Chapter 1 Whispers on the Bridge

The rain hadn't stopped since morning. Kyoto's sky hung heavy, cloaked in storm-colored gray, casting long shadows on the cobbled pathways that stretched along the riverbank. Autumn leaves clung to the air like memories that refused to fall.

Ayan Riku stood at the edge of the bridge, suitcase in hand, soaked to the bone. He wasn't supposed to be here yet - the train had arrived early, the station too crowded, the taxis too few. Somehow, his legs had carried him to this spot as if guided by something deeper than memory.

He looked down at the river below - calm yet endless, just like the emptiness inside him.

There was something about this bridge.

Something eerily familiar.

A feeling of déjà vu clung to his chest like a second heartbeat. The sound of rushing water stirred a deep ache in his ribs, like a wound reopened by air. He didn't remember falling. Didn't remember bleeding. But his body... his bones... they whispered.

"You've been here before."

A car passed behind him, splashing water onto his shoes. He blinked, pulling his coat tighter, as if that could protect him from more than just the cold. His reflection shimmered in the river, fragmented by the rain.

He didn't recognize the face staring back.

It had been a year since the accident. A fall - that's what they said. No one was sure how it happened. A quiet town, a dark night, a broken railing. When he woke up in the hospital, everything from before was gone.

No names. No family. Just the name "Riku" on his ID and the quiet certainty that something important had been taken from him.

So he rebuilt.

New city. New university. New life.

Kyoto Art and Philosophy University had accepted his late application, impressed by sketches he didn't remember drawing. The counselor said his talent must have survived the fall, even if his memories didn't.

But even as he started over, shadows lingered.

He had dreams - vivid, broken dreams - of a girl crying on this bridge. Of red ribbons in the wind. Of someone calling out to him as he let go of the railing.

He had tried to forget. But some ghosts aren't so easily buried.

The rain grew heavier, drumming against the surface like distant footsteps. He turned to leave, his fingers trembling slightly.

From the other side of the bridge, a girl with an umbrella walked toward him. Her heels clicked softly against the wet stone. Crimson coat, jet-black hair, and eyes like polished glass - unreadable, yet piercing. She walked past without a word, but her gaze lingered a second too long.

Something twisted in his gut.

She looked back once, lips parting slightly. And then, she was gone, swallowed by the mist.

He stood frozen.

Did she recognize him?

Or did he... recognize her?

The wind howled through the trees, shaking the last of the golden leaves free. They fell around him like pieces of a puzzle he didn't know how to solve.

He took one last glance at the water below and whispered to no one:

"Why do I feel like I left something behind here?"

The bridge gave no answer.

Only the rain replied - a soft, sorrowful whisper.

The rain had softened to a whisper now, more mist than storm. Ayan found himself walking along the riverbank, not quite sure why. The streets were quiet, the kind of quiet that felt staged, like the world was holding its breath.

Every turn he made felt... remembered.

A white cat darted across the path and disappeared behind a rusted gate. He paused. His eyes were drawn to an old building ahead - a closed-down tea shop, judging by the faded wooden signage and shattered lanterns swinging in the wind.

The name had been scratched off.

His heart beat faster.

He stepped toward it, shoes splashing in shallow puddles. Through the broken glass of the door, he could make out overturned chairs and dusty shelves. But it wasn't the ruin that held him.

It was the red ribbon, tied around a nail on the doorframe.

Frayed at the ends. Faded from time. But still there.

He didn't know why his hand moved forward, fingers brushing the fabric like it held something sacred.

And then-

A voice.

"You're not supposed to be here yet."

He turned sharply.

No one.

Just the rain. The wind. The sound of his own breath.

He stepped back, heart thudding in his ears. The ribbon fluttered once more and fell to the ground at his feet, like a curtain closing on an unseen act.

Ayan didn't pick it up.

Some things, his gut told him, were better left untouched - for now.

As he finally walked away, the wind curled behind him like a whisper.

"She remembers you... even if you don't."