Bittersweet

Present

“Wake up.”

Haru’s voice booms from the kitchen. It is far too energetic for this hour. I groan and bury my face into the pillow, pretending that if I become one with the mattress, he will give up.

He never does.

After all these years, Haru has mastered multiple strategies to wake me up.

Method 1: Picking me up like a lost kitten and dropping me in front of the sink until I have no choice but to brush my teeth.

Method 2: Tugging my sheets, stealing my pillows, and annoying me into consciousness.

Method 3: Psychological warfare.

Today, he chooses option three.

He walks into the bedroom and announces with perfect, calm cruelty, “We are meeting your dearest friends, Rie and Abby, in thirty minutes.”

My eyes snap open.

“What? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I am telling you now,” he replies, completely unbothered as he sips his black coffee.

I shoot out of bed and run into the bathroom while he leans on the doorframe like this is the highlight of his morning.

After a whirlwind of panic dressing and mild self-loathing for being this soft-hearted, I settle on a grey mini dress with knee-high boots. Simple. Cute. Functional. Haru goes with a loose brown turtleneck and black pants. He looks effortlessly stylish, as usual.

We drive to our old company building. This is the place where we trained, failed, grew, fought, and somehow survived. The company used two buildings back then, but the older one was abandoned after the fire incident five years ago. Just seeing the silhouette against the grey sky makes my chest feel strangely tight.

There is already a car parked nearby. Abby and Rie step out just as we do.

Abby raises an eyebrow.

“Seems like some people never change.”

He is talking about my habit of being late, even when we are late by only five minutes. Abby is the type who will tease you simply because he can. And he enjoys it far too much.

I ignore him and walk straight to the rusted gate.

The old foyer is barely recognizable. Dust clings to every corner. The once-white walls are now a muted, sickly grey. Some sections of the building are actually being swallowed by vines from the nearby trees. It looks like nature is slowly dragging the structure back into the earth to digest it.

“It feels weird,” Rie murmurs beside me, brushing away a hanging branch. “Like the building remembers us.”

That is such a Rie thing to say. Dramatic, emotional, and a little whimsical. But I understand what she means. Memories do not disappear. They cling like the moss on these walls.

“Let’s find the camera that recorded the footage,” she suggests.

We split up to search the exterior. I push through wet leaves and sharp branches at the back, trying to follow the angle from the blackmail video. My boots slip on loose gravel. For a second, the ground disappears beneath my feet.

Rie grabs my arm.

“Careful! I am not carrying you back to the car,” she laughs, then wanders off to search another corner.

I exhale, embarrassed, and pull up the footage on my phone. The camera angle shows the right side of the building’s entrance. So the camera must have been mounted somewhere there.

I call everyone over and point.

“Look. It should be right here.”

We all look up at the exact same spot.

Only to see nothing.

No camera. No mount. Not even broken wires.

Just a faint discoloration on the concrete wall where something used to be. Like a tan line on skin.

My phone vibrates against my palm.

A message.

From the same unknown number.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: You can’t change the past. But you still have time to ask forgiveness for your mistakes.

My stomach twists into a knot.

“I got another message,” I whisper.

Everyone immediately checks their phones.

Only mine lights up.

That is not a coincidence.

It is intentional. They want me to be the one who reads it.

“The stalker must be watching us.” Abby grabs my wrist gently but firmly. “Everyone. Get in the car. Now.”

We rush into his car. I slide into the backseat beside Haru. Rie sits in the passenger seat.

Abby drives in slow circles around the area, scanning the surroundings. His usual teasing tone is gone. It is replaced by sharp focus. He loves puzzles, but not dangerous ones involving us.

“There is no suspicious car,” he mutters, eyes darting to the rearview mirror. “No person hiding. Nothing.”

“What if,” I say quietly, “the camera is in the building? What if they planted one, expecting us to show up?”

Abby shakes his head.

“It is too risky. If we found their equipment, we could trace them. I don’t think they would take that chance. Not if they know us well.”

“Yes, but...” My voice rises involuntarily. “We never checked inside the building. Cameras are so small now. They could hide one anywhere. They might just be monitoring who comes and goes.”

“Can you guys stop arguing?!” Rie snaps, turning in her seat.

“We are not arguing,” Abby and I say in perfect sync.

Haru snorts quietly beside me. I elbow him in the ribs.

“We are trying to understand the situation,” I continue, leaning forward. “Whoever this is... they know us. Really know us. They don’t need to follow us physically. Monitoring the building would be enough. And sending a message right as we found the empty spot... it is psychological. They want us scared.”

Abby opens his mouth to retort, but then sighs.

“Okay... that actually makes sense.”

He drives us to an ice cream shop a few blocks away. It is a weird choice given the tension, but Abby always thinks better when his mouth is full of sweets. We grab some metal chairs on the rooftop. The cold breeze cuts through the leftover panic.

I get matcha. Haru gets black sesame. Rie chooses strawberry. Abby picks something with chocolate and rainbow sprinkles, because of course he does.

For a moment, none of us speak. The silence feels heavy, thick with implications we are all too afraid to voice.

Finally, Haru says, “We need to find the stalker. Or Akira.”

His voice is calm, but I can hear something else beneath it. Determination. Maybe even fear.

Rie grips her cup tightly.

“Do you... think those two things are connected?”

Abby leans forward, elbows on the table.

“If they aren’t, then this is one hell of a coincidence.”

I do not know why, but the wind suddenly feels colder.

Whatever this is, it's only getting started.