
Chapter 4: Echoes of the Forgotten
Ren didn’t sleep that night. The photo of the girl—his anchor, as Yuki had called her—stayed clutched in his hand, the creases deepening with each passing hour. He couldn’t shake the feeling that if he let it go, he’d lose her forever.
By the time dawn broke, Ren had made up his mind. He didn’t know where to start looking for her, but something told him to go back to the rooftop.
---
The school was eerily quiet in the early morning, the halls empty save for the occasional echo of a janitor’s mop or the chirp of birds outside. Ren made his way up the stairs, his heart pounding harder with every step.
When he pushed open the door to the rooftop, the cold air hit him like a slap.
And there she was.
The girl from the photo sat on the edge of the roof, her legs dangling over the side. Her back was to him, her dark hair swaying in the breeze.
Ren froze. For a moment, he wondered if she’d vanish again, like she had before. But this time, she turned around.
Her eyes locked with his, and she smiled—a soft, bittersweet smile that made his chest tighten.
“You came,” she said, her voice just as he remembered: calm, yet carrying an unshakable sadness.
“I... I don’t know what I’m doing here,” Ren admitted, taking a cautious step forward. “But I think you do.”
The girl tilted her head, as if studying him. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
Ren blinked. “Should I?”
Her smile faltered, and she turned her gaze back to the horizon. “No. I guess not. They always make sure you forget.”
Ren stepped closer, his pulse quickening. “Who are you? Why do I keep seeing you?”
She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out something small and metallic—a locket. She held it up, letting the sunlight glint off its surface.
“This belonged to someone important to you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ren frowned. “What are you talking about? I’ve never seen that before.”
“You don’t remember because they took it from you,” she said, clutching the locket tightly. “But it’s the only reason I’m still here.”
Ren stared at her, frustration bubbling up. “What do you mean, ‘they’? Who’s doing this? Why does everyone lose a week of their lives every year?”
The girl looked at him, her expression unreadable. “You’re asking the wrong questions, Ren.”
“What does that even mean?” he snapped.
She stood up, balancing effortlessly on the edge of the rooftop. Her gaze was distant, as if she were looking at something far beyond the school grounds.
“Ask yourself this,” she said. “Why are you the only one who remembers me? Why do fragments of the Forgotten Week cling to you when they fade for everyone else?”
Ren opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. He didn’t have an answer.
The girl sighed and stepped down from the ledge, walking past him. For a moment, he thought she was going to leave again, but she paused beside him.
“Find the locket’s other half,” she said. “It’ll lead you to the truth.”
Before Ren could ask what she meant, she placed the locket in his hand and disappeared. Not like someone walking away—but like a shadow fading as the light changed.
---
The Hidden Room
Ren didn’t remember much about the rest of his day. The locket stayed in his pocket, its weight a constant reminder that the girl wasn’t just a figment of his imagination.
When the final bell rang, he found himself wandering again, his feet carrying him aimlessly through the town. He didn’t realize where he was going until he stood in front of the bookstore.
The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow when Ren walked in. “Back again? You really like punishment, huh?”
Ren ignored him, heading straight for the back of the store. He half-expected Yuki to appear again, but this time, she didn’t.
He was about to leave when he noticed something odd: a door, half-hidden behind a stack of books. He could’ve sworn it hadn’t been there before.
Curiosity burned in his chest. He glanced around to make sure the shopkeeper wasn’t watching, then pushed the door open.
It led to a small, dimly lit room. The walls were lined with shelves, but instead of books, they were filled with objects: watches, keys, photographs, all worn and faded with age.
In the center of the room stood Yuki, her arms crossed.
“About time you found this place,” she said, her tone casual.
Ren narrowed his eyes. “Did you know I’d come here?”
“Let’s just say I had a feeling,” she said, gesturing for him to step closer.
Ren hesitated, then pulled the locket from his pocket. “Do you know what this is?”
Yuki’s expression shifted, her usual smirk giving way to something more serious. She took the locket from him, turning it over in her hand.
“Where did you get this?” she asked.
“The girl,” Ren said. “She gave it to me. She said it belonged to someone important.”
Yuki’s grip on the locket tightened. “Do you know what this means?”
Ren shook his head.
“This isn’t just a keepsake,” Yuki said. “It’s a key. There’s another half, and together, they unlock something—something the system doesn’t want you to find.”
“The system,” Ren repeated. “You keep talking about it like it’s alive.”
Yuki nodded. “Alive, no. Intelligent, yes. It was designed to keep us from remembering the Forgotten Week. But you and that girl? You’re proof that it’s failing.”
Ren felt a chill run down his spine. “What happens if it fails completely?”
Yuki looked him in the eye, her voice deadly serious. “Then the truth comes out. And trust me, Ren, the truth is worse than anything you can imagine.”