The streets remained wet, and the air carried a faint chill left behind by the storm.
In a quiet apartment on the outskirts of the city, Sako sat alone by the window.
He wasn't really looking at anything.
He was simply watching the city lights reflected across the glass.
He raised his hand.
Then turned his palm over.
The wound he had received inside the laboratory was completely gone.
No scar.
No mark.
Not even a trace of the pain remained.
But the sensation itself had not disappeared.
That strange feeling when his body had begun repairing itself...
It was still stuck in his memory.
"Was that... regeneration?"
He couldn't think of another explanation for what had happened.
He stood and walked toward the kitchen.
He didn't want to try anything dangerous.
He only needed a simple answer.
He took out the first-aid kit and placed a few medical supplies on the table.
He stood there for a moment.
Then he made a shallow cut across the palm of his hand.
A drop of blood appeared.
He waited.
At first, nothing happened.
Then he felt a faint warmth spreading around the wound.
He watched as the skin slowly closed.
It took only a few seconds.
The wound disappeared.
He stared at his hand.
He opened and closed his fingers.
Everything was normal.
"...It works."
But the result didn't give him the relief he had expected.
The pain that accompanied the regeneration had been obvious, even from such a small injury.
He sat down and opened a small notebook.
He wrote:
Wound: Superficial.
Regeneration: Several seconds.
Result: Complete.
Then, after a moment, he added:
Pain: Severe.
He stopped.
Then added one final line:
The ability isn't free.
He closed the notebook.
There was no need to continue.
At least not now.
---
The next morning...
The P.S.A headquarters was busier than usual.
The sounds of communication devices echoed through the corridors.
Employees carried files from one department to another.
Doctors moved in and out of the medical wing.
Above it all, an intermittent alarm was coming from one of the monitors.
Haro was standing in front of the operations desk.
"What happened?"
One of the employees answered:
"We lost contact with Unit Seven."
Haro frowned.
"Completely?"
"Seven minutes ago."
"How many people are there?"
"Three."
He picked up the communication device.
"Send a support team."
"The nearest team needs twenty minutes."
He looked at the map.
Then sighed.
"Of course."
---
Unit Seven
It was a small observation station on the outskirts of the city.
A one-story building surrounded by a metal fence.
The mission had been simple.
Inspect an area where signs of infection had been detected, collect samples, and send them back to the laboratory.
But when the team arrived...
The door was open.
There was no one inside.
"Where is everyone?"
One of the agents entered carefully.
The monitoring equipment was still running.
The computer was left on.
Three cups of coffee sat on the table.
But their owners were gone.
Then a sound came from the back room.
Knock.
Once.
Then again.
One of the agents cautiously approached the door.
"Is anyone there?"
A weak voice answered.
"...Help me."
He opened the door.
One of the unit members was sitting on the floor.
He showed no obvious signs of infection.
But he was trembling.
"Where are the other two?"
He raised his head.
"I don't know."
"What happened?"
He remained silent.
Then said:
"We heard something outside."
"What?"
"A voice."
"A voice?"
He nodded.
"It was calling us by our names."
The team exchanged glances.
Before anyone could respond...
The lights went out.
---
Back at P.S.A headquarters, the report arrived minutes later.
Haro was reading it when Sako entered the room.
Haro looked up.
"A small mission turned into a problem."
"What happened?"
"Three people disappeared from an observation station."
He paused.
"Infected?"
"We don't know."
Haro handed him the device.
He read the report.
Then returned it.
"Did you send a team?"
"Yes."
"Good."
He was about to leave.
But Haro stopped him.
"Wait."
Sako turned.
"The location isn't far."
"Do you want me to go?"
"No."
Haro smiled.
"This time, I'll go."
Then he walked out.
---
The incident had nothing to do with anything either of them knew.
And no one at the P.S.A knew the reason yet.
That was probably a good thing.
Because the world didn't stop because of a single secret.
There were other areas.
Other infected people.
Other problems.
And sometimes...
Things happened that had nothing to do with the past haunting a particular person.
---
Several hours later, Haro returned.
There was a small scratch across his shoulder.
"What happened?"
One of the employees asked.
"Nothing."
"Did you find the missing people?"
Haro nodded.
"Two of them."
"And the third?"
He went silent.
Then said:
"He ran."
"He ran?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Haro looked at the report.
"Because he wasn't infected."
The employee raised an eyebrow.
"Then?"
"We don't know."
He said nothing else.
He simply placed the report on the desk.
At the bottom of the page was a single sentence:
The subject demonstrated abnormal resistance to infection.
Then the file was closed.
---
Later that evening...
The headquarters became quiet again.
Haro sat alone for a while.
He opened one of the old files.
It wasn't related to the observation station.
It was much older.
He turned through the pages.
Three classifications appeared:
Successful.
Failed.
Intermediate.
He stopped at the last one.
There were many names.
Some were no longer listed.
Some had been transferred.
And some...
Had no recent records.
There hadn't been a single survivor.
Nor had there been a single result.
The experiments were more complicated than that.
Some bodies had responded completely.
Some had collapsed.
And some had remained somewhere in between.
They survived...
But not in the way that had been intended.
Haro placed a finger over one of the names.
Then closed the file.
He said nothing.
---
On the other side of the city...
Sako sat inside a small café.
He wasn't thinking about the laboratory.
He wasn't thinking about the files.
He was simply drinking his coffee.
He watched the people around him.
A man reading a newspaper.
A woman talking on the phone.
A child trying to reach a piece of candy on the table.
An ordinary life.
A simple scene.
Yet he continued watching for a moment.
Perhaps because ordinary life had begun to feel distant.
Then he felt something.
It wasn't a clear memory.
Just a sensation.
The smell of freshly baked bread.
The warmth of sunlight.
And a woman's voice saying:
"Don't be late."
He froze.
---
Years Ago
He was a small child standing in front of the house.
His schoolbag was hanging from his shoulders.
He tried to fix the strap, but it slipped off.
His mother approached him.
"Let me."
She adjusted the bag.
Then knelt down and tied his shoelaces.
He looked at her.
"Am I going to be late?"
She smiled.
"You have ten minutes."
"But you said five."
She laughed.
"Then don't waste the other five."
He lowered his head.
"I don't want to go."
"Why?"
"The teacher is going to make me read."
"Are you scared?"
"No."
She raised an eyebrow.
"You're a terrible liar."
He gave a small laugh.
She placed a hand on his hair.
"Even if you make a mistake, nothing will happen."
"They'll laugh."
"Let them."
Then she stood.
"And when you come back..."
She looked at him.
"I'll be here."
He stopped at the door.
He turned around.
"Really?"
"Really."
"Don't forget to wait for me."
She smiled.
"I won't."
He left.
And the door closed behind him.
---
He returned to the present.
He remained silent.
He tried to remember her face.
It wasn't completely clear.
But certain details remained.
Blond hair.
Red clothes.
A gentle voice.
And a hand that always fixed his collar before he left.
Then the name appeared.
Slowly.
Toroki.
He whispered it.
"...Toroki."
He didn't know why the name had returned now.
But for the first time in years...
The past wasn't just a white room filled with machines and experiments.
There had been something else.
A home.
A school.
And a mother waiting for her child to return.
---
At P.S.A headquarters...
An employee in the archives was searching through an old file.
He stopped.
Pulled a folder from the shelf.
Then read the name written across the cover.
TOROKI
He stared at it for several seconds.
Then opened it.
The first page was extremely old.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Strange..."
He turned the page.
Then stopped.
At the top of the page was an old date.
Beneath it was the woman's name.
Toroki.
He slowly closed the file.
He didn't know that the same name had returned to someone else's memory that very night.
Outside, the first drops of rain began to fall.
Once again.
And as the city prepared for another night...
The past continued to move in silence.
Not behind a single person.
But behind more than one life.
And somewhere, inside an old archive that no one had opened in years...
There were more names.
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