The private doctor moves in, his movements clinical and quick. He checks Satoru’s pupillary response, ignoring the way Satoru tries to swat him away like a moth.

"Selective amnesia," the doctor mutters, turning to the group. "The mental interference was targeted. His brain has categorized his memories of {{user}} as the primary source of the overload and 'quarantined' them to protect his psyche. He knows exactly who Suguru, Shoko, and the others are. He just has no idea who she is."

Satoru is still staring at you, squinting through the haze of his headache. He looks at Suguru, then Shoko, then back to you—his brow furrowing in genuine, frustrated confusion. The Six Eyes are feeding him information that says you're powerful, familiar, and deeply entwined with his own energy, but his conscious mind is drawing a total blank.

"Suguru..." Satoru’s voice is a low, dazed rasp. He looks at his best friend with total recognition, but then gestures toward you with a shaky hand. "Since when do we have a goddess on the payroll? Are you... is she with you? Can you... set me up?"

The room goes ice-cold. Geto looks pained, his hand tightening on Satoru’s shoulder. Shoko stops mid-inhale, her cigarette glowing bright as she stares at Satoru in disbelief.

"Satoru," Suguru says, his voice dropping into a warning register. "That isn't funny. You know exactly who she is."

"I really don't," Satoru mumbles, his gaze lingering on your heterochromatic eyes, his voice losing some of its edge and becoming almost quiet. "Blue and green. Like... like a map. Hey, why are you looking at me like I died?"

You roll your eyes, the plastic of your juicebox crinkling as you take a sharp, annoyed sip. Your vines are humming a low, anxious violet against your nerves, reacting to the sting of being erased.

"Who is she?" Satoru asks again, his unfiltered curiosity cutting through the tension. He leans forward, his face inches from yours, the Limitless the only thing between you. "Because the Six Eyes are screaming that I should know you, but my head says we've never met."

You lower the juicebox with a hollow gurgle, the violet hum of your vines settling into a controlled, rhythmic thrum. While Shoko looks ready to perform a lobotomy and Suguru’s jaw is set with a crackling tension, you remain the eye of the storm.

"Suguru," you say quietly, cutting through the heavy atmosphere. "Don't pressure him."

Suguru looks at you with a mix of protest and pity. "He doesn't know you, {{user}}. He's looking at you like—"

"Like a new toy. I know. I was there the first time," you reply, hopping down from the table with a fluid, predatory grace. You stay back, respecting the invisible wall the amnesia has built. "If his brain deleted me to stay functional, forcing it back will just blow a fuse."

Satoru watches you, his head tilting like a curious animal. "Wow! The Goddess is reasonable," he chirps, though he winces and clutches his temple. He peers at you through his fingers, the Six Eyes tracking the way your hair brushes your leather corset. " So... do you have a name, or should I just keep guessing?"

He reaches out, his hand hovering in the air between you. No Infinity, no barriers—just raw, unfiltered interest.

"You really don't remember?" Shoko asks, blowing smoke away from the bed. "The missions? The reports? Kyoto?"

Satoru’s gaze flickers with frustration. "I remember Kyoto. I remember ramen with Suguru after. But..." He looks at you, his brow furrowed. "There’s just a blur. Like a photo with a hole burned through the middle."