Chapter 2 - Chapter 2 — The Ones Who Never Were

Rin didn't sleep. The words on the mirror kept replaying in his head—"I'm still here, Rin." He stared at his reflection for hours, waiting for it to vanish again. It didn't. But now he knew what they were doing. They weren't killing people. They were erasing them. Sera wasn't dead. She was gone in a different way. Forgotten. Buried under a world that no longer remembered her. And he was next. The Archivists didn't just erase memories—they erased existence. The walk to school was different. Everyone he passed felt… lighter. Thinner. Not in body, but in presence. As if the world had already started letting go of him. At his desk, his name tag was missing. His textbooks weren't in the cabinet. The girl who always asked to borrow pens ignored him when he spoke. When he raised his hand in class, the teacher paused—hesitated—then looked through him. Not at him. Through him. And that's when it hit him: the process had already begun. His record was being deleted. Not all at once. Bit by bit. Like a program uninstalling itself quietly in the background. He skipped the rest of the day. Went straight back to the old library. The door was locked. So he picked it. Inside, the dust had shifted. Someone had been here since last night. There were footsteps in the gray film on the floor. His and someone else's. He followed the newer prints to the basement. It was darker than before. Colder too. Kuro was waiting. Sitting on a desk, reading an old newspaper that no longer had a headline. "You came back," Kuro said without looking up. "Means you're serious." Rin didn't answer. He held up his phone. Showed him the message. "You said they erase people. I think they're doing it to me." Kuro folded the paper and nodded. "They are." "So how do I stop it?" "You don't," Kuro said calmly. "You let it happen. Then you come back differently." Rin's eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?" "Exactly what it sounds like. You want to beat them? You can't do it as Rin Kaizen. Rin Kaizen is a name inside the system. They're deleting it. But if you die in their world—then we write you back in." Kuro opened a drawer. Inside were three objects: an old analog watch, a torn ID card, and a silver needle with no visible opening. "Everyone who fights them had to let go of their old self. Me. The ones before me. The ones buried so deep they don't remember their own names anymore." Rin stared at the items. "What is this?" "This," Kuro said, holding up the needle, "is your Epitaph." Rin stepped back. "You said that word yesterday. What is it?" "It's your last sentence," Kuro said. "The final thing the world remembers about you before you're erased. Everyone has one. Most don't know it. Some do. If you claim yours before they take it from you… you control the echo they leave behind." Rin was silent. He didn't understand all of it. But he knew one thing: he wasn't going to let Sera be forgotten. He took the needle. It was cold. Instantly, his vision blurred. The room distorted. Kuro's voice grew faint, like it was speaking through water. Then—images. Thousands of them. A battlefield. A train crash. A girl standing in the rain holding a red umbrella. Memories. But not his. The pain was overwhelming. The pressure in his skull unbearable. His knees hit the floor. He screamed. Kuro didn't move. "Welcome," he said quietly, "to the memorystream." Then everything went black.