Memories

We climbed toward the upper lounge, quiet steps above the churning sea. Out on the top deck, the wind was sharp and smelled faintly of engine oil and salt. The sun had vanished, but the sky still held its lavender afterglow.

Down below, on the main deck, someone had turned up the speakers—an impromptu dance floor had formed.

The synths hit like neon sparks, high-tempo and nostalgic.

“That’s gotta be the new song,” I said, squinting toward the crowd. “Sylvie told me about it when we spoke last. ‘Memories’.”

He didn’t answer at first.

We leaned on the rails, watching the coast grow smaller in the distance. The beat carried from below—too fast, too bright, like a pulse trying to pretend everything was okay.

Ryoji smirked a little, then turned away from the railing, arms crossed. The wind tugged at his shirt. His shoulders were looser. Not relaxed exactly… but something closer.

It was the first time I’d seen him like that—truly unguarded.

Then, without looking at me, he said, “If you’re so keen on coming to see your father…”

“I told you,” I said, gently touching his arm again, firm in my voice. “I’m not turning back.”

He exhaled slowly.

“There’s a chance it’s a trap,” he said. “That we might all die in an ambush. And if all goes well…” He turned his head toward me, gaze steady. “Just knowing what took place could cost you your freedom. And you might have to hide the rest of your life.”

He exhaled slowly.

I didn’t answer immediately. The beat dropped again—punchy synths, sharp digital claps. Chika and Sendo had slipped into the small cluster near the speakers. Chika moved like she belonged, fluid and precise. Sendo flailed like a fairground air dancer, proud and chaotic.

I smiled faintly.

“I know that much,” I said. “And I might never get to dance again.”

He didn’t respond, but I felt his body stiffen.

“But this is my decision to make,” I went on, turning to him fully. “I can’t outrun this anymore, Ryo. My whole life—my dad, my mom—there are things I need to know. And besides—”

He cut in. “One mistake. One misstep. And your life ends. What good will knowing do you then?”

“You won’t convince me otherwise.” I shook my head gently. “One way or another, I’ll know the truth. About my father. About my past.”

He let the silence hang for a long breath, then exhaled again and leaned over the ledge, the wind catching his hair.

Below, Chika grabbed Sendo by the collar and spun him in a mock tango dip. She had grace. He had… limbs. He nearly toppled over into a couple drinking cocktails, and Chika burst into laughter, righting him with the flair of someone used to cleaning up her own chaos.

I looked at Ryoji’s profile again—stoic, weather-worn, quietly resigned.

I had made my choice.

And for the first time in years, I felt like it was mine alone.

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips—a hint of resignation, maybe something else—as we strolled along the upper deck. The wind had picked up, teasing the edges of my hair, and the italo beat echoed from below like the pulse of some alternate world.

He wasn’t different now. He was still Ryoji—the man who didn’t flinch, didn’t speak more than needed, didn’t break even under fire. But now I knew there was something else underneath. And maybe… maybe he knew I’d seen it.

Then, out of the blue, Ryoji said, “You started calling me Ryo since the school.”

I blinked. “Huh? I did?”

He didn’t say anything more, just glanced my way, almost teasing. I tried to remember. Did I really? And if so… since when?

I slowed down, then stopped. “There’s something I haven’t mentioned. About the school.”

That got his attention. He turned, gaze sharp now, the teasing gone.

“I had this dream,” I said, voice quieter. “Back when I had the fever. It was strange. I was in a classroom. The windows were broken, everything outside was just… ruins. Like something terrible had happened.”

His eyes narrowed, not in disbelief—but in focus. Most people would’ve waved that off as fever haze. I half-expected him to do the same. But Ryoji wasn’t most people. And instead of speaking, he just waited.

So I went on. “When we were running for the car—”

“The Supra,” he corrected absently, eyes still on me, and continued.

“You stopped for a second.”

“Well, I saw something then. On the walls of that abandoned class. The same kanji I’d seen in my dream. Same letters, too. It matched.”

He said nothing. Just stared at the horizon, unreadable.

“I mean, it was probably just fever. Or panic,” I added quickly, suddenly self-conscious. “I might’ve seen the letters before somewhere, subconsciously, and my brain just filled in the blanks.”

“What did it say?” he asked.

I hesitated.

“What?”

“The message in your dream,” he clarified. “What did it say?”

I swallowed. The words came slower now, like they were walking back through me.

“I couldn’t, they were glyphs or something. And then… eš-ak eš’ in Roman characters. On the chalkboard.”

He froze.

Like actually froze. Not a breath, not a blink.

It was as if I’d yanked a thread he didn’t even know was wrapped around his throat. His whole body tensed, and for a moment, the ocean breeze felt colder than it had any right to be.

Down on the lower deck, a crash rang out—Sendo had lost his footing mid-dance and slammed into the cocktail couple. Chika doubled over laughing before she pulled him up, still grinning like this was the best cruise she’d ever conned her way onto.

But up here, Ryoji wasn’t laughing. He still hadn’t moved.

I watched him. Thirty seconds passed.

Then finally, he exhaled, long and slow. A breath that felt like it came from somewhere deep.

“Could be a memory,” he said quietly. “Or just another dream.”

I stared at him. His voice was neutral, almost too neutral.

I looked past his shoulder, out to sea, and the sky had darkened a little. Not quite night. Not quite safe.

But something had shifted.

Something neither of us could un-hear now.