The question lingered in the air.
"How did you come this deep into the Void… alone?"
Izumi didn't answer.
Not immediately.
His body remained still, but his mind moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
The moment the question was asked, his thoughts split into countless paths, each unfolding into a different outcome. He had seen this before not here, not in the Void, but in another life. Conversations were never just words; they were decisions, judgments, turning points that could shift everything in an instant.
If he told the truth, they wouldn't believe him. If he stayed silent, suspicion would grow. If he answered too quickly, it would feel rehearsed. If he hesitated too long, it would feel like a lie. Each possibility stacked upon another, branching endlessly, refining itself as his mind ran through every reaction he could imagine. He could already see it the girl's narrowed eyes, the man's guarded stance, the subtle shift in distance that would follow the moment they decided he was dangerous.
He understood all of it.
That had always been his curse.
In his past life, he had learned people not by speaking to them, but by watching them observing, predicting, understanding reactions before they happened. He knew how conversations would unfold long before they began. That was why he avoided them. Because knowing the outcome didn't make it easier to speak.
It made it harder.
The answer was already there clear, safe, convincing. But his body didn't follow. His throat tightened, the words catching before they could form. For a brief moment, the silence stretched too long, and he felt it the shift he had predicted, the subtle change in the air as attention sharpened around him.
He forced himself.
"…I don't remember clearly," he said, his voice quiet and uneven at the edges. "I was moving… and then suddenly I was here."
The words weren't perfect, but they were enough.
Silence followed.
The man studied him, his gaze steady and unreadable, as if weighing not just the answer, but the way it had been given.
"…A memory gap," he said after a moment.
It wasn't surprise.
It wasn't dismissal.
Just acknowledgment.
"It happens."
The girl frowned slightly.
"That deep?"
The man gave a faint nod.
"The mist doesn't affect everyone the same way."
His eyes shifted again, taking Izumi in more carefully now not just his face, but his condition. The pale skin, the thin frame, the way his clothes hung loosely against him, worn and unprepared for a place like this.
"How long have you been in the Void?" he asked.
Izumi swallowed lightly.
"This is… my first time."
The girl's expression changed not completely, but enough.
"First time?" she repeated, disbelief flickering through her voice.
The man didn't interrupt. He simply watched, as if confirming something within his own thoughts.
"…First time," he echoed quietly. "And you ended up this deep."
There was a brief pause before he added, more softly,
"…That's rough."
There was no mockery in his tone.
No judgment.
Just honesty.
"Don't worry about the memory," he continued after a moment. "A lot of people experience different things in the mist. Losing parts of it… isn't unusual."
The tension shifted.
Not gone.
But lighter.
Izumi noticed it immediately. The distance between them hadn't increased. The man's stance hadn't turned hostile. The girl was still watching him, but not with the same sharp suspicion as before.
Something had changed.
They're not rejecting me.
The thought came quietly, almost cautiously, as if he didn't fully trust it yet.
They don't see me as a threat.
Something unfamiliar stirred within him. It wasn't relief. Not quite comfort. Something softer—something he hadn't felt in a long time.
They see me as… human.
For a brief moment, he didn't know how to respond to that.
His thoughts moved again, but slower now. Not calculating. Not predicting. Just… trying.
The silence between them no longer felt sharp. It lingered, but without the same weight as before.
The girl's gaze remained on him for a few seconds longer, as if searching for something she couldn't quite define. There was still doubt in her eyes, but it had softened.
Not gone.
Just quieter.
She exhaled lightly and looked away, her focus returning to the space around them as she steadied her breathing.
The man didn't speak again.
But he didn't turn away either.
That, by itself, was enough.
They didn't move.
Not yet.
The place they had found still held its fragile stability, the mist drifting slowly instead of pressing in. The moment lingered, suspended between tension and rest, as if even the Void allowed them this brief pause.
Izumi remained where he was, standing within their presence instead of outside it.
For the first time, he wasn't being avoided.
And for the first time
He didn't feel like he needed to disappear.