spreading poison.
Yuuji didn't respond immediately. He just stared at the papers before him, his expression unreadable.
If this was just a lie, he could chase it down.
He could find out who was covering up what.
But if they truly forgot? Then this wasn't just a clerical error. This wasn't just human conspiracy. This was something bigger. Something deeper.
And for the first time since Reika vanished…
Yuuji felt like he had just brushed against the edge of a darkness far greater than he had ever imagined.
The clock on the wall ticked softly, filling the silence between them. The sunlight filtering through the window was fading, as if the sky itself knew that this conversation carried nothing good. Yuuji kept staring at the documents spread across the table, his brow deeply furrowed.
Shoko crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair with a long sigh. "Don't look at me like that." Yuuji lifted his gaze. His eyes were sharp, filled with something unreadable. "I need your help."
"I know."
"I want to dig deeper into this."
"Of course you do."
"Shoko."
That tone made Shoko close her eyes briefly before exhaling and meeting his gaze again. "Look, I get that you can't just let this go. I'm curious too, and I understand how important this is to you. But I'm not unemployed, Yuuji."
Yuuji clenched his fists on the table. "I never said you were." Shoko raised an eyebrow, giving him a flat look. "Maybe not with words, but your face says otherwise."
Yuuji clicked his tongue in frustration. "Shoko—"
"It's not that I don't want to help, but I can't abandon my students either," she interrupted, her tone calm but firm. "I've been working alone as this school's doctor for far too long. Now, I finally have students, Yuuji. I can't just leave them behind."
Yuuji didn't respond immediately. He knew full well how tirelessly Shoko worked—healing injured sorcerers, tending to corpses of those who didn't make it, and now, training students to help her.
He ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. "Fine."
"So, you're going alone?"
"Of course."
Shoko studied him for a moment, then shrugged. "Then make sure you don't do anything stupid." Yuuji scoffed. "That's hard."
Shoko smirked faintly. "And your students?"
The question lingered in the air. Since that incident—since he had stepped onto the training grounds and seen the unspoken questions in their eyes—he knew they still couldn't accept everything.
They were still searching for answers. Just like him. "Megumi will look after them for now," he finally replied. Shoko nodded slowly. "Good. At least there's someone you trust."
Yuuji didn't answer. He only glanced back at the remaining documents on the table. One by one, the traces left behind were fading.
But he wouldn't stop. Not until he found the truth for himself.