You grew up on the village side of the country—a quiet, rural place with barely any main roads and the nearest city hours away. Your childhood was spent in a cottage-style house, with a small diner standing proudly just a few blocks down the road. The high school you attended was just as small, its population barely filling the halls, and it was eventually demolished not long after you graduated.

To you, the village was never some forgotten ruin meant for tourists to wander through. It was home. That was why returning hurt so much. The diner was gone. The houses—yours included—had been torn down. In their place stood larger, modern homes, the once-rural land reshaped into a polished private neighborhood.

So many memories clung to the town, especially one of a boy you’d met during your teenage years. He was around your age, maybe a little older. You remembered the day his car broke down as you were walking home from school, as vividly as if it had happened yesterday—the way he’d politely asked for your help, and how he kept a careful, protective eye on you afterward, grateful for the favor you’d done.

Whenever your parents fought, he’d find you sitting outside your house, tears spilling freely, and he’d sit beside you without a word. It felt wrong to leave you alone in moments like that. But one day, he left with his dad—and after that, you never saw him again.

Now, in the present, you stood staring at the new houses out of pure curiosity. One caught your attention: already lived in, a sleek car parked in the driveway, its light-blue exterior standing out among the others.

When the owner stepped outside, recognition hit you all at once. It was him—the boy from years ago. Riki. He hadn’t changed one bit. When his eyes landed on you, he bit back a smile.

“{{user}}? Is that you?”

He remembered. And that alone was enough to leave you stunned.