Yuuji's steps came to a halt in front of an old house with faded paint. It wasn't too big, nor too small—just simple, with a slightly tilted wooden fence and wilting flower pots on the porch. The evening breeze carried the scent of damp earth, sweeping across the empty street.
He took a deep breath, steadying the darkness clouding his mind. He had visited several addresses today, and so far, every lead had led to nothing.
But he couldn't give up.
He knocked three times.
Footsteps echoed from within before the door creaked open, revealing a middle-aged woman with gentle eyes and a faint, welcoming smile. She wasn't too old, yet not quite young either—an age suspended somewhere in between, as if time had stopped at a single point.
Yuuji offered a polite smile. "Sorry to bother you. Do you have a moment?" The woman nodded without hesitation. "Of course. How can I help you?"
"My name is Itadori Yuuji," he said, pulling a slightly burnt photograph from his pocket. Despite the singed edges, the face in the picture remained clear. "I'm looking for information about this child. A few years ago, records show you were listed as a potential foster parent."
The woman took the photo, her brows knitting together. She stared at it for a long time—too long. Her eyes scanned every corner of the image, as if trying to recall something that simply wasn't there.
Then, she looked up.
"I'm sorry, dear," she finally said, her voice honest yet empty. "I don't know this child." Yuuji remained calm, though something inside him stirred—a creeping unease he had anticipated from the start.
"But according to the records," he pressed, "you once considered adopting them." The woman's confusion deepened. "Adopting? Me?"
"Yes."
She let out a small laugh, shaking her head. "That must be a mistake. I've never considered adoption."
Yuuji studied her in silence. There were no signs of deception—no nervous ticks, no hesitation in her expression. Nothing suggested she was hiding anything.
She truly believed what she was saying. And that was what made it even stranger. After a few seconds, he decided to shift the conversation.
"Then," he said, "what about that building over there?"
He pointed toward the ruins in the distance—what was supposed to be an orphanage, long abandoned. Its roof had collapsed, its walls barely standing, and wild plants had overtaken it, swallowing it like a forgotten secret.
The woman followed his gaze and frowned.
"Oh?" She chuckled, but there was hesitation in her voice this time. "That was an orphanage?" Yuuji turned to her sharply. "What do you mean?"
"As far as I know, that was just an unfinished building. A project that was abandoned before it was ever completed." A cold sensation crawled up Yuuji's spine.
"Unfinished?" he echoed, his voice almost flat. The woman nodded. "Yes. I've lived here for a long time, and I've never seen it function as an orphanage."
For a moment, the world felt too quiet. Yuuji remained still, letting her words sink into his mind. An unfinished building. Not an orphanage. Not a place for children. Not the place where he first met Reika.
Then if that was true… What had he been seeing all this time?
The evening sky had turned copper, casting a faint golden glow between the aging buildings. In a narrow alley drenched in long shadows, Yuuji leaned against the cold stone wall, his head lowered, breath heavy.
His hand lifted to his hair, fingers gripping the strands in frustration before raking through them aimlessly.
He had visited five houses.
Five different faces, all with the same expressions—confusion, ignorance, and an almost unnatural indifference.
"…What is this?" he muttered under his breath, almost a whisper. "Am I going crazy? Or are they?"
He tilted his head back, searching the slow-moving clouds for answers. But all he found was emptiness.
His fingers brushed against his jacket pocket, and before he realized it, a cigarette was already resting between his lips. With a mechanical motion, he pulled out a lighter, flicked it on, and took a deep drag.
The first inhale felt foreign—harsh, hot, uncomfortable. But he didn't care. Hell, maybe this was better.
His thoughts spun in a dark whirlpool, swallowing his reason bit by bit. Everything he knew about the orphanage, about Reika, about the children who had lived there—it had all been erased, reduced to ash by someone's hand.
No one remembered.
Nothing remained.
Nothing was real.
Yuuji closed his eyes, exhaling a long breath, letting the smoke curl into the narrow alley air. Then—footsteps. They stopped at the mouth of the alley.
He didn't react at first, still lost in his thoughts—until a voice cut through the silence.
"Heh."
Too casual.
Too familiar.
But with something sharp laced beneath it.
"You even dare to smoke now?"
Yuuji's eyes snapped open.
His head turned sharply, and there—standing with arms crossed and an almost mocking smirk—was Maki Zenin.
She looked… different.
Taller? Maybe.
More defined, her muscles visibly carved beneath her clothes? Definitely.
Stronger? Without a doubt.
But that wasn't the most striking thing about her. It was her aura. The old Maki had always felt like a raging fire, ready to burn down anything in her way.
But now… That fire didn't just burn—it melted, crushed, and destroyed. Yuuji swallowed hard. Shit. This wasn't the same Maki he remembered.
On instinct, he hastily flicked the cigarette away, stomping out the tiny ember with his shoe before letting out an awkward laugh. "Ahaha… Busted, huh?"
Maki smirked, her steps slow and unhurried as she walked closer. "Picking up Shoko's habits?" she teased, amusement flickering in her voice.
Yuuji could only scratch the back of his neck, completely at a loss for words.