Shopping with a new face - Dead Logic

The bitter scent of medicine could be sensed in the air of the hospital room. One or two birds chirping could be seen through the window. In the middle of all, Shuhi remained, with her fractured mind.

She sat upright on her bed, the white sheets tucked neatly around her legs. She was eating a bowl of soup. Shuhi's mouth couldn't remain straight but opened and she took a sip. The warmth filled her mouth.

Her eyes were half-lidded, staring at the broth but not really seeing it. Lost in deep thoughts...

"What exactly happened… a few days ago? Why can't I remember?"

The thought had been nagging her ever since she opened her eyes here. The faces of nurses, the careful voice of the doctor, even her mother's tearful smile when she first woke up, it was all coming in her head as a blurry vision.

Suddenly, she heard a knock at the door. A middle-aged doctor wearing glasses entered who was holding a clip board. He adjusted his glasses as he looked at her.

"Aramatsu-san, how are you feeling today?" His voice was calm, professional.

Shuhi hesitated for a second.

"Who...used that name?"

She looked at her left palm and grabbed her head, saying,"...My body feels fine. But my head… It's strange. I can't remember many things which happende to me.

The doctor scribbled something on the clipboard. "That's what we suspected. Temporary post-traumatic amnesia or in short PTA. It's common after certain types of mental diseases caused if you hit your head so hard.

Hearing the term "Hitting head" caused a spark in her head. A few days ago. At night...

"The memories may return naturally over time. But until then, don't force yourself. Forcing only causes more stress." The doctor finished.

Shuhi clenched the bedsheet with her free hand. "Amnesia? That memory loss problem?"

She thought the word tasted bitter, even when only echoing in her head.

After the doctor left, silence swallowed the room again. She closed her eyes and kept her head on the pillow. Her hair came above her face, covering most of it. Inside her head, she dove into imagination.

Endless shelves stretched into darkness. Some were large, some were small, new, old. Some had spider nets with it. A vast library came before her.

This was her so called "memory library." Her way of visualizing her subconscious. Every book had a date etched neatly on its cover. Days she had lived, every one cataloged and preserved. For some reason, she can't forget anything of it.

One book drifted toward her face and cracked open on its own. Pages flipped rapidly. In reality, it meant a desperate attempt of her to recall something. but they were blank. White paper stared back at her. Symbolically, it meant her attempt resulted in a failure.

She froze. "...So these are the days I can't recall."

Her hand trembled as she shut the book and threw it aside. It floated away, disappearing into shadow. She pressed forward, and soon her eyes caught a broken shelf. Books here were torn, some charred, others rotting. The smell of dust and mold clawed at her nose.

She knew what they contained. No need to open them. The Organization. The years of suffering. The drills, the punishments, the endless tests until her childhood cracked into fragments.

Her hand brushed one torn cover. It pulsed with memory.

And then—another door appeared ahead of her, towering over the library. She grabbed the handle and opened the door. A prison stretched inside. Each cell was narrow and dark, yet in each one sat a girl. All of them looked like her. Shuhi stared, heart pounding.

The first sat with her back turned, refusing to acknowledge her. Another was chained from head to toe, barely moving. A third glared at her with wild eyes, fists clenched. Others trembled, wept, or whispered to themselves.

Each one represented her different selves, forged by many emotions. The Organization had broken her mind into pieces, and in order to survive, she had shoved each emotion into cages.

Even thinking about this prison drove her to another question "Exactly what kind of person am I, then? Which one is really me?"

The Organization filled her head with bad memories, trauma and struggles. She wanted to escape from it. So, she removed all her connections to it and made a different personality. One who is straightforward, who doesn't think twice and does the first thing comes into head, is always happy, chearing and curious to learn new things and finally someone who loves to stair at the sky to find shapes in cloud. This was the person she had been ever since she left that place.

She moved forward. One cell caught her eye — a girl staring straight at her, eyes sharp with determination. Shuhi knocked on the bars.

The other Shuhi tilted her head. Her voice was calm, yet edged with accusation. "Huh? After this many years?"

Shuhi swallowed. Then she lifted her thumb, pointing behind her. "I give up. Go. Take your place."

The imprisoned version of herself stepped out slowly. Shuhi entered the cell in her place, and the bars slammed shut. Then, without hesitation, the freed Shuhi sprinted outside of the prison and jumped high above in the library.

Suddenly, countless books came forth her, creating which could be described as staircase upward. She leapt from one to another, higher and higher. With every step, she imagined the old mask she wore — the smiling, carefree persona she had built to protect herself — began to crack and fall away.

She realized a thing. Even if she escaped the organization, the organization didn't leave her life. Utaro was from the facility. She didn't approach him rather he entered in her life. Instead of running from past, it's better to face it, fight it and move to the future. So, no more hiding. No more pretending.

A new mask formed, sharper, fearless. One who would not hold back. One who thought steps ahead of anyone else.

"Shuhi?"

Suddenly, her mother's voice snapped her back. she shook her head and turned to her mother. The library vanished. The hospital walls returned. Her soup bowl lay empty on the table.

Her mother stood by the bed, a warm smile breaking through years of worry. "The doctor said you've been discharged. You can come home."

For a moment, Shuhi just stared. The echo of the prison, the weight of the mask she'd chosen, all still hung heavy inside her.

Seeing Shuhi not replying and staring at nothing, her mother snapped her finger twice, "Hey there! You awake?"

Then she gave a small nod. "...I'm ready."

But deep inside, she knew.

Her long hair fell in strands over her face, hiding her features. Only one eye peeked through — but it wasn't the same eye as before. A new flame burned there, sharp and restless.

"Mom," Shuhi's voice was quiet, but steady, "Two people visited me when I was unconscious, right? Who were they?"

Her mother stopped at the doorway, slightly taken aback. "Oh… well, it was your classmates. Most probably Shinichi and Izumiya. But… how did you know someone came?"

Shuhi lifted her chin and pointed to the bedside table. There, on the small table had a bouquet of fresh flowers and a neatly wrapped box of chocolates. The price tag and store logo still clung to the wrapping.

"I looked at these," Shuhi explained. "From the shop name and the way they were packed, it felt like two separate purchases. So, two people must have brought them."

Her mother's brows knitted in surprise. Shuhi wasn't usually so… precise. She used to be careless, barely noticing small things around her. Yet now, her daughter's words carried a weight of certainty.

"...I see," her mother murmured, half in awe.

Later, the doctor finished checking her reports and gave a reassuring smile."Well, you'll recover fully with a bit of rest. You're strong."

The doctor gently extended his hand, hoping for a handshake. Shuhi accepted it. But she didn't leave the hand instantly. Instead, she head her hand for a few seconds. The doctor took this act a bit awkward.

Her eyes narrowed. "This texture… the skin feels dry in certain spots, faint pressure lines across the palm… and the grip, just a hint of stiffness. Not the hand of someone who spent the day writing prescriptions. No…"

"Doctor," she asked calmly, not breaking eye contact, "did you do a surgery recently?"

The man froze for a second. "…Yes. Just yesterday. How did you—?"

Shuhi released his hand.

"Your hand," she explained. "The dryness from repeated scrubbing, the fine indentations left by surgical gloves and the slight stiffness from long use of instruments. That's the hand of a surgeon who's been in the operating room."

The doctor gave a short laugh, part impressed, part unsettled. "You're… very observant, aren't you?"

Shuhi didn't answer right away. She turned her gaze toward the exit of the hospital as if the deduction hadn't even been worth mentioning.

They left the hospital together later that day. The southern wind in the afternoon glided Shuhi's hair a bit away. She quickly grabbed her long hair and started adjusting it.

Shuhi's eyes darted everywhere, unwilling to stay still. Every detail leapt out at her, demanding her attention.

"They taught us. Just observing someone gives you varieties of information."

She turned her gaze toward her mother, walking by her side. Immediately, thoughts clicked into place.

"Her sandals… these aren't the ones she usually wears when going out. Too plain and thin. That must mean… she left in a hurry the day I was admitted. She probably grabbed whatever pair she saw first."

Then her eyes landed on her mother's hands, "Her right hand… three faint burn marks in different places. Small ones. Usually it happens because of... Frying? No… more like cooking omelets again and again. Why?"

Her eyes narrowed. "It makes sense. Dad must've stayed by my bedside, exhausted. He had to eat something in that time. The energy needed to be awake... Mom probably cooked nonstop. Omelet after omelet. That's why her hand looks like that.

The images of her deduction ran in her head smoothly. They passed through a crowded street where she could see a man walking by while tapping his phone. The man's eyes were stuck with the screen and his shoulders slumped with a dull looking face. Another man exited a café just as the "OPEN" sign flickered on again.

Shuhi's gaze locked on a traffic signal — she began counting seconds under her breath until red shifted to yellow, then green.

"Five… six… seven…" She exhaled softly. Everything around her had patterns. She did the observing till reaching home, even if she didn't find anything necessary.

For the first time, the world felt like it was whispering answers to her.

When they reached home, she smelled a warm smell of coffee. Her father sat in the living room, a mug in hand. He looked up at her and smiled faintly.

But Shuhi spotted the dark spots beneath his eyes, the hollowness in his cheeks. "So I was right… He stayed awake all those nights."

A few days passed. One day, her mother handed her some cash and a shopping bag. "Shuhi, can you go to the market and buy the things on this list?"

Shuhi nodded without hesitation and stepped outside. But halfway down the street, she started panicking and sweating. She searched her pockets. Her hands trembled.

"The list… where is it? Did I drop it? No… I can't remember a single item. Nothing. My memory still blanks out when I try to recall recent days…"

After entering the shop, she clutched the money tightly, heart racing. "Should I… ask the shop assistant?" The thought flickered.

"What would I even say? Excuse me, I forgot what to buy, please tell me what can I get for 2000 yen?" She shook her head quickly. "That's… stupid."

Still lost in thought, she suddenly came across the shampoo section. Her eyes locked on two bottles of the same brand. One small, one large. She bent down, comparing the price tags.

"Interesting… One large bottle got the same amount as three smaller ones, but it's still a hundred yen cheaper. A common marketing trick. They know most people don't want such a big size, so they choose smaller ones and end up paying more."

She tapped her chin. "It's not even on the list… but it's logical. A saving of a hundred yen is still a saving."

Without hesitation, she grabbed the large bottle and went to the cashier. At home, she placed the bottle proudly on the table. "Here you go, Mom."

Her mother blinked. "Why is this? I never asked for shampoo!"

Shuhi explained in a rush about loosing the list and how it saves money. She braced herself for scolding. Her lips pressed into a thin line.

But instead, her mother burst out laughing. "Oh, Shuhi…"

Even her father chuckled from his chair. "You know what? sound like a little economist already."

Shuhi's eyes widened. She hadn't predicted this reaction at all. For a moment, she froze — and then, surprisingly, a small laugh escaped her lips too.

Her action was clumsy, awkward but real.

After the laughter ran out, Shuhi asked stroke her father with a question.

"Hey dad, what happened to the case?"

By the case, she was referring the case which she and Utaro was solving together.

"I told you a few days ago.

"Really? Then you surely did." Shuhi replied with confusion in her face.

"The police have started dealing with it. And don't think about those things now. Focus on getting healthy."

"Sure, dad." Shuhi replied.

After that, Shuhi took the stairs upside to her room. She casually took out a flat round shaped chocolate from her pocket, tore the cover and took a bite. It was the same chocolate which she got from the chocolate box in the hospital.

"The police? They couldn't reach the organization till years. What are they gonna do?"

Chapter 29 - Shopping with a new face