The morning came quietly.
Kai woke up staring at the ceiling, the same hollow calm resting in his chest. No panic followed. No sudden fear. Just the weight of yesterday lingering in the air, like the room itself remembered something he didn't.
The house was awake. His parents' voices drifted up from downstairs, soft and ordinary. Plates clinked. A chair scraped. Normal sounds—steady, grounding.
That part of his world still held.
He sat up slowly. A dull pressure lingered behind his eyes, faint enough to ignore. So he did. He got dressed, ate breakfast, answered questions with short, careful replies. His parents didn't push. They watched instead.
A knock came mid-morning.
Kai froze before he understood why.
Voices followed—familiar tones his chest reacted to before his mind could catch up.
Ayko stood at the door when he stepped into the hallway. Sora hovered close beside her, quieter than usual, hands clenched together. Joro leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes sharp with worry. Mira stood slightly apart, already watching Kai like she'd been waiting for him to appear.
"We thought…" Ayko began, then paused. "Maybe we could take you out for a bit."
Kai nodded immediately. "Okay."
No hesitation. No resistance.
They walked instead of driving. Nothing far—just a small park nearby. The path felt familiar in a way Kai couldn't explain. Trees lined the road. Leaves crunched softly beneath their shoes. The air was cool and calm.
At first, it felt normal.
Too normal.
The pressure behind Kai's eyes returned slowly, deepening with each step. He focused on the rhythm of walking, on Mira beside him, on Sora's footsteps ahead.
Then the ache sharpened.
He slowed without meaning to.
Mira noticed instantly. "Kai?"
"I'm fine," he said.
The lie came easily.
They reached a bench near the edge of the park. Kai sat down, elbows resting on his knees. The pressure thickened, dragging something with it—faint impressions, unfinished thoughts, noise without sound.
Joro stepped closer. "You don't look fine."
Kai looked up at him.
The moment their eyes met, the pressure spiked violently.
"Don't do that," Kai muttered, breath uneven.
Joro frowned. "Do what?"
"You always say that," Kai said, gripping the edge of the bench. "When I stop answering. When I start thinking too much."
Silence snapped tight.
Joro went still. "…Kai?"
Something clicked.
Not gently.
"Joro," Kai said.
Joro stared at him like the ground had shifted beneath his feet. "You— you remember me?"
Kai nodded slowly. "Yeah. You complain a lot. You act like you don't care. But you never leave."
Joro laughed once, sharp and disbelieving, then grabbed Kai's shoulder. "Say it again."
"Joro."
Joro turned away quickly, dragging a hand down his face. "Idiot," he muttered. "Don't scare me like that."
A broken sound cut through the air.
Sora.
Kai turned—and the pressure surged harder than before.
She stood frozen, tears already spilling freely. "You said his name," she whispered. "Does that mean…?"
"Sora," Kai said.
She broke.
She rushed forward and hugged him tightly, arms wrapped around him like she was afraid he'd disappear again. "You scared me," she cried into his chest. "You scared me so much."
Kai hugged her back immediately, firm and instinctive, like his body remembered before his mind did. "You're loud," he said hoarsely. "You never stop talking. The house felt wrong without you."
She laughed through her tears and hit his chest weakly. "You're not allowed to forget me. Ever."
"I won't," he said. He meant it.
Ayko hadn't moved.
Kai lifted his head and met her eyes.
The pain didn't spike this time. It eased.
A memory surfaced slowly—Ayko standing in front of him when things went wrong. Ayko grabbing his wrist when he tried to walk away. Ayko staying quiet when noise wasn't needed.
"Ayko," he said softly.
Her breath hitched.
She stepped forward and hugged him tightly, tears finally spilling. "You idiot," she said into his shoulder. "Do you know how terrifying that was?"
Kai hugged her back, steady and close. "I remembered you last," he murmured. "Because you're the one I rely on the most."
She laughed weakly through tears. "That's not fair."
Mira stood a little apart.
Kai looked at her.
"You stayed," he said.
She nodded once.
That was enough.
They didn't leave right away.
Sora stayed close, like she was counting breaths. Joro hovered nearby, pretending not to watch Kai too carefully. Ayko kept a hand on his sleeve, grounding him. Mira stayed quiet—but present.
"My head still hurts," Kai admitted after a while.
Mira guided him back to the bench. "Sit."
The ache hadn't vanished. It had changed—heavy instead of sharp, like the aftermath of a storm.
"How much do you remember?" Joro asked.
"Enough," Kai said slowly. "Not everything. And it feels like if I push too hard… something's going to break again."
No one argued.
As they finally started walking back, Kai stayed in the middle this time—not behind, not ahead.
And for the first time since everything began to fall apart, he understood something clearly.
Forgetting had been quiet.
Remembering was violent.
And this wasn't over yet.