Chapter Text
========= Chapter 1 =========
The sunset’s golden light danced among the fragrant branches of the cherry grove. Okarun and Momo relaxed together on their blanket, watching delicate pink petals drift on the warm breeze. With her cool fingers gently gripping his hand and that beautiful smile on her face, this moment couldn’t be any more perfect. Clouds lazily drifted overhead, while the sun slowly kissed the horizon.
A sense of dread crawled over him.
With a sudden blast of wind, every last cherry blossom was torn into the sky, as an unnatural darkness swept in. He grabbed her arm in panic. Momo turned to look him dead in the eyes, horror and disgust twisting her face. She shrieked “You will NEVER be my boyfriend. Creep! Let me go, you fugly monster!” Momo wrenched herself from his grasp, shoved him away and scrambled off into the encroaching dark.
Lightning ripped across the sky, illuminating the hollows of his face. Okarun felt a resonating thrum in his bones, and his eyes lit up like burning coals. Searing heat flared in his chest and flowed through his veins like wildfire. A whisper repeating at the back of his mind, “Destroy... consume... dominate!” A low, animalistic growl filled the air, while long black claws burst from his fingertips. The peal of thunder echoed as darkness enveloped him.
=============Okarun’s Room=============
Okarun bolted upright with his heart racing and head pounding. Sweat-soaked sheets wrapped around his legs like snakes. He glanced frantically at his surroundings, dimly lit by the amber streetlight outside the window. There was a bookshelf stuffed full of occult magazines, a desk with a notebook on it opened with some notes. Above the desk was a poster that said I want to believe from the TV show X-Files. Okay. He was in his bedroom, he was safe.
Gasping, he grabbed his chest trying to calm down, “Come on, Ken. Just breathe. It was only a nightmare. Breathe.”
After a few agonizing minutes, he’d steadied his nerves enough to start massaging his temples. That nightmare felt so real, one of the most vivid dreams he'd ever had. He tried to choke back his tears, wishing that he wasn’t alone. Wishing that someone, anyone, was there with him... someone that could hold him, just for a little while. The headache was intense, but eventually it eased up.
Finally, he calmed down and looked at his alarm clock. It was 4am, too early to go to school. He knew damn well he just didn't want to go back to sleep. He didn't want to risk slipping back into that dream. It was terrifying and painful.
He untangled his legs from the damp sheets and slid out of bed. Okarun gritted his teeth as he shuffled down the hallway of the empty apartment. His parents were not there, typical. He wasn't even sure where they were today, since they tended to go on and off on long trips without telling him anything.
It pissed him off.
Okarun stepped into the bathroom and flicked on the light. Wait, why did he feel so irritable right now? Usually he was pretty chill, not really caring where his parents were... not like they seemed to care about him after all. He was responsible, he could take care of himself... not like he really had a choice. Hell he couldn't even remember the last time he had a real conversation with them. They could at least have the basic decency to tell their own son where they were going!
Okarun stepped into the bathroom and switched on the light, making himself wince from the sudden brightness. Trudging over to the sink, the cold floor tiles rapidly drained all the warmth from his bare feet. He turned on the faucet to let the water heat up, and reached for his washcloth only to grab air. Looking down, he saw the rag in a soggy pile on the floor. It must have fallen off the bar after his shower last night. “Great, now it’s going to smell like mildew.” He snatched it up and threw it in the sink, he was too tired to bother with a fresh cloth. One of the LED bulbs above the mirror is flickering for no good reason.
By now, the stream of water was finally nice and steamy. He furiously scrubbed his face then rinsed the sweat out of his hair. Now feeling slightly less exhausted, he toweled off. Okarun cleaned his glasses while he was at it, and slipped them onto his nose. Dammit, missed a smudge. He cleaned them again. That light keeps friggin’ blinking - come on, just ignore it.
Setting his blue-handled toothbrush on the counter, he grabbed his nearly used up tube of toothpaste and started squeezing the hell out of it. His herculean effort paid off with the barest minty smear on the bristles. Sighing, he tossed the spent tube in the trash and jammed the brush in his mouth. While hardly refreshing, the rhythmic sound of the bristles was calming, a small moment of order. He gargles and spits, then rinses his brush and moves to put it back in the holder. It slips from his fingers, and clatters to the floor, and what is wrong with that DAMN LIGHTBULB!?!
A jolt of rage shot through him. This wasn’t mere annoyance, but a visceral surge of white-hot anger. His thin hands clenched into fists, “What is happening? Why? Why is every STUPID thing going wrong?”
It wasn’t just the awful nightmares, or his shitty parents, or the icy floor, the stinking rag, the dirty toothbrush, or even the glitching light. It was the way Momo looked at him now, like someone she didn’t even know, like someone she didn’t want to know... because he was a creep! It was the weight of powerlessness, the constant feeling that the universe itself was conspiring against him, testing him, breaking him down piece by piece.
With a loud, guttural snarl he punched the bathroom counter as hard as he could. The impact made something in his wrist crunch, but he didn’t register the pain. When he pulled his bloodied knuckles back, the ceramic was cracked where he’d struck. Barely visible, undeniably there, yet entirely unnoticed by him.
His eyes were fixed on the mirror.
Because for a split second, less than a breath, less than a heartbeat... he thought he saw it.
His eyes. A glint of crimson red light.
He froze, it felt like his heart stopped.
His tired eyes squinted at his reflection, searching, waiting. He seemed normal? Brown, haggard, bloodshot, same as always. Nothing different. Nothing strange.
“Don’t be silly, Ken.” he whispered, voice hoarse and barely audible. “It’s just stress, nerves, the usual overthinking. You’ve been dwelling on the past too much.”
But even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t just that. He admitted to himself now quietly, shamefully how much he missed the power he’d had when he possessed Turbo Granny’s abilities. The speed that made the world blur into streaks of color, the strength that let him punch through concrete like it was paper, the energy crackling under his skin like lightning ready to strike. Back then, he had felt invincible. Back then, he had felt like he could protect everyone like he could stand between Momo and the world and say, You will not touch her. Not while I’m here.
But now? Now he was just Okarun! Just an awkward, hopeless, powerless guy who tripped over his own words and couldn’t even look a girl in the eye without turning red. And Momo sweet, confused Momo, the one person who had ever really seen him had looked at him with anger in her eyes and called him a creep.
That word had cut deeper than any blade, deeper than any claw or fang he’d ever faced. It wasn’t just the insult; it was the fear behind it. The way her voice had shaken. The way she had backed away from him like he was something dangerous.
Because he hadn’t been trying to scare her. He had been trying to save her from the yokai that lurked in the shadows, from the aliens who saw humans as nothing more than test subjects, from the humans themselves: cruel, selfish, unpredictable. They were all the same in the end. Just different masks over the same violent instincts. A faint line, easily blurred. And he had no way to stop any of it now. No speed to outrun it. No strength to fight it. No power to shield her.
He needed to protect her. From everything. From everyone. From the monsters. From the world. From himself, if that’s what it took. Because deep down, he knew he was flawed too. Clumsy. Obsessive. Too intense. Maybe she was right to be afraid.
But he couldn’t. Not without power.
And now even the small rituals of normal life brushing his teeth, putting the brush away were failing him. His hands shook too much. His mind wouldn’t focus. It felt like the world was slipping through his fingers, grain by grain, and he couldn’t clench his fist tight enough to hold onto any of it.
Then a worse thought struck, cold and sharp: What if she never gets her memories back?
The idea hit him like a punch to the gut. What if the Momo who had laughed with him, fought beside him, trusted him was gone forever? What if this new Momo, the one who looked at him like a stranger, was all that was left? What if every moment they’d shared the late nights talking about aliens and ghosts, the way she’d grabbed his hand, the quiet understanding in her eyes when he’d admitted he was scared was erased? Just… gone.
Panic flooded his face. His breath hitched. Tears welled up, hot and sudden, and he couldn’t stop them. He began to cry, not in loud sobs but in quiet, choking gasps, He felt like the whole world was abandoning him. Truly, utterly alone.
He had finally found a little peace. A little happiness. Someone who knew him really knew him and didn’t turn away. Someone who cared, even when he was at his most ridiculous. And now it was ripped away by forces he couldn’t see, couldn’t understand, couldn’t fight.
Part of him wanted to scream until his throat bled. Part of him wanted to tear the world apart, to find those forces and destroy them, to make them pay for taking her from him. To make them give her back.
But what good would that do?
Momo would still be afraid of him.
His power would still be gone.
He would still be just Okarun.
So he turned off the bathroom light, left the toothbrush on the floor where it had fallen, and walked out.
Each step felt heavier than the last, like his legs were made of lead.
He entered the living room, the dim glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtains in pale orange stripes. He flipped on the light, and he flopped onto the couch, the cushions sinking beneath his weight with a tired sigh. He reached for one of his occult magazines on the table, something familiar, something safe but his fingers brushed the cover and let go. He didn’t have the energy. He didn’t have the focus. Even the things that used to excite him felt hollow now.
Instead, he curled onto his side, pulling the thin blanket over himself. He pressed his face into the cushion to muffle the sound.
Tears welled up again, silent and relentless. And he cried himself to sleep, small and quiet and utterly defeated.
========== Momo's nightmare=============
Momo could not sleep that night. Her heart pounded like a war drum in her chest as she lay in bed, fingers clutching the edge of the blanket like it was the last solid thing in a world dissolving beneath her. The room was dark too dark and the silence wasn’t peaceful. It was waiting. Every time she closed her eyes, the images surged forward like a tide.
At first, it was just shadows. Then they moved. They took shape: tall, slender figures, the aliens coming after her in the street. That damn mummy on a bicycle. She still didn’t want to believe it but aliens! And not just aliens, but him. That stupid, four-eyed, UFO-obsessed boy. Okarun. “What a dumb name,” she thought, the words bitter on her tongue even in her own head. “He wouldn’t even tell me his real name. Like it’s some big secret, like he’s hiding something important from me. Or maybe… maybe he just didn’t trust me enough to share it. Whatever. It’s stupid. He’s stupid.” Momo trailed off. And yawned. Momo closed her eyes, and fell asleep.
Momo woke up sitting on the street. Pitch-black shadows darted everywhere. And there he stood at the edge of the dream, just beyond the crumbling ledge of reality, his glasses glinting with unnatural light. He didn’t speak at first. He just watched. Then, as the floor gave way beneath her again, always again, he stepped forward. Without effort, he caught her in his arms, cradling her as if she weighed nothing.
She hated it.
How his touch, even in a nightmare, felt… safe. Safe like nothing could touch her, like the chaos couldn’t reach her as long as he was there. And that terrified her more than the falling. Because why did her stupid brain keep doing this? Why did it keep putting him in the role of savior when she didn’t need saving? When she didn’t want him there at all?
And then his face changed.
A mask formed around it cracked, grinning, grotesque, with big teeth stretched too wide. His eyes burned like embers, glowing red in the dark. The voice that came from him wasn’t his own. It was low, guttural, “I got you, babe.” “I miss you.”
She jolted awake, breath sharp, skin crawling.
“No,” she muttered, punching her pillow. “No, no way.”
She was getting pissed.
But this? These dreams? This mess in her head?
It wasn’t just the aliens. It was him. It was the way her mind twisted him into something monstrous. Something… longing. Like even her nightmares couldn’t let him go without turning him into some dark, possessive thing that wanted her. And the worst part, the absolute worst was that some traitorous corner of her heart whispered back, What if that’s not just a dream? What if that’s how it was?
And worse she didn’t know if it was her fear, or something deeper. Something buried so deep she couldn’t dig it out, no matter how hard she clawed at the blank spaces in her memory.
She tossed onto her side, glaring at the ceiling.
“I don’t miss him,” she growled, the lie tasting sour even as she said it to the empty room. This stupid, creepy dream version of him with a cursed mask and a voice from hell? In the back of her head, she kind of found it sexy, the raw edge, the intensity, the way it made her skin prickle. Like danger wrapped in something she couldn’t name. But she wasn’t going to admit that to herself. No way. Not ever. Because admitting it would mean admitting she cared. And she didn’t. She couldn’t.
She sat up, frustration boiling over.
“That’s it,” she snapped, “I’m done.”
She grabbed her pillow and hurled it across the room. It smacked against the wall and slid to the floor.
“Tomorrow,” she said, pointing at the spot where the pillow had hit, “I’m going to find that idiot. I’m going to grab him by the collar, look him dead in those stupid glasses, and say…”
She paused, imagining it.
“I’ll knock that grin right off your face, moron!”
She crossed her arms, satisfied.
And then, just for a second, she smiled.
Because even in her anger, even in her exhaustion, she knew one thing: she couldn’t wait to see him again. And that truth sat heavy in her chest, like a stone she couldn’t spit out.
She stared at the clock, its red numbers glowing in the dark. 4:00 a.m. The house was silent, the world outside still wrapped in the hush of the deepest night. It was far too early to get up the kind of hour meant for dreams, not wakefulness. Yet there she lay, rigid beneath the thin blanket, eyes wide open, jaw clenched so tight it ached. Sleep? Impossible. Not with the storm raging inside her.
She swung her legs around and lifted herself off the bed, stretching into a big yawn. Her hair was messy, her face grumpy. She grumbled to herself.
She blamed him. Okarun, that dummy! If he’d just left her alone if he’d respected the wall she’d built none of this would have happened. She’d be curled in bed, breathing slow and steady, lost in some quiet dream instead of lying here, heart pounding like a trapped bat. But no. He’d shown up, bold and brash , with that confidence, acting like they had some kind of history, like they could just… go on a date. As if her amnesia were a minor inconvenience, not a void. As if he could just fill in the blanks with his own version of her life.
And that’s what made the disrespect worse. Did he think that just because she couldn’t remember things even if her life depended on it, she’d fall for some guy who waltzed in like he owned her story? She was that desperate? That broken? Like he was trying to write himself into a chapter he hadn’t lived. Like he was forcing his way into a heart that didn’t even know if it had room for him anymore.
But then just for a second doubt crept in, cold and quiet, like moonlight slipping through a crack in the blinds.
Maybe… maybe I’m being too harsh.
The thought startled her. Was she? Could she be painting him as a villain just because she was scared? Because the unknown terrified her? Because letting him in might mean admitting that something was missing that she was missing something? Her fingers curled into the sheets, knuckles whitening. Maybe… maybe she should try. Not for him. For herself. To stop living in this haze of anger and confusion. To stop pushing away the one thing that kept slipping through the cracks, warm and insistent, like it belonged there all along.
She closed her eyes, shutting out the accusing red glow of the clock. She breathed in slow, deep then let it go. She reached into the void of her memory, searching, sifting through the static. At first, nothing. Just darkness. Then an image flickered.
A boy. Thin, almost fragile-looking, hunched over a desk. His hair, a bowl cut, uneven, like it had been hacked with kitchen scissors fell over his eyes. Around him, laughter. Cruel, sharp. Paper wads crumpled, jagged flew through the air, pelting his shoulders, his back. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look up. He just kept reading. A magazine…
Her breath caught.
Was that… him? That quiet endurance, that stubborn refusal to break did it feel familiar because it was him? Because somewhere, deep down, she’d seen it before? Protected it? Wanted to stand in front of him and shout at the world to back off?
“GOOD MORNING, Momo…”
Momo stiffened and let out a high-pitched squeak, startled.
Vamola opened the door calmly, her voice like honey drizzled over sunlight, warm and impossibly sweet. She stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the hallway light, somehow both absurd and endearing.
“You’re up early,” Vamola continued, tilting her head slightly, like a curious bird. “I’ll make breakfast. I heard you moving around and thought I’d offer. How about sausage and eggs? I’ll even fry an extra egg for you, the runny kind. Your fave!”
Momo opened her mouth to respond, but the words dissolved before they could form. Her mind was still sifting through the fragmented thoughts. “Ummmm…” she hummed.
The memory slipped through her fingers like smoke. She frowned, the weight of something missing pressing against her skull. Not a name. Not a face. Just… a feeling. A warmth. A boy. A hollow ache that whispered, You knew him. You cared. And now he’s gone, and it hurts more than you’ll let yourself feel.
She sighed, long and heavy, the kind of sigh that carried the burden of unfinished thoughts and unresolved irritation. “Good morning,” she muttered, more out of obligation than politeness. Her voice was rough and unimpressed.
She didn’t remember agreeing to live with Vamola. She didn't remember why. Grandma was okay with it, though. Vamola was here, in this house, acting like they shared some kind of sisterly bond. But she was undeniably… nice. Too nice. Suspiciously nice.
And then there was the smell: fresh sausage sizzling, eggs cooking slowly over low heat. Momo’s stomach growled, betraying her grumpy exterior.
She wouldn’t argue. Not today. Not when breakfast was on the line.
Maybe food would help. Maybe the caffeine would claw its way through the mental static. She reached for the coffee pot on the counter, poured herself a cup black, no sugar and gulped half of it down before her brain even registered the burn.
Two cups. Maybe three. That’s what she needed. Then she’d figure out why her chest ached every time she thought about… him.
Okarun!
Some boy. Some dumb, stupid, obnoxious boy with messy hair and a ridiculous name. A nervous smile. A hand gripping hers. A voice, soft but determined, saying something important. Something that made her heart stutter. Something that felt like it could have been everything. The simple words ringing in her head: "I love you.”
“Ugh,” she groaned, slumping forward onto the table. “Creep!…” she muttered under her breath, though the word felt wrong the moment it left her lips. It wasn’t anger she felt. It was… a loss. Confusion. Like she’d misplaced something precious and couldn’t even remember what it looked like. Like her heart knew the shape of it, but her mind refused to see.
She stared into her coffee, watching the steam rise, wondering why the words “I love you” kept echoing in the silence of her mind. Soft. Insistent. Familiar. Like they’d been said to her once maybe by him and now they haunted her, refusing to fade even when everything else had.
She stared into her coffee, watching the steam rise, the words "I love you" kept echoing in her mind.
======== The next day at school========
The morning sun filtered weakly through the thick layer of clouds, casting a dull gray pall over Kamigoe High. The usual buzz of students laughing, shuffling papers, and shouting across the halls felt distant like it was happening behind glass. For Okarun, the world had narrowed to the pounding in his skull and the tight knot of anger coiled in his chest.
He sat slumped at his desk, glasses slightly askew, dark circles under his eyes betraying a night spent tossing and turning. His mind wasn’t on the teacher’s droning voice or the equations scrawled across the chalkboard. It was stuck on her. Momo.
Across the hall, in her own classroom, Momo wasn’t faring any better. Her usual sharp focus was gone; her pen hovered over her notebook without writing a word. Her eyes, normally alight with confidence and mischief, were clouded. She was pissed. She slammed her head down on her desk and groaned.
Momo’s besties, Miko and Kei, poked her with their pencils as if checking if she was dead.
“Earth to Momo!” Miko said.
Momo made a lazy finger-gun gesture at her own temple. “I’m okay. Just tired!”
Kei leaned over to Miko and whispered with a snarky grin, “It’s probably something to do with… you know who.” Little giggles escaped from both of them.
When the bell rang for break, a flood of students poured into the corridors like a rushing current. Okarun moved with it, hands stuffed into his pockets. Then there she was.
Beautiful as ever. Time seemed to stop when he saw her.
Momo.
She was halfway down the hall, her long hair swaying with each step, her sweater perfect, her expression carefully neutral. But he saw the flicker in her eyes when she noticed him. The way her breath caught.
They both turned their heads away at the same time. A low, bitter grumble escaped Okarun’s lips. Momo muttered something under her breath, probably a curse.
And then, something snapped.
Okarun spun on his heel, his sneakers squeaking against the linoleum. Enough. He wasn’t going to let this fester. Not again. He’d spent too long bottling things up, too long letting fear and pride keep him silent. He took one heavy step, then another, marching toward her with fists clenched.
But then she stopped.
And turned.
Their eyes met.
For a heartbeat, the world stilled.
Momo’s expression faltered. The anger melted, just for a second, replaced by something raw, something almost sad. Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something. Then she saw the fire in his eyes, the determination in his stride, and her face flushed crimson.
Without a word, she whirled around and bolted disappearing around the corner, her footsteps echoing faster and faster down the hall until she vanished into her classroom.
Okarun froze.
His chest heaved. The anger was still there, simmering but it was being drowned out by something else. Regret. Confusion. The image of her face hurt, vulnerable burned behind his eyes, looping like a glitchy film reel he couldn’t pause.
That look. Not the usual fire, the spark that always sets him off balance. This was different. This was the Momo who’d once laughed so hard at his stupid occult rants that tears streamed down her face. The Momo who’d grabbed his hand in the dark without thinking, fingers tight like she was afraid he’d vanish. The Momo who saw right through his nerdy defenses and still stuck around anyway.
He wanted to chase after her. To yell until his throat gave out. To apologize, to grab her shoulders and make her listen made her see that the anger wasn’t at her, not really.
It was at himself.
She had lost her memory of him. Every shared glance across a crowded classroom, every whispered promise under the flickering streetlights, every quiet moment when their hands had brushed and the world had felt a little less broken. But the worst was his I love you and their promise. Just Erased, like chalk wiped clean from a board. How could he be mad at her? He shouldn’t be. It wasn’t her fault she couldn’t remember the way his name used to sound in her mouth, soft and teasing, or the nights they’d spent arguing about aliens and ghosts until dawn broke and neither of them cared who was right.
The blame sat heavy on his shoulders, a weight he couldn’t shrug off for not protecting her better, for being one step too slow when whatever curse or monster had stolen those memories struck. For letting it happen.
But the evil things out there didn’t care about her blank slate. They were still coming. Still hunting her, And she didn’t even know why she should be afraid of.
The anger burned hottest at himself at every moment he’d been too slow, too weak, too stinking useless to stop the world from taking its pound of flesh from her. It clawed at his ribs like a living thing, demanding release, roaring in his ears until his vision blurred. But not at her. Never at her.
She didn’t deserve his venom, the sharp words that slipped out when fear twisted his tongue. She deserved better than his jagged edges and the open wounds he carried like armor. She deserved the version of him she couldn’t remember: the one who’d made her laugh until her sides hurt over his ridiculous occult theories, who’d stood between her and the darkness without hesitation, who’d known exactly how to make her eyes light up with that fierce, unbreakable spark.
He just wanted to keep her safe. To shield her from the evils he’d already faced the ones that still dragged him from sleep at 4 AM, sheets tangled and soaked with sweat, a scream caught behind his teeth. The ones that wouldn’t pause just because she’d forgotten them. He wanted to be the wall between her and every shadow that wanted to tear her apart, to shoulder all the darkness so she could stay in whatever fragile light remained.
But how could he make her understand? How could he explain that every harsh word, every overreaction, every time he pushed too hard or pulled away too fast it was fear wearing anger’s mask? That loving someone who looked at you like a stranger, who didn’t remember why your voice once made her feel safe, was like drowning in slow motion while the shore drifted farther out of reach? That protecting her now meant guarding a girl who met his worry with confusion or irritation, who didn’t know why his hands shook when danger got too close and every second of it carved another piece out of him?
Loving her still, even now, felt like holding his heart outside his chest raw, exposed, beating helplessly in the open air, just waiting for the next blow. He’d already watched the world crush it once. He couldn’t survive watching it happen again.
He couldn’t tell her any of that. The words would only sound like nonsense to her, or worse like pressure she didn’t ask for.
So he stood there, frozen in the empty hallway, the echo of her footsteps long faded.
Watching her walk away.
But then he remembered.
The plan.
Vamola sweet, clueless, star-eyed Vamola, who wasn’t entirely sure what a date would be if they all went on one, they would stop being angry.
Okarun thought about it for a second how sweet and innocent that was. That space-alien girl of the bunch, with her literal out-of-this-world perspective, was more sensible than they were being. In her own bizarre way, she was trying to fix what they couldn’t. What he couldn’t.
A bitter laugh rose in his throat, sharp and hollow.
Here he was angry, brooding, letting pride fester like a curse while a space-alien girl from another world was more emotionally intelligent than he’d ever be. She saw something simple and pure in bringing everyone together. Food. Laughter. No yokai, no fights, no stupid arguments born from feelings too big to name.
He hated how right she was.
The anger drained out of him like air from a punctured balloon. What was left wasn’t peace. It was empty. A hollow ache behind his ribs that pulsed with every heartbeat, whispering the same useless truth: You screwed this up. You always screw this up.
But also… hope.
A tiny, stubborn flicker refusing to die.
Maybe… just maybe… a day with his friends with her could untangle the mess in his head. Could remind them both of what they were fighting for, not against. Of the way things used to feel easy. Of the way her smile could still knock the wind out of him, even now.
He adjusted his glasses, took a deep breath, and turned toward his next class.
The fight wasn’t over.
==========Together after school=========
The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the schoolyard as the final bell rang. Kids spilled out into the courtyard, conversations filling the air.
Momo stood with her arms crossed, her expression carefully neutral, though her fingers tapped impatiently against her sleeve. She was trying and failing to look like she wasn’t scanning the schoolyard for a particular person.
Vamola stood right next to her, both hands clutching her backpack straps, a sweet smile on her face and those twinkly stars in her eyes.
Momo had asked Miko and Kei, her best friends, to come along. Kei, ever the instigator, slid up beside Momo with a sly grin.
“So… is he coming?” she murmured, her voice low and teasing, her eyes flickering toward the school entrance. “Oh… you know… Okarun.”
Momo’s head snapped toward her so fast it was a wonder it didn’t crack. Her glare could have melted steel.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut. “So shut it, Kei!”
Kei only grinned wider, turning to Miko with dramatic flair. “Ooooh, someone’s not happy.”
Miko sighed and rolled her eyes. “Drama…” She put her hand over her mouth, giggling. But they didn’t push further, at least not right now.
By the time they all met up, everyone had changed out of their school uniforms and into regular street clothes. There was no plan beyond simply spending time together, no pressure, no expectations. It was just a friends’ night out, something easy and casual. After all the stress they’d been through lately, none of them wanted anything complicated.
And honestly, that was more than enough.
Jiji strolled in like he owned the place, hands tucked into his pockets, a lazy smirk on his face, bopping to some tune in his head.
Aira followed close behind, flipping her hair with practiced elegance, though her eyes flicked toward the entrance.
Jiji asked about the others; it turned out Kinta had family obligations, and Rin had other plans.
And then Okarun appeared, shoulders tense , scowling firmly in place. He locked eyes with Momo the second he saw her, and the air between them crackled with unspoken tension.
Momo narrowed her eyes straight at Okarun, snapped her head to the side and huffed. He scoffed and looked away. Both were still unhappy with each other. Both started to open their mouths and point fingers at each other, to reignite the feud…
Jiji stepped forward and clapped his hands together with theatrical flair. “All right, fam!” he announced. “Since we’re all finally here, Aira and I want to treat everyone to a meal at the Starlight Kissaten.”
Aira smiled brightly.
Starlight Kissaten wasn’t just any café, it was a local legend. Nestled in the heart of Kamigoe City, it was a retro haven where the walls were lined with vintage manga, the shelves groaned under the weight of old game cartridges, and the hum of an arcade cabinet could be heard from the back room. They served rich, aromatic coffee, delicate teas, fluffy pastries, savory omurice, and the kind of parfaits that looked like they belonged in an anime opening sequence.
One by one, they nodded. Miko shrugged. “I’m in if they have those awesome ice cream sundaes.”
“Let’s go!” Jiji said, striking a pose.
===========The Walk To the Cafe============
The walk from school to the Starlight Café was about twenty minutes long enough for tensions to simmer, short enough that no one could escape the growing awkwardness. The autumn air carried a crisp chill, leaves crunching underfoot as the group moved down quiet suburban streets. Sunlight filtered through the golden canopy overhead, casting dappled shadows on the pavement. Birds chirped in the distance, a rare moment of peace in a world that had lately been anything but.
Aira Shiratori walked a little ahead, her steps measured and graceful, hands clasped behind her back like someone already convinced of her own composure. She cast a sidelong glance at Ken Takakura walking slightly behind her. Noticing him adjusting his glasses, his shoulders tense in that familiar way, as if he were always bracing for something. It made her chest tighten.
He’s so gentle. Too gentle for this world.
Her thoughts drifted, uninvited but cherished, back to the moment everything had changed. The memory of him standing his ground against Acrobatic Silky, terrified and shaking yet still placing himself between her and certain death. No hesitation. No expectation of reward. Just instinctive kindness. That was when she knew. That was when she fell in love.
And ever since then, Momo Ayase has been in the way.
Aira’s fingers curled slightly behind her back. Momo loud, reckless, brash in a way people mistook for confidence had been glued to Ken’s side from the start. Always teasing him, dragging him along, acting like his feelings were some kind of afterthought.
She doesn’t even treat him properly, Aira thought, irritation simmering beneath her calm exterior. She talks over him. Uses him. Pushes him into danger and calls it friendship.
Why can’t he see the difference?
Why can’t he see me?
Momo treats him like he’s convenient, Aira told herself. Like he’s just another boy who’ll follow her around.
But I would never do that. I see him. I protect him. I care.
That was the truth as Aira understood it. She didn’t want anything from him except his happiness. She would never take advantage of his softness, never exploit his loyalty, never make him feel small. Unlike Momo.
She didn’t hate Momo at least, that’s what she told herself. The sharp, burning jealousy was something else. Something justified. After all, wasn’t it natural to resent someone who didn’t deserve what they had?
What frightened her wasn’t Momo herself, but the way Ken looked at her sometimes. That warmth. That quiet trust. The way his eyes softened when Momo laughed or charged headfirst into danger like nothing could touch her.
Aira wanted that look.
No! She deserved it.
The words burned on her tongue, rehearsed and ready:
You don’t know him like I do.
You don’t see how much he carries.
You just pull him along and never stop to ask if he’s okay.
But she swallowed them down. Not now. Not here. Not with everyone around. Causing a scene would only prove her wrong, and Aira Shiratori was certain she wasn’t.
Jiji had asked her to help buy food, to try just for today to be friendly. To pretend they were normal teenagers instead of people constantly brushing against death. After everything they’d been through, he said, they deserved one peaceful day.
Annoyingly… he wasn’t wrong.
They all needed this. A pause. A breath. A moment without aliens, spirits, or fear. Just walking together. Just being friends.
Aira exhaled slowly.
Fine, she thought. If that’s what it takes.
For now.
She turned to Momo and forced a smile. “Hey… that shirt’s nice. Where’d you get it?”
Momo blinked, surprised. “Oh! Thanks. It’s from that new store near the arcade. The one with the ghost-themed mannequins? Kinda creepy, but the clothes are cool.”
Aira nodded, genuinely impressed. “It suits you.”
For a heartbeat, the tension lifted.
Vamola bounced between them, her wide eyes sparkling, her sweet smile bright. She didn’t yet grasp the complexities of human emotions she was still learning but she sensed when things were better, when the air wasn’t thick with anger or fear. She hummed a little tune, content just to be near them.
Behind them, Miko and Kei were deep in debate over something they’d eaten at lunch.
“I’m telling you, the new Pompey is amazing,” Miko insisted.
Kei rolled her eyes. “It’s gross. Tastes like someone mixed ketchup with motor oil. Who even approved this?”
Their bickering was familiar, almost comforting. Normal.
For the first time in weeks, the world felt ordinary.
Okarun walked along the sidewalk, footsteps slow but heavy, each one echoing like a muffled drumbeat. His shoulders were tense, hunched forward as if carrying an invisible weight; his jaw was clenched so tightly it looked ready to crack. His fists were balled at his sides, knuckles white, veins faintly visible coiled springs waiting to snap. A dark scowl carved deep lines across his usually calm face, his eyes fixed on some distant point ahead, unseeing, lost in a storm of churning thoughts.
Jiji flipped a coin into the air and caught it again, over and over, just to give his hands something to do. It was a bad habit of his to kill time when his thoughts got too loud.
That was when he noticed Okarun.
The anger rolling off him wasn’t loud or explosive. It was deliberate. Controlled. A simmering fury that made Jiji straighten instinctively, the coin freezing in his palm. His eyes narrowed as he followed Okarun’s rigid stare.
It led straight to Momo.
She had her back turned, talking quietly with Aira, shoulders stiff, posture tight. Even from behind, Jiji could tell something was wrong. Momo was never like that. Normally she filled space without trying bright, loud, electric. Now that energy was gone, replaced by a quiet tension that hung in the air like static before a storm.
Jiji didn’t like seeing his friends like this.
He’d seen Momo and Okarun argue before small fights, misunderstandings, the kind that came from being tossed into life-or-death situations with spirits, aliens, and everything else the universe seemed determined to throw at them. But this felt different.
This wasn’t awkward silence.
This was something broken.
He swallowed, a faint ache settling in his chest. He had never seen them like this before.
Without meaning to, Jiji’s thoughts drifted back to the first time he realized just how well they fit together. It hadn’t been during a battle, or when they stood back-to-back against something trying to kill them. It had been something small. Ordinary.
An evening at Momo's house.
Momo had laughed at one of Okarun’s awkward, half-muttered jokes, and Okarun, completely flustered, had looked at her like she’d hung the stars in the sky just for him. That look. Jiji had seen it before, in movies, in songs, in the way people looked at each other before they understood what they were feeling.
He’d almost said it out loud once.
You two are dating, right?
He never had, of course. But the thought had crossed his mind more than once.
Jiji wasn’t naïve. He joked too much, flirted with half the school, and definitely wasn’t the sharpest guy in class. But he wasn’t blind, either. More than anything, he just wanted people to be happy. That was why he played the clown, why he cracked jokes even when things were heavy because smiles mattered.
And when it came to Momo and Okarun, he saw it clearly.
He saw how Okarun, awkward and stiff as he was, always noticed when Momo was hurting sometimes before she did. How he stepped in quietly when her powers overwhelmed her, how he defended her without hesitation, how he told her, You’re not crazy, with such steady certainty that she believed it.
And Momo brought out something in Okarun no one else could reach. Around everyone else, he was stiff, buried in alien forums, talking like someone who’d memorized human interaction instead of living it. Around Momo, he stammered. Blushed. Laughed too loud. He was alive.
Jiji exhaled slowly and slipped the coin into his pocket.
A part of him ached.
Yeah, he liked Momo. He always had. Ever since they were kids, playing in the dirt, back when she talked about ghosts and he teased her for it before he learned the hard way just how strange the world really was. There had been a time when she’d looked at him with that kind of interest, impressed by what he knew.
But now she looked at Okarun that way.
And the truth was, Jiji couldn’t hate him for it.
If anything, he respected him.
Okarun was mature not in a boring, grown-up way, but in the way that actually mattered. He didn’t run from danger. He didn’t hide behind jokes. When Momo was in trouble, he didn’t hesitate. He fought. He thought. He sacrificed.
Jiji wished he could be like that.
Wished he didn’t need a cursed spirit just to feel strong. Wished he could say what he felt without turning it into a punchline.
But none of that mattered right now.
Right now, two people who meant the world to him and who clearly meant the world to each other were hurting. Whatever feelings he had, whatever regrets or quiet longing, they had to stay buried.
Because some fights weren’t about anger.
They were about fear.
And Okarun wasn’t just angry.
He was scared of losing her.
For the first time in a long while, Jiji wasn’t thinking about himself.
He was thinking about how to help.
He sighed softly, then forced a grin onto his face.
“Okarun,” he said, keeping his voice bright but careful, like he was tiptoeing through a minefield. “Hey, man. Have you read the new Witch Space Battle manga yet? I heard the first two volumes just dropped at Starlight. Thought it might be your thing.”
No response.
Okarun didn’t even blink.
Jiji stepped closer, his shoes scuffing lightly against the sidewalk. He leaned in. “Yo. Earth to Okarun.”
A slow blink. Then a flinch like someone being yanked back from another world. Okarun turned his head, eyes struggling to refocus, and shook it slightly, clearing the fog.
“Huh? Oh. Uh… no,” he muttered, his voice rough, like he hadn’t used it in a while. “I didn’t. What’s it about?”
Jiji let out a quiet breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Got him!
He didn’t want to see his friend like that.
So Jiji did what he always did when things felt too heavy he talked.
His face lit up as he launched into it. “Dude, it’s insane! These giant elemental-based robots, massive mechs powered by raw magic! And not just any magic. Each one’s tied to a different plane of existence. Fire, storm, void… even time-warping stuff! The art is straight fire. Page one and you’re already in the middle of this fight between a lava titan and a storm phoenix mech.”
He shrugged his backpack off and rummaged through it, pulling out a folded flyer from Starlight. He held it up like it was a treasure map. “See? This is the main character Harry Botter. Total nerd. Glasses, hoodie, always getting picked on at school. But at night?” Jiji pointed at the image of a sleek silver-and-blue mech crackling with lightning, its chest marked by a jagged thunderbolt. “He pilots this.”
He couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face. “The Volt Striker! It’s got a magic wand that doubles as a plasma blade, elemental guns that shift depending on the weather, and a core powered by storm magic. Like, actual lightning from the sky fuels it. And get this Harry doesn’t even know how he gets it. One night he’s doing homework, the sky splits open, and boom. A glowing orb crashes into his backyard. Next thing he knows, he’s signing a contract with a spirit named Zyra of the Tempest.”
Okarun stared at the flyer. His fingers twitched.
Jiji noticed. Of course he did.
Just a flicker but it was there. Curiosity, barely peeking through the anger.
“Mmm,” Okarun murmured. “Never heard of it. Sounds… intriguing.”
Jiji kept going, hope quietly blooming in his chest. “And it’s not just action, man. There’s depth. Harry’s all about responsibility. He doesn’t want power, but he has to use it anyway. He’s scared, but he still fights. Even when he loses. Even when his friends get hurt. He keeps getting back up.”
Okarun didn’t say anything, only adjusted his glasses.
Jiji softened his voice. This part mattered. “Look… I know you’ve been carrying a lot lately. With Momo. With the group. With everything feeling like it’s falling apart. I get it.” He hesitated, then pushed on. “But shutting down like this? That’s not you. You’re the calm one. The thinker. The guy who keeps the rest of us from flying off the rails.”
He leaned forward slightly, earnest. “And right now? We need that guy. We can’t start turning on each other. Not when everything’s already burning. We stick together. We always figure it out. Like Harry scared, yeah, but still standing.”
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then Okarun took a slow, shaky breath deep and unsteady, like someone surfacing after being underwater too long.
“…You really think this manga’s worth reading?” he asked. His voice was quieter now, but clearer.
Jiji’s grin came back instantly. “Dude. I think it’s exactly what you need. When we get to Starlight, I’ll buy you the first volume. And if you don’t like it?” He paused dramatically. “I’ll eat a cursed comic panel.”
A ghost of a smile tugged at Okarun’s lips.
“…Fine,” he said. “But if I hate it, you’re eating two.”
They started walking again, side by side, down the quiet city streets. The evening air was crisp but gentle, carrying the distant hum of traffic and the soft chime of a bicycle bell passing by. The tension that had crackled between them earlier sharp words, clenched fists, unspoken fears slowly dissolved, like mist under the sun.
With each block, laughter returned. Voices softened. Shoulders relaxed.
And for the first time in a while, Jiji felt like things might actually be okay.
Momo walked slightly ahead with Aira, glancing back every so often once, then again her eyes searching for him without fully understanding why. Each time, Okarun met her gaze. He didn’t smile. He didn’t look away. He simply watched her, his expression calm and unreadable, his dark eyes steady with a quiet intensity.
The third time she turned, their eyes caught and lingered a beat too long.
He saw the color rise in her cheeks, the way her breath hitched before she quickly faced forward again. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, pretending to listen to Jiji’s animated story about a raccoon stealing his hot dogs during a camping trip.
Okarun noticed everything.
His chest burned not with anger, but with resolve.
This is it, he thought. No more hiding. No more silence.
He had spent too long shrinking into the background, letting fear decide when he spoke and when he stayed quiet. He had watched Momo shoulder dangers she never asked for, charging forward while he hesitated, doubted, and held himself back.
Not anymore.
Even if she didn’t understand what was happening. Even if she never remembered what they’d shared. Even if she looked at him with confusion, distance, or nothing at all he would stay.
He would stand up for her. Fight for her. Give everything he had if it meant she stayed safe.
Not because she needed saving but because he loved her.
Because he chose her, whether she remembered him or not.
He wouldn’t run. He wouldn’t hesitate.
No matter what this new future looked like, Okarun would be there.
Always.
========== The Starlight Cafe=========
At last, they arrived.
Starlight Kissaten rose before them like a sanctuary carved from warmth and light. The building was modern yet inviting a sleek brick façade accented with cool blue steel trim, crowned by a luminous sign that read **STARLIGHT** in elegant cursive, the letters shimmering like stars dipped in liquid sapphire. A hand-painted wooden board stood near the entrance, adorned with whimsical planets orbiting a steaming coffee cup. “Welcome!” it read. “Try our Galaxy Coffee, a cosmic blend with hints of vanilla nebula and dark chocolate comet swirl. Or sip the Milky Way Tea, a creamy matcha dream dusted with edible stardust sugar.”
Below that: “Tonight’s Special: The Hitchhiker’s Dinner grilled miso salmon, jasmine rice, pickled vegetables, and a side of galaxy fries seasoned with nori meteor dust). And don’t miss Saturn sundae, our legendary oversized sundae with caramel black hole sauce, rainbow nebula sprinkles, and a comet whip topping.”
They pushed open the heavy oak door, and the world outside faded away.
Inside, the café had immaculate floors polished to a mirror sheen, tables wiped clean, every chair tucked in with care. The rich, earthy aroma of freshly roasted coffee beans curled through the air, mingling with the subtle sweetness of vanilla and caramel. The lighting was low and golden, cast from vintage-style pendant lamps shaped like crescent moons and tiny constellations. Warm wood dominated the space walnut barstools, oak tabletops, cedar shelves giving the place a cozy, grounded feel despite its celestial theme.
At the back, a retro arcade corner pulsed with soft neon: a row of classic cabinets, a TV hooked up to an old PlayStation 2, and a shelf lined with PlayStation games. Next to it, a quiet nook resembled a miniature library floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with manga, plush cushions on the floor, and a chalkboard sign that read: “Read while you wait. Return when done. No spoilers, please.”
And behind it all stood the bar, a long, polished counter of dark wood where a barista in a navy apron polished a glass with focused precision. Soft classical music played in the background.
They took their seats at the bar, sliding onto cushioned stools. They ordered quickly, our moods light, voices rising and falling like waves. Most of them chose The Hitchhiker’s Dinner, drawn by the promise of comfort and flavor except for Aira, who smiled and asked for avocado toast with a poached egg and a side of chili flakes, plus a Milky Way Tea, “with extra stardust, please.”
After the meal, the Saturn sundaes arrived massive glass bowls filled with layers of vanilla bean ice cream, strawberry comet swirl, chocolate black hole fudge, rainbow sprinkles, whipped cream comets, and a single maraschino cherry like a distant red dwarf star.
Jiji, even the bottomless pit Jiji could probably out-eat a yokai, ordered three.
“Three?” Momo asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re going to explode into sprinkles.”
“I am built for this,” Jiji declared, already digging into the first with the focus of a man on a mission.
He finished the second without issue. The third he attacked with reckless speed scooping deep, shoveling it in, eyes wide with determination. And then it happened.
A sharp gasp. He froze. One hand flew to his forehead.
“Brain freeze,” Okarun muttered
Jiji groaned, doubling over slightly. “Too fast… too sweet… I’ve seen the void…” He slumped slowly against the bar.
They all burst into laughter, Aira covering her mouth, Momo leaning on the bar, Okarun chuckling softly in a rare, genuine sound that made Momo glance at him again.
When the last spoon was laid down and the last drop of caramel black hole sauce scraped from the bowl, Aira reached for the bill without a word. She tapped her card on the reader, smiled at the barista, and said, “All set.”
Jiji and Okarun exchanged a quick look.
“Manga time?” Jiji asked, already halfway out of his seat.
Okarun nodded, and the two of them slipped off their stools and headed to the quiet glow of the library nook. Shelves towered around them, stuffed with every genre explosive shonen fights, gentle slice-of-life stories, wild fantastical epics that felt a little too close to the chaos we’d all lived through lately. Jiji dove right in, pulling out a new release and muttering about plot twists, character development, and whether the author was ever going to resolve that one cliffhanger.
Okarun trailed his fingers along the spines without really seeing the titles. His mind was still at the bar—Momo’s laugh echoing in his head, the way her eyes had flicked toward him when he’d actually chuckled. And beneath all of that, the quiet promise he’d made to himself: he’d be there for her, no matter how many yokai or aliens tried to tear their world apart.
He pulled a random volume off the shelf, flipped it open, and stared at the pages. A strange emptiness gnawed at his stomach. He’d just finished a full Hitchhiker’s Dinner and dessert on top of it. It wasn’t a small meal. Yet the hunger lingered, sharp and unexplained. He shook his head and pushed the feeling aside.
Back at the bar, Momo, Aira, and Vamola had stayed behind. Vamola—still wide-eyed at everything human—leaned toward Aira and asked her to teach her how to say the menu items properly. Aira, patient as ever, broke them down slowly. “Avocado toast,” she said, drawing out the vowels. “Not flat like a robot. Say it like you’re tasting it.” She went on about mashing the avocado with lemon and salt, toasting the bread until it crackled under your teeth, drizzling the olive oil like you were painting a masterpiece. Vamola repeated the words carefully, then mimed the motions with her hands, earning an amused laugh from the bartender.
In another corner, near the buzzing neon of the arcade cabinets and the rapid-fire clicks of joysticks, Miko and Kei had discovered the coin-flip challenge. A small plastic dome sat on a table, hiding a grid of tiny pedestals. The rules were simple: land a coin flat on one, and you won a mega bag of chocolate-covered espresso beans—crunchy, bitter-sweet, and dangerously addictive.
Kei went first. Flick. Miss. Flick again. Almost. She stepped back with a frustrated huff. Miko took her place, calm and unruffled. She didn’t overthink it just a gentle flick of her thumb.
Plink.
Dead center.
The dome chimed and flashed. The bartender handed over the prize with a grin. Miko tore open the bag, popped a handful into her mouth, then offered it around. Momo snatched a few, giggling as she crunched.
Kei narrowed her eyes. “How do you always win, Miko?”
Miko just shrugged, crumbs at the corner of her mouth. “Beginner’s luck. Again.”
We all knew it wasn’t beginner’s luck. It never was.
Momo leaned against the polished edge of the bar, fingers loosely curled around a mocha iced latte. The café’s golden lights drifted across the ceiling like lazy fireflies, and the air smelled of vanilla syrup and warm pastries. Laughter rose and fell around her, easy and bright.
For the first time in a long while, Momo was really smiling. Not a forced smile. This one felt soft at the edges, reached all the way to my eyes. Her shoulders weren’t tense. Her foot swayed idly beneath the stool. She felt… almost normal.
Just Momo.
And yet.
There was this quiet hollow inside her chest, a space no amount of laughter or sugar could quite fill. It wasn’t painful, exactly. More like an echo of something, like she’d lost something important that kept brushing against the edges of her mind, too faint to grasp.
It had been there ever since Momo woke up feeling like half her memories had been scooped out and thrown away.
Then, uninvited, his face slid into her thoughts.
Okarun.
The name alone sent a strange flutter through her, like a skipped heartbeat. Her fingers tightened on the glass. For one breathless second, the hollow in her chest warmed, softened, almost filled.
And then she remembered she was supposed to be furious with him.
She groaned under her breath, annoyed at herself. It’s just because he saved me, she told herself. That’s all. She pictured him glowing sword raised, face set with that ridiculous, stubborn determination and something twisted low in her stomach.
He’d looked… kind of incredible, kind of sexy, actually.
Wait! Hold up no. Stop. What am I even thinking? Gross. He’s a creep. A weird, smug, alien-obsessed creep!
She shook her head hard, as if she could shake the image loose. “No, no, no,” she muttered, barely audible over the café’s soft music.
Momo cleared her throat and sat up straighter. He’s just a creep, Mysterious, annoying creep.
But the memories or whatever scraps were left kept tugging at her anyway. Falling through endless dark space. The ground vanished beneath her feet. Insane aliens everywhere. And that massive whale exploding across the sky like something straight out of Kaiju No. 8 manga, one of her faves.
Was any of that real?
Or had her mind just stitched it together from manga panels and nightmares?
Everything felt too loud, too much. She couldn’t remember whole chunks of time. Some faces in her group still felt like strangers wearing familiar clothes. Even Aira when she wasn’t being her usual sassy jackass! seemed almost… nice. But I couldn’t place why we’d ever fought in the first place.
She took a slow, careful breath.
And whispered into the warm café air, so quietly no one could possibly hear:
“What is wrong with me?”
Across the room.
In the quiet hum of Starlight Kissaten, tucked behind the shelves of board games and the soft glow of the library nook, Okarun sat cross-legged on a cushion with a volume of *Harry Botter* open in his hands. Jiji had shoved it at him earlier, insisting it was a masterpiece. Jiji was reenacting some over-the-top battle scenes, complete with exaggerated poses and mouth-made “pew-pew” laser sounds.
He wasn’t seeing the pages. He wasn’t hearing Jiji.
All he could see was her.
Beautiful Momo.
Okarun shook his head, dark hair falling into my eyes. *Focus, Ken.* But her face kept sliding back in sharp eyes, that half-smirk she wore when she was trying not to laugh, the way her voice rose when she got worked up about something stupid like aliens versus ghosts.
“Hey,” Jiji said, dropping into a crouch across from him with a battered space themed Monopoly box. “You wanna play? Might get your mind off whatever’s eating you alive.”
Okarun hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”
The game started light trash talk, dramatic trades, Jiji snapping up every railroad like he was building a real empire. Okarun rolled dice without looking, bought properties on autopilot. When he landed on Jiji’s unimproved Boardwalk and Okarun went bankrupt, Okarun groaned.
“No way.”
Jiji leapt up, launching into his ridiculous victory dance—arms flailing, hips jerking like a broken robot. “The crown! The throne! The glory is mine!”
“Stop it,” Okarun muttered, but a reluctant laugh tugged at my mouth. “You look like a doofus.”
He didn’t stop. He circled the table, chanting some nonsense anthem.
Okarun barely heard him.
Because across the room, Okarun looked up and Momo was staring at him.
Not glancing. Staring.
Her eyes met his, wide and uncertain, and for once she didn’t look away immediately. Something nervous flickered across her face, like she’d been caught.
Every instinct screamed at him to go to her. To cross the room, take her hand, tell her it was okay that he remembered everything, that he'd protect her from anything, yokai or aliens or memory-eating curse. That he'd always be there.
But he couldn’t.
To her, Okarun was just the creep who’d gotten too close. The weirdo she’d forgotten.
Ken, a voice whispered in his head, his, but lower, rougher,. Go talk to her. Apologize. Fix it. It’s not too late.
Then another voice cut in cold, sharp, hungry. No. She started it. She laughed at you. She dared you into that stupid game. Why should you crawl? Make her feel it. Make her hurt like you’ve been hurting.
The second voice said wrong
It coiled under his skin like something alive, hot and restless, pushing at the edges of his control.
His pulse spiked. Heat flooded his face, and his chest, and he clenched his fists.
Okarun stood.
The cushion shifted under him. His knee bumped the Monopoly board; pieces scattered, hotels toppled. Jiji’s voice faded into static.
He didn’t care.
He started walking fast, deliberate steps, shoes striking the wooden floor hard enough to echo. His jaw was tight, teeth grinding. The anger surged, sudden and ugly, and he didn’t know how much of it was his anymore. Part of me wanted to yell. To demand why she’d forgotten. To make her feel even a fraction of this hollow, burning ache that had lived in his chest since she woke up not knowing him.
Three steps.
Four.
Then
Thud.
A blur of blonde hair, flying chocolate espresso beans, and wide startled eyes crashed straight into Okarun's chest.
“Miko!”
She stumbled back, rubbing her belly with a groan. “Ugh… too many espresso beans… I think I’m dying… caffeine poisoning… send my love to my parents…”
Okarun blinked, the red haze in his vision flickering like a dying ember.
“What?” Kei snapped. “You ate the whole bag? Again? You dumbass! Geez!”
Miko gave a weak thumbs-up.
Jiji sighed, already packing up the game. “You’re gonna crash hard.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Kei said, stepping in and draping Miko’s arm over her shoulder. “Come on, doofus. I’m taking you home before you start vibrating through the floor.”
Miko tried to wave at the group, but her arm flopped halfway, and she giggled. “Later… guys…”
Okarun stood there, frozen mid-step, the echo of his own fury suddenly feeling alien misplaced. The way he’d charged toward Momo, the venom in his thoughts hit him now like a delayed shockwave.
That wasn’t him.
Not really.
When had he become someone who walked around with a storm coiled under his skin?
His breath came uneven, the fire in his chest cooling into something heavier regret, maybe. Relief. Or just a hollow emptiness he didn’t know how to name.
He watched Momo from the corner of his eye.
She was still looking.
But now, there was a question in her gaze.
He didn’t look away.
There was only a low, quiet silence between them thin and fragile, like the calm before a
storm.
“Okarun?”
The voice cut through the fog.
Jiji was standing right in front of him now, eyes wide with concern. “Dude, are you okay? You just… stopped talking. Mid-sentence. Then you just walked off, like you were sleepwalking or possessed or something.”
Okarun blinked slowly, like he was surfacing from deep water.
“Ummm…” he started, his voice thick, uncooperative. “Yeah. Yeah, I think… I’ve just been stressed lately. My mind’s been… wandering. Drifting.”
He exhaled, long and shaky, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Jiji. I didn’t mean to space out like that. Or… leave like a jerk. That wasn’t cool.”
Jiji studied him in silence for a beat. “Are you sure you’re good? You looked… different. Cold. Like you weren’t even here.
Okarun nodded, but the motion felt hollow. “I think… I need to go home. Clear my head. Figure some things out.”
Jiji didn’t push. He just clapped a hand on Okarun’s shoulder. “Alright. Just… hit me up later, yeah? Don’t disappear into the void.”
“Yeah,” Okarun said quietly. “Thanks.”
He started to walk out, slow and heavy, but he turned, his gaze catching Momo’s one last time.
She was still watching him silent, her beautiful eyes searching his face like she was trying to read a book written in a language she didn’t know.
He held her stare, and in the silence between them, he whispered only in his mind:
I’m sorry. I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to hurt you.
Then he turned to leave.
But before he could take more than a step, Momo reached out.
“Wait a minute,” she said.
He froze. Turned.
She opened her mouth maybe to comfort him, maybe to ask what was really wrong, maybe just to say stay.
Then
The lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
And then darkness
==========Into the Darkness===========
Not just the café outside too. The street, the sky, the world itself plunged into black.
The hum of the city vanished. Distant sirens. Laughter from the bar next door.All of it is gone. What remained was silence. Heavy. Absolute.
And the people strangers at nearby tables, the barista behind the counter, the couple arguing by the door were gone as well. Vanished. As if they had never existed.
Only their group remained.
Frozen. Breathing.
Okarun’s heart slammed violently against his ribs.
“No,” he whispered.
Then, louder “Damn it!”
He spun, fury erupting as he slammed his fist into the wall. Pain shot up his arm, sharp and immediate, but he barely felt it.
“The aliens are back?!” he roared, his voice echoing through the unnatural void. “Again?! Can we not, can we just not have one single day where we get to be normal? Where we don’t have to look over our shoulders? Where we don’t have to fight for every damn breath?!”
He turned toward the sky or what remained of it glaring into the emptiness, into whatever unseen force had stolen their peace yet again.
“Why do you keep doing this?!” he snarled, his voice trembling with rage and something deeper, rawer. Grief. “We’re not your toys! We’re not your experiments! We’re people! Can’t you just leave us alone?!”
Momo, Okarun, Jiji, and Aira rushed outside together, their footsteps echoing too loudly in the dead air. As they reached the open street, Jiji’s breath caught.
“Wait… where’s Vamola?”
She was gone.
For some reason, she hadn’t been pulled into the darkness with them. Jiji frowned, confusion twisting in his gut. Was it because she wasn’t wearing her kaiju suit? Had that kept her anchored to the real world?
“What is happening?” Aira said, her voice
tight. “This empty space… it looks wrong.”
As if answering her, the void above them shifted.
The pitch-black sky didn’t merely change. Like ink dissolving into water, the darkness bled into swirling hues of violet, emerald, and molten gold. A vast cosmic nebula bloomed outward, stretching impossibly far, its colors churning and folding in on themselves. Stars ignited within it, pulsing like living hearts, their light refracting in prismatic waves across the
air.
It was beautiful.
And deeply, horrifyingly unnatural.
Then, with a sound like shattering glass, the nebula cracked.
The sky fractured into glowing, crystalline shards that broke free and began to fall. Not like meteors, but like embers drifting from a dying fire spiraling downward in slow motion, trailing sparks like handheld sparklers caught in the wind. The air vibrated with power, humming low and violent, the sharp scent of ozone burning their lungs.
And then silence.
A single heartbeat of stillness.
With a thunderous rip, a colossal portal tore itself open in the heavens. Its edges were jagged and raw, veins of crimson light spiderwebbing across its rim, pulsing in time with arcs of icy blue lightning. At its center yawned an abyss blacker than night itself, a void that seemed to drag reality inward.
From within it, something emerged.
A ship.
It defied logic and reason alike.
Massive and elongated, it moved with a slow, deliberate grace like a steampunk leviathan breaching the surface of the sky. Its hull was forged of obsidian-black metal and gilded brass, rivets lining its surface like scars. Exposed sections revealed turning gears and rotating mechanisms, grinding and clicking as if the vessel itself were alive. Smoke curled from exhaust vents, spilling blue flame that flickered against the void.
At its center loomed a massive dome made of shimmering, rainbow-hued crystal. Light pulsed within it, slow and rhythmic, like the beat of a colossal heart.
“What… is that?” Aira whispered.
“It’s kind of…” Jiji swallowed. “Cool.”
Before anyone could react, thick black tendrils began to drip from the ship’s underbelly. They oozed downward like living shadows, viscous and wet, striking the ground with sickening splats. The substance writhed, twisting and reshaping itself, rising into two towering figures.
They were nightmares given form.
Tall and grotesquely thin, their limbs elongated with too many joints, bending in ways that made the eyes ache. Their bodies were a fusion of flesh and machine rusted metal fused directly into pulsating muscle, gears grinding where organs should have been, veins glowing faintly beneath cracked plating.
Their eyes locked onto the group.
One burned red.
The other glowed icy blue.
They spoke.
The words slithered through the air, guttural and wrong, syllables that didn’t belong to any human tongue. The sound vibrated through bone and marrow, making teeth ache and skin crawl.
Momo stepped forward, fists clenched despite the fear clawing at her chest. “What do you want?” she demanded.
Okarun moved instantly, stepping in front of her as the Ogre Club materialized in his hands with a crack of raw energy. “Yeah!” he shouted, voice raw and shaking. “Can you just leave us alone?! We haven’t done anything to you, damn it!”
The creatures didn’t respond.
They simply tilted their heads in eerie unison, their alien voices continuing, droning endlessly.
Then movement.
One of the creatures lashed out, a tentacle-like limb snapping toward Momo like a whip.
THWACK!
Okarun swung the Ogre Club sideways, intercepting the strike. The impact sent shockwaves rippling through the ground as the tendril recoiled, black fluid oozing from the impact point.
“You assholes!” Okarun growled, eyes blazing. “Go back where you came from!”
Aira didn’t hesitate. With a flick of her wrist, her spirit power activated, her body shimmering as she transformed into Acrobatic Silky sleek, fluid, built for speed. She lunged forward, twisting through the air like a dancer, delivering a spinning kick straight into the red-eyed creature.
It vanished.
One moment it stood there the next, it dissolved into mist, evaporating like smoke. Aira’s attack passed through empty air.
“They’re dodging my attacks!” she shouted, flipping back, frustration flashing across her face.
The blue-eyed creature reacted instantly. A segmented steel tendril shot forward, wrapping around Aira’s ankle. She cried out as it yanked her off her feet.
Then the mist returned.
It rose thick and unnatural, coiling around her like a living serpent before swallowing her whole.
“Aira!” Momo yelled.
“NO!” Jiji shouted.
Okarun roared, swinging wildly, but the mist was already fading
Along with Aira.
Gone.
The two creatures stood motionless once more, their eyes glowing beneath the fractured sky. Above them, the rainbow crystal dome pulsed once, twice like something inside was awakening.
Jiji didn’t hesitate. His body twisted midair, transforming into Evil Eye, power surging through him as his vision burned through the fog, searching.
Okarun moved like thunder.
With a roar that shook the ground, he swung the Ogre Club crackling with energy over his shoulder and lunged forward, shielding Momo as he brought it down in a brutal arc.
CRACK!
One of the creatures shrieked as its arm was severed clean off, black ichor spraying into the air like ink.
Fury ignited in Okarun’s eyes, burning red as if hellfire itself had taken root. “You’re going to regret that!” he bellowed.
He didn’t stop.
He couldn’t.
With another leap, he drove the club through the creature’s torso, splitting it down the middle like rotten wood. It exploded into smoke and ash but the victory was hollow.
Aira was gone.
Before he could draw breath, another tentacle thicker, faster snaked through the air and wrapped around Evil Eye.
Evil eyes grunted the sound was cut off... as the fog surged around him.
“No!!! Jiji!” Okarun yelled.
The mist closed in.
And Jiji vanished.
Only Okarun and Momo remained.
Okarun moved forward, fury blazing
Then Momo gasped.
He turned just in time to see a tendril coil around her wrist. Her eyes widened, tears spilling down her cheeks as the fog curled around her like a lover’s embrace. Her hand shot out towards Okarun.
“Okarun!” she cried, her voice breaking.
“NO!” Okarun lunged, fingers stretching desperately toward her but he was too late.
The mist swallowed her whole.
“MISS AYASE!!!”
The name tore from his throat like something feral and unchained. Panic flooded his veins, choking and absolute. His friends were gone. Taken. Erased.
He fell to his knees, fists slamming into the dirt.
And then he felt it.
Something cold. Wrong.
He looked down.
Black ooze thick, pulsing, alive, and it smelled putrid. It was seeping from the remains of the creature he had destroyed. It slithered over his shoes, crawling up his calves, clinging like tar. He tried to kick it away, but it held fast, spreading higher, consuming.
Then the mist returned.
It wrapped around him like a shroud, cold and suffocating.
Pain exploded through his body white-hot and blinding. It felt like needles of fire driven into every nerve, like his bones were being torn apart and rebuilt in reverse. He arched backward, screaming into the void, a sound filled with agony and rage.
His vision blurred.
The world twisted.
And then
Darkness.
Complete.
Absolute.
Okarun was gone.
https://www.tumblr.com/psychicmomo?source=share
Come and join us Discord we talk about Dandadan fanfics and fan art and the fandom. And a lot more have a good day.