"If someone rewrites your past, does that mean your heart changes too?"— Hoshino Ai
Scene 1: Morning Haze, Subtle Disturbance
Sunlight spilled into the kitchen, soft and golden, stretching through sheer curtains like the touch of a gentle hand. The morning had rhythm—Ai, now 29, hummed absentmindedly as she stirred miso soup, steam curling in slow, deliberate wisps.
Her hair was tied back, loose strands escaping the bun at her nape, framing her face in lazy waves. Everything felt familiar, routine.
Until—
Her hands stopped.
Ai blinked at the pot, confusion creasing her brow.
"Wait… why am I humming that song?"
The melody—delicate, wistful, lingering like the echoes of a lullaby she didn't remember composing.
A presence. A thought lingering just beyond reach.
"Mama?" Ruby peeked into the kitchen, eyes curious. "You okay?"
Ai forced a smile, pushing the unease aside. "Yeah… just spaced out."
But Souta, standing quietly in the hallway, frowned. His gaze sharpened, watching Ai—watching the tune she had hummed so effortlessly.
A tune that didn't exist.
A tune someone planted.
Scene 2: School Life – Surface Calm
The world outside remained deceptively normal.
At school, the triplets occupied their spaces—fitting into routines, blending into the atmosphere of teenage life.
Ruby perfected the timing of a choreographed routine with Reina during PE, laughing between steps. Aqua stood over a biology experiment, fingers deft, expression unbothered.
And Souta?
Souta sat in the back of homeroom, eyes fixed on the teacher, yet hearing nothing.
His fingers twitched against his desk, mind a quiet battlefield.
"He's not attacking us directly anymore," Souta thought, reading the patterns—the shift in approach, the absence of brute force. "He's rewriting Mama. Slowly. Quietly. Subtly."
A virus threading its way into Ai's memories, not loud enough to be fought—but present enough to erode.
He couldn't shatter it outright. Couldn't risk breaking something fragile within her mind.
He needed the exact point of origin.
And to find it… he would have to enter Ai's dreams.
Scene 3: Ai's Dreamworld
Night fell in quiet layers.
Souta stood beside Ai's sleeping form, her breathing soft, steady, untouched by the war waging inside her subconscious.
He exhaled, fingers brushing her forehead.
"Sorry, Mama… I'm coming in."
A gentle pulse. A shift.
Then—he was inside.
Ai's dreamspace shimmered—stardust and velvet curtains, applause trapped in echoes of past performances. Rooms filled with scattered joys, unspoken regrets, quiet corners where pain curled into itself.
But tonight—
A new hallway existed.
One Ai never built.
Souta walked forward, cautious, measured, stopping before a small room bathed in flickering pink light.
Inside—a desk, child-sized, edges worn from years of use.
And atop it—a faded diary.
Ai's childhood writing.
Souta hesitated, fingers brushing over the leather binding. "This is… real. These are her old stories."
But as he flipped a page, the ink beneath his touch twisted—darkened—bled into something else.
A sentence emerged, violent in its simplicity:
"And then she realized… her children never truly loved her."
A sharp inhale.
Souta's chest tightened, fingers curling against the paper.
"Souma."
From the shadows, a whisper slithered:
"A child should not be stronger than his mother. Let's see what happens when her dreams turn against her."
Scene 4: Souta Returns — and Acts
The snap of reality brought Souta back—his lungs burned as he gasped awake.
The second his vision steadied, he rushed downstairs, tracking Ai's presence immediately.
She sat with Ruby and Aqua, old photo albums spread across their laps, smiles exchanged over familiar images.
But Souta could see it.
The tiniest flicker of doubt in Ai's eyes.
What if I imagined the love they give me?
He sat beside her.
Took the album away.
Held her hand.
"Mama," he said, his voice quiet but deliberate. "Did you know you wrote us before we ever existed?"
Ai blinked. "What?"
Souta pulled a small folded piece of paper from his pocket—the one he had taken from her dream. A story she had written long ago.
"A lonely star named Ai wished for children who would never leave her. They were born not from the world… but from love itself."
Ai's breath caught.
Tears welled, unbidden.
"That… sounds like something I'd write."
"You did, Mama." Souta squeezed her hand. "Don't let anyone rewrite your love. Not even you."
Scene 5: Souma's Next Step
Far away, in the solitude of his hideout, Souma stood before rows of Ai's stolen pages—stories twisted under his influence, narratives bent to his will.
He smirked, amused, anticipating the inevitable conflict.
"So, the boy found the first one. Good."
A flick of the wrist. A lit match.
One page burned. Another took its place—its ink bleeding through, more vicious this time.
"The mother who never deserved a happy ending."
Souma chuckled, watching the flames consume what had once been hers.
"Let's see if their hearts survive… their own story turning on them."
Scene 6: The Family's Resolve
Night blanketed the Hoshino household, but warmth remained.
The triplets surrounded Ai, hands intertwined, old drawings scattered across the table.
Ruby nudged her playfully. "Mama, you ever think of writing again?"
Ai hesitated. "No one would want to read what I write now."
"I would," Aqua said, his voice quiet but certain.
Souta leaned in, soft encouragement lining his expression. "We'll help you write it. This time, the story belongs to you."
Happy shifted in Ai's lap, his tiny form steady, his voice a familiar comfort.
"Let's make it a happy ending this time, okay?"
And Ai—Ai laughed.
Really laughed.
For just a moment—the war on her memories ceased.