The Girl Who Came Back

Shinjuku, 03:07 AM.

The abandoned subway station looked like a broken aquarium: blue and pink neon lights leaking through the cracks, puddles reflecting two eras simultaneously. 2047 up high, 1995 down below. A giant Tamagotchi advertisement flickered next to a billboard for a cryptocurrency that never existed.

Ren descended the broken stairs, his motorcycle parked upstairs, helmet hanging on the handlebar. The phrase still glowed on the visor:

The truth is only the lie that no one managed to erase.

He shook his head. "Focus, Ren. Ghost on platform 8."

The UV flashlight on his right glove lit up. The walls were revealed to be covered in sentences that moved slowly, like goldfish in a bowl:

“You are 3 minutes late.”

“Again.”

Ren frowned. He pointed the flashlight at another corner. More phrases:

“You always try to catch me.”

“You always fail.”

The air grew heavy. The sound of his footsteps echoed twice: one echo from 2047, the other from 1995, half a second delayed.

Platform 8.

Empty.

Only a rusted bench and a clock stopped at 03:07… no, 03:04… no, 03:07 again.

Ren felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“I know you’re here,” he said, his voice firm.

Silence.

Then a snap of bubblegum.

A girl sat on the bench, legs crossed, white scarf fluttering even though there was no wind. Silver hair shining like liquid moonlight. Clear violet eyes looking straight at him. She smiled like someone who has already won the game before it started.

“Hi, Ren,” said Aoi Ayane Tsukishiro. “You’re 3 minutes late… again.”

Ren froze.

The phrase on the wall. The phrase on the helmet. The phrase she just spoke.

“How do you know my name?” he asked, his hand already on the black glove.

“Because we’ve done this three times today already,” she replied, calmly. “Do you want to stop repeating?”

The platform clock gave a click. It returned to 03:04.

Ren felt the ground tremble slightly. It wasn’t an earthquake. It was time choking.

“Three times?” he repeated.

Aoi stood up. Her scarf floated as if she were underwater.

“The first time you caught me. The second time you tried to erase me. The third time…” she shrugged, “we’re here again. Do you want to break the loop or are you going to try to catch me one more time?”

Ren looked at his own hand. The glove was raised, ready to activate the Suppression. He didn't even remember lifting it.

“I don’t…” he began.

The clock went back to 03:07.

Aoi clicked her tongue.

“See? It started again.”

Ren slowly lowered his hand.

“Okay,” he said. “I won’t catch you. Yet.”

The clock stopped skipping. The air became normal. The phrases on the walls stopped moving.

Aoi truly smiled this time.

“Good choice.”

She pulled an old photograph from her pocket. Real paper, burned edges. She handed it to Ren.

It was him. At 12 years old. A novice monk uniform. Smiling next to a man in a white lab coat. On the back, written by hand:

Ryuu Kurogane – Protocol Babel – 2026

Ren felt his stomach flip.

“That’s not me,” he said, his voice rough.

“It’s you before you became Ren Kaito,” Aoi replied. “Before someone rewrote you.”

Ren looked at the photo. Looked at her. Looked at the clock permanently stopped at 03:07.

“You died in 2044,” he said. “I read the report.”

Aoi raised her left sleeve. On her wrist, a golden letter appeared. It glowed. It vanished.

“I died,” she confirmed. “Then I used a small piece of the Black Sutra to come back. It worked. More or less.”

She showed her wrist again. The letter returned. This time it stayed.

“Every time I come back, the world finds a way to erase me again. But I return. I always return.”

Ren put the photo in his uniform's inner pocket. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would break a rib.

“Why did you show me this?” he asked.

“Because you are the only person who can help me stop coming back,” Aoi replied. “And because you’ve helped me already. Three times. You just always forget.”

She held out her hand.

“Do you want to remember with me?”

Ren looked at her hand. Small. Cold. But firm.

For a second, he saw her scarf unravel into black pixels. He blinked. It was back to normal.

“If I take your hand,” Ren said, “what happens?”

“We leave here,” Aoi answered. “And we go to the place where it all began. The monastery that never existed.”

Ren took a deep breath.

“Okay,” he said. “But if you’re lying…”

“I don’t lie,” Aoi interrupted. “I just return.”

Ren took her hand.

The platform clock gave a final click. It read 03:08.

The neon lights flickered once. When they came back on, the platform was empty.

Only a piece of paper remained on the bench. The photo Ren had stored. Only now there was a new sentence on the back, written in his handwriting:

“Day 1 – I met Aoi. She saved me. Day 3 – I killed her.”

On the wet floor, reflected in the puddles, a phrase glowed in neon pink:

The monastery that never existed awaits you.

Ren and Aoi were already climbing the stairs. Together.

The rain outside had stopped.

But the sky was still split in half.