(Opening Re-Orient Card - Arisa's Voice)
"Good morning. It's the Saturday after Day Two. Your parents are home. Don't be scared; they know everything. The old secret, the new story, all of it. Reo told them himself. He also told them about the experimental cure, and why he kept it from us. It was to protect you. Last night, our families had a long talk. You don't need the details, just the feeling: it was the first time your future felt like a choice, not just a problem. He's downstairs. They invited him for breakfast. Our story isn't a secret anymore."
I wake up to the smell of coffee and bacon, a sensory ghost from a thousand childhood Saturday mornings. The immediate comfort of it is a stark contrast to the usual jolt of waking up in an unfamiliar time. My room, bathed in the soft weekend light, feels different. Less like a sterile recovery unit and more like… a bedroom. A girl's bedroom.
The postcard's message sinks in slowly. They invited him for breakfast. The sheer, domestic normalcy of the thought is staggering. The secret keeper, the rooftop prince, my personal guardian of memories, is just… downstairs, having breakfast with my parents. Our fragile, secret world, once confined to the whispers on a rooftop, has been brought into the light of the family kitchen.
Getting dressed, my hands move with a strange, dreamlike quality. I feel less like Arisa the amnesiac and more like just Arisa, a teenage girl who is about to face her boyfriend over a plate of pancakes for the first time in front of her parents. It's terrifying, exhilarating, and completely, wonderfully normal.
When I walk into the kitchen, the scene is exactly as my postcard foretold, and yet, so much more. My father is at the stove, flipping pancakes. My mother is sipping tea at the table, a small, genuine smile on her face. And sitting between her and Haruto, looking both impossibly handsome and endearingly out of place, is Reo. He's wearing a simple gray sweater, and without his uniform, he looks softer, less like a prince and more like a boy. He looks up the moment I enter, his eyes finding mine with a look of warm, private reassurance.
"Good morning, sweetheart," my dad says, his voice cheerful. It's the most relaxed I've heard him sound since he got home.
"Morning, Ari," my mother adds, her gaze soft. "Sleep well?"
It's a normal Saturday morning. A miracle.
Reo gives me a small, almost imperceptible nod, a silent question: You okay?
I give him a tiny smile in return. Yes.
I take the empty seat next to him, and as I do, our knees brush under the table. A tiny, electric spark. This simple, accidental touch in the bright, open space of my family kitchen feels more intimate than any of the carefully choreographed moments we've had so far. This is real.
My father brings a plate stacked high with pancakes to the table, and the conversation flows easily. They talk about Reo's classes, my father asking him about his university ambitions. They talk about the neighborhood, my mother asking if his family has lived here long. Reo answers every question with his usual calm intelligence, but now there's a new ease to him, a new openness. He's not just a student; he's a person, letting my parents see the boy behind the perfect record.
After breakfast, my mother gestures to the Prometheus file, which is still sitting on the end table.
"Your father called last night, Reo-kun," she says, her tone gentle but serious. "He walked us through the preliminary data. We understand the risks." She looks from Reo to me, her expression a complex mixture of hope and fear. "But we also understand the alternative. This… day-to-day reset. It's not a sustainable life for our daughter."
"Mom…" I start, a protest rising in my throat. We're happy. Day Two was happy.
"We know, sweetheart," my father says, his voice kind. "And seeing you with Reo-kun… it's given us a hope we haven't felt in a very long time. But we have to think about your future. A future where you can build on your yesterdays. Where you can go to university, have a career, have a family of your own, without needing a system of notes to tell you who you are." He looks at Reo. "The choice, of course, must be Arisa's. Completely. But as her parents, we want her to have the option."
The word hangs in the air. Option. This whole time, my condition has been a fact, a wall. Now, it's a door. A terrifying, risky, but potentially life-changing door.
Later that afternoon, my parents monopolize Haruto, going over legal paperwork and medical forms. Reo and I escape to the small garden in my backyard. It's a little overgrown, a space tended by a girl who used to have long, lazy summer afternoons to spare.
We sit on an old wooden bench, the autumn sun warm on our faces. The poetry book he bought me is in my hands.
"So," I say quietly. "A choice."
"You don't have to decide now," Reo says instantly, his eyes full of concern. "Or ever, if you don't want to. What your dad said was right. This is about giving you back the option. The control."
"But what do you want?" I ask, turning to look at him. "You've been fighting for this cure since the accident. If I say no… what does that mean for you? For us?" The unsaid question hangs between us: Do you just want the old Arisa back?
He takes the book from my hands and sets it on the bench beside him, then he takes both of my hands in his. His gaze is direct, honest, and completely unwavering.
"Arisa," he says, his voice low and firm. "Let me be absolutely clear. The girl I fell in love with… I will mourn her for the rest of my life. That is a grief I will carry. But she is not you." He squeezes my hands. "You are the girl I am falling in love with, right now. You are the girl who survived a blackout, who won a trial on a rooftop, who writes poetry on a postcard every night just to find her way back. The thought of any treatment, any risk, potentially harming you… that is my greatest fear."
The raw, absolute sincerity of his words is a gut-punch. He has separated his grief for the past from his hope for our present. He's not trying to get her back. He's trying to protect me.
"Whatever you choose, I will support it," he continues. "If you choose to try the therapy, I will be with you every single step of the way. And if you choose to say no, to live this life, day by day, then I will be on that rooftop every single morning for the rest of our lives. I will be your memory. That is my promise." He smiles, a sad, beautiful, completely devoted smile. "Either way, Arisa, I am not going anywhere."
In that moment, sitting in a forgotten garden, the impossible weight on my shoulders lifts. The decision about the cure isn't a test of my love for him. It's just… a decision. About me. And no matter what I choose, he will be there. The future isn't a terrifying blank page anymore. It's a blueprint, with two possible paths, and he is standing beside me at the start of both.
I lean my head on his shoulder, a simple, comfortable gesture that already feels as natural as breathing. "Day Three is going to be a good day," I whisper.
"They're all going to be good days," he replies, his arm wrapping around my shoulders, pulling me close. "From now on."