Library, Late Afternoon
The air in the library felt thick, as if time itself had stopped breathing. Dust floated in golden sunbeams that spilled from the windows, and Garah stood in front of a book she hadn’t noticed before.
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It wasn’t on any shelf.
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It was placed neatly at the edge of a table—open.
67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7QLyhh8n1a
Its cover was deep black, etched with faint silver thread-like markings.
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“String Registry”
The words shimmered in her vision as though they were written in blood and memory.
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She slowly reached for it.
Her bracelet hummed.
67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHKygxtoFkW
Inside the Book
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As Garah flipped the first page, nothing was written.
But as she touched the second page, her name suddenly inked itself across the paper.
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GARAH — LINKED: UNKNOWN ×3
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Three names.
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Blank.
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Faded.
The pages curled slightly, revealing torn threads drawn like veins—intertwined and broken at different ends.
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Suddenly, a hand landed on the page.
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She gasped—then looked up.
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It was him again.
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The silver-haired boy.
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🗨️ “You didn’t just forget me,” he said. “You chose to.”
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“I never—!”
“But you did. And not just me.” He flipped the page. Three more names began forming slowly in black-red ink. One blurred, one glowing, one completely burned away.
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“You split your soul three times. That’s why your string doesn’t lead anywhere now.”
Her bracelet flickered violently.
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The string on her wrist unraveled.
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It spun into the air like a ribbon caught in the wind—trying to find something… or someone.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered. “What happens if I remember?”
He leaned closer.
“You’ll remember why you wanted to forget.”
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67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrxtnXxMLlJ
67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrJd1drdGN8
Meanwhile: School Rooftop – Present Time
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Sandra stood alone.
Watching students from below like they were chess pieces.
From this height, no one could see the red thread wrapped tightly around her pinky—leading into her pocket.
And deeper in her pocket... a folded paper that read:
67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡm2BrzGWovM
“Give her the bracelet. Let her think it’s hers.”
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She smiled.
Just slightly.
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