…My body felt unbearably heavy, as if chained to the bed. The rhythmic hum of machines echoed all around me, while the icy air gnawed at my lungs, making each breath stiff and shallow. My eyelids refused to part, no matter how I struggled. Exhaustion swallowed me once more, dragging me back into darkness.
But then—light pierced through the veil. Slowly, painfully, my eyelids lifted. My vision blurred, revealing a strange room, dimly lit, filled with unfamiliar machines that shimmered faintly.
My mind was empty. No names. No faces. Not even the faintest shadow of a memory. I tried to move my hand, but my limbs felt like stone. A weak groan slipped from my lips.
"Ughhh…"
With sheer effort, my fingers twitched. Cold air clung to my skin as I inhaled, sharp and biting.
Footsteps approached. The door opened, and a nurse stepped inside. She froze the moment her eyes met mine.
"You're awake! I'll call the doctor right away."
Her voice trembled, and she hurried out of the room. Moments later, a doctor entered, his face calm yet probing as he examined me carefully.
"Your condition has stabilized a little," he said softly. "Do you feel any better?"
I shook my head faintly. "My body… still hurts. Heavy… cold."
The doctor nodded with quiet understanding, then his tone sharpened slightly.
"That's to be expected. You slipped on the snow, and there may be trauma to your head. Tell me—do you remember who you are?"
Silence pressed down on me. At last, I whispered,
"No… I don't remember anything. My head feels… empty."
The room grew still. The doctor lowered his gaze, as though weighing something unspoken.
"Usually, those who suffer memory loss ask questions: 'Where am I?' or 'Why am I here?' But you… you asked nothing. It's as if everything—every trace of who you are—has been erased."
Hollow unease coiled in my chest. I could only lower my eyes.
"Very well," the doctor finally said. "I will call your father. Perhaps he can help."
Father…? The word itself felt foreign. Something tugged at the edges of my mind, something missing, something important—but what?
Thirty minutes passed. The doctor scribbled notes at his desk when the door burst open. A man in his fifties stumbled inside, his breath ragged, his eyes wide with desperation.
"Raku!!" His voice cracked, trembling with both relief and sorrow. Tears welled in his eyes as he rushed to my bedside, embracing me as though afraid I would vanish.
The doctor's face darkened.
"Mr. Ichijou… I'm afraid there is grim news."
The man—Issei—turned sharply, panic etched across his features.
"Don't tell me… memory loss?"
The doctor hesitated, then gave a grave nod.
"Yes. But this case is different. He hasn't merely forgotten himself—he doesn't even question his existence. It's as though his entire core has been hollowed out."
Issei's gaze fell on me, his eyes shimmering with pain.
"Is that true… my son?"
I swallowed hard, my voice fragile.
"Are you… my father?"
His face crumbled. Trembling, his hand brushed through my hair.
"Yes… I am your father." His voice wavered, trying and failing to remain steady.
"I'm sorry… I don't remember anything. Not even… this place," I murmured.
Drawing a shaky breath, Issei turned to the doctor.
"His body aches from the winter chill. Do whatever therapy is necessary. I'll do everything I can for him."
He stroked my head once more, whispering through clenched emotion,
"Ryunosuke should have been with you… He should never have left you alone."
Then, standing tall, he faced the doctor with resolve.
"Doctor, I entrust him to your care. I'll call the family. He must not be left unattended."
The doctor nodded gravely.
"What he needs most now is rest… and knowledge."
I stared at the ceiling, the emptiness within me deeper than the snow outside.
Who am I, really…?
Exhaustion dragged me back under, machines humming their cold lullaby. Winter itself seemed to have frozen time within these walls.
When I next awoke, hunger gnawed at me. My eyes opened to see someone slumped asleep in a chair beside me—a young man, his face weary, shadowed with guilt.
Pain shot through me as I forced myself upright. My body was stiff, stone-heavy, but I managed to sit, gasping for air.
Through the window, snow drifted in silence, cloaking the city in a white shroud. Beautiful, yet chilling.
Something is missing… I thought. Something within my head, slipping through my grasp like snow through my fingers.
My movement stirred the man beside me. His eyes snapped open, widening in shock.
"Bocchan…!" His voice shook, thick with regret. "I should have been there—I should have protected you!"
He pulled me into a trembling embrace. Pain lanced through my body and I flinched.
"Please… step back," I whispered. "It still hurts."
The young man—Ryunosuke, I soon learned—released me immediately, his face pale with remorse.
"Forgive me, Bocchan. I forgot… you're still wounded." He lowered his head. "I am Ryunosuke. From now on, I will never leave your side."
I studied him silently, until the rumble of my stomach betrayed me. Heat rose to my face.
"Can you… help me? I'm hungry."
Relief flickered in his expression.
"Of course, Bocchan. What would you like to eat?"
I hesitated. The word 'eat' felt strange, familiar yet foreign.
"I don't know… but something warm. My body is still cold."
A faint smile crossed Ryunosuke's lips.
"Very well. Wait here—I'll bring something warm, no matter what."
He hurried out, leaving me once again with the snow.
Why… does the snow stir something inside me?
A fleeting shadow crossed my mind—then vanished before I could grasp it. I exhaled, fogging the cold glass of the window. Somehow, watching the snowfall brought me peace… as though someone, somewhere, was waiting for me to remember.
The door creaked open again. Ryunosuke returned, carrying a tray with a steaming bowl. The fragrance of broth filled the sterile room, chasing away a sliver of the chill.
"Bocchan, I've returned," he said, voice softer now. "It's soup. Warm enough to ease your body."
He set the tray beside me, propping me up with careful hands.
"Slowly. Don't strain yourself."
I nodded faintly, staring at the spoon he offered. He hesitated.
"Do you… wish me to feed you, Bocchan?"
Shame and emptiness tangled inside me.
"I… will try on my own."
My trembling hand gripped the spoon. Every movement was a battle, yet I lifted it at last to my lips. The warmth seeped into me, flowing through my veins, easing the cold that gripped my body.
Without warning, my eyes blurred with tears.
Ryunosuke flinched. "Bocchan?! Is it too hot?"
I shook my head slowly. My voice broke into a whisper.
"No… it just feels… familiar."
The words slipped from me before I understood them. A faint image stirred—a woman, her face shrouded, offering me a steaming bowl in the heart of winter. Her voice… soft, fading like mist in the wind.
I clutched my head, breath unsteady.
"Why… does this feel like I've lived it before?"
Ryunosuke's eyes shimmered.
"Perhaps, Bocchan… your memories are beginning to return."
I gazed into the bowl, silent. A heaviness pressed against my chest, suffocating, unexplainable.
Outside, the snow fell ceaselessly, veiling the world in silence.