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“. . . Hey, Boss?” Futaba looked up from her plate, giving her adopted father a confused look. “Do you and mom ever feel like something’s missing?”
“. . . What do you mean, Futaba?” Sojiro asked. “Did you forget something at home today?”
“No, not like that—I mean, do you ever feel like there’s some kind of . . . I dunno, void in your life? Where something should be, but it isn’t? Like there’s—a person, maybe, that you should know, but they don’t exist?” The orange-haired girl shook her head. “Does this even make any sense?”
“Well,” the barista replied, setting down the plate he’d been washing. “I can’t really say I have. Or at least, not that I remember.”
“Dangit . . .” Futaba looked back down at her half-eaten curry and frowned. “I was hoping you might be able to relate.”
“So you’re feeling like something’s missing like . . . however you described it?” Sojiro raised an eyebrow. “Huh. Well, I might not be able to relate, but you could still try to explain it if that helps.”
The girl nodded. “Maybe . . . I just—I feel like there should be someone else here with us right now. Someone I’m forgetting. Someone important. ” She groaned, burying her face in her hands. “But it’s so frustrating, because I can’t remember who! I don’t have any idea why I feel like this, and it SUCKS!” At that last shout, she banged her fist on the table, trying to restrain a growl. “It doesn’t make any sense . . .”
“ . . . That is pretty odd,” the man agreed, walking out from behind the bar to sit next to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “When did you start feeling like this?”
“I’m not even really sure . . . it’s less like I started feeling this, and more like I finally realized that I was? Like I said, it doesn’t make sense.” Futaba slumped over, pushing her plate away. The pit in her stomach was eating away at her, and she’d lost her appetite. “I don’t even know who he is, let alone why I—”
She paused. ‘He’? The word had slipped out so naturally that she hadn’t even realized she’d said it at first, but it suddenly spoke volumes.
“. . . He . . .” she repeated, her brow furrowing. “I . . . I didn’t know he was a he . . .”
“. . . I should probably call Wakaba over, shouldn’t I,” Sojiro decided, standing up. “This feels outside of my expertise, but a lot more like it could fall inside hers. You want me to get her?”
The girl nodded, still puzzling over her slip of the tongue. He . . . who WAS this mysterious ‘he’? Just a minute ago, she’d been thinking she was crazy, that she was . . . hallucinating, maybe? People sometimes had weird moments where they could swear they’d known something before but not from where, so it could be a weird deja-vu-like thing. But . . . she was suddenly far less sure.
Because now, with a single word, this situation felt less like it was about a generic, nonexistent someone missing , and more like there was a specific, real person she’d forgotten. Which was infinitely more confusing . . . and infinitely more terrifying.
Futaba felt a shiver of dread go down her spine, and suddenly found herself shooting to her feet.
“Hey, Boss? While you go call mom, could I look up in the attic for a minute?” She wasn’t even sure what compelled her to ask that, but she suddenly felt like she needed to look around up there.
“. . . Sure?” Sojiro glanced over from where he was already dialing the phone, raising an eyebrow quizzically. “I don’t see why not, though nobody’s been up there in years . . .”
“Thanks, I just—feel like I need to check something.” She gave her father a thankful nod, before walking over to the long-closed door leading upstairs. It felt stuck, likely from the lack of use, but after a few hard tugs she managed to get it open in a cloud of dust. “ Ack —it’s really been years? I think I— ack —can believe that with all this— ack —dust . . .” She took off her glasses and wiped them clean with the bottom of her shirt, before carefully replacing them.
As she ascended the old, creaky stairs to the attic, she couldn’t help but feel like she wasn’t in control of her own body. It was more like someone else was pulling her along, slowly and methodically, almost nervously. And honestly, she couldn’t argue . . . something about this felt more and more wrong with each step she took. Like some horrible truth awaited her at the top.
. . . And maybe it did.
She braced herself against the wall, closing her eyes as she took the final few steps into the old, forgotten space, trying to prepare herself for whatever might be up here.
Futaba took a deep breath. It’s just the attic. If anything dangerous was in here, Sojiro would have known. It was fine. And then, cautiously, she opened her eyes.
What she saw was . . . not what she expected.
There were cobwebs, yes, and enough dust to potentially kill someone from coughing, but aside from that . . . the attic looked like it was being lived in.
Or at least, that it had been lived in.
There was an unmade bed, looking like someone had been sleeping but needed to get up for something, set along the far wall under the window. An old tv, a retro gaming system plugged into it, sat on the ground with a game still sticking out of the console. A desk covered in organized tools and materials sat in the corner across from the bed, a wastebasket full of what were probably broken creations—were some of those wire-looking things lockpicks? — beside it and a laptop stored on the top shelf.
But what stood out most was, well . . . she couldn’t think of a word to use except for “random junk”, even though all of it seemed to clearly have some value. Arranged on a bookcase to her left was a collection of seemingly unrelated items—a fancy handkerchief, a fitness watch, a calculator, a painting that almost looked like one of Yusuke’s, a magazine with ANN on the cover, and . . . she picked up the last item, an unknown piece of paper, to inspect it more closely.
And froze.
Because the words staring back at her from the page were written in HER HANDWRITING.
Futaba dropped the paper in shock, reeling back so fast that she fell to the floor, barely able to catch herself in a sitting position.
What . . . what was going on?! She knew she’d never been up here before, or at least not that she could remember, so how was something that it looked like SHE WROTE in here?!
It took her longer than she’d want to admit to recollect herself, before taking a deep breath and crawling back over to the paper where it had landed on the floor. Cautiously, as if worried it would . . . come to life and bite her? She had no idea at this point, she picked it up by the corner, before carefully bringing it closer.
At the top, written in large, underlined letters, were the words ‘Futaba’s Promise List!’
“When did . . . I don’t remember this,” she whispered to herself, looking over the page in confusion. The items on the list only made her more confused, her brows furrowing as she tried and failed to recall when she could have written this.
“Go somewhere crowded . . . go to school, learn about my generation . . . have a normal conversation with a stranger my age? Get along with Kana-chan—I absolutely don’t remember writing this, this doesn’t make sense! I . . . I know I didn’t write this—” She shook her head, unsure what to make of any of this. If she hadn’t written this, who had? And how did they forge her handwriting, or, heck, more than that, how did they know about Kana?! It—
And then her eyes landed on the last item of the list, and her breath caught in her throat.
‘Be okay without Akira around.’
. . . Akira?
Why was that name so familiar?
“Akira . . .” she whispered, racking her brain for where she might have heard that name before . . .
And finding nothing.
She didn’t know.
. . . No, she didn’t remember.
The realization suddenly hit her, and she inhaled sharply, eyes growing wide in terror.
Was . . . was this ‘Akira’ . . . was whoever he was, the person she felt was missing?!
Feeling a sudden jolt of panic, she shot to her feet, her head whirling as she glanced around the attic again, before staring down at the paper in her hands.
Someone I know used to live here.
No, Akira used to live here.
And someone made me forget whoever he is.
Quickly, Futaba pulled out her smartphone and took a photo of the list, before folding the paper up and putting it in her pocket. This—this was bad. Not just bad, terrifying. Someone had seemingly made her forget the existence of an entire person, and . . .
Her breath caught in her throat, and she nearly choked.
And probably everyone else, too.
Whoever Akira was had been practically erased, as far as she could tell, and this abandoned attic was probably the only evidence left that he’d ever existed.
The girl glanced at the photo of the list on her phone, fear in her eyes at the very implications of it all . . .
Before that fear slowly morphed into something different
Determination.
“You wanted to erase this guy, huh?” she asked the air around her, flashing a sadistic grin.
She was unsure who she was really speaking to, but she could tell in her heart that whoever it was was behind this horror she’d just uncovered.
“Well, he won’t stay that way for long. Not if I have anything to say about it.”
It was about time for Mejed to come out of retirement.