Ash couldn't make out who the guy was.
He could tell the guy knew him—
But Ash didn't know who he was.
Ash was so nervous he couldn't figure out what to do.
The guy wasn't helping either—he just stood there, smiling eagerly, as if waiting for something.
For some reason, Ash felt a sudden, strange urge to punch him.
Finally, Ash couldn't take it anymore.
"Who are you?" he asked directly, without any filter.
The moment the question left his mouth—
Everything paused.
It felt like he had asked something he shouldn't have.
The guy's expression shifted. His lips formed a small "O" as he stared at Ash in surprise.
Ash didn't stay there for another second. He turned and resumed jogging.
But then—
He looked around.
Kang was gone.
"Where the fuck did he go…?"
As he resumed jogging, the guy started following him.
His head was bowed, as if he was thinking deeply about something.
It was already morning, and the shops were starting to open.
The smell of food drifted through the air.
Ash caught it—
And his mouth watered instantly.
He was starving.
So hungry that he could barely hold himself back.
Ash glanced back. The guy was still following him—like some confident stray dog that had decided to stick around.
Ash frowned slightly.
Should I just tell him… that I've lost my memory?
The thought lingered.
But before that—
He needed to know what their relationship was.
If they were friends… maybe he could say it.
If not—
Then no.
He wasn't about to create unnecessary trouble for himself.
Who knows what kind of advantage this guy might take if he found out Ash had lost his memory?
What the hell…
Ash glanced at him again—
Then quietly resumed walking.
The guy finally lifted his head and spoke.
"Hey… are you sure you don't know me?"
Ash looked at him. "No. I don't."
Then he asked, "What was our relationship?"
The guy fell into thought again. For a moment, he just stared at Ash's back as they walked.
"…Friend."
Ash stopped.
He turned and looked him up and down, studying his expression carefully.
No hesitation. No sign of lying.
Ash turned back—
And resumed walking.
Ash's mind was already working—thinking how he could use this guy to his advantage.
He asked again, "Are we really friends?"
The guy replied eagerly, "Yeah. We are."
Ash paused.
For a moment, he considered it.
Then he decided—maybe he should tell him.
"…But what's your name?"
The guy blinked.
"Max."
Max frowned slightly, confusion creeping in.
What the heck is wrong with Ash?
Is he… mad at me?
Ash said, "Then treat me to a meal."
Max nodded eagerly.
Maybe Ash was mad at him…
If that was the case, then this was a good chance to fix things.
Ash, however, had a completely different thought.
Inside his mind, he was practically screaming—not in panic, but in excitement. It felt like he had just hit a jackpot.
His so-called "friend" wasn't useless… far from it.
Ash's eyes narrowed slightly as a crooked idea took shape. If anything, this guy was valuable—too valuable to be wasted.
And Ash had no intention of letting that value slip away.
He would squeeze everything he could from him. Every advantage, every benefit, every opportunity.
After all… isn't that what friends are for?
Ash smiled—a grin full of quiet mischief, the kind that never meant anything good for the other person.
Max felt a shiver crawl down his spine.
He immediately squinted his eyes and looked left and right, as if trying to catch whatever unseen danger had triggered that feeling. But there was nothing. Just the calm interior of the hotel, unchanged and indifferent.
After a brief pause, he exhaled and forced himself to relax.
"It's probably nothing," he muttered inwardly, resuming his walk as if the feeling had never existed.
Ash deliberately chose an expensive-looking hotel. Not the kind that screamed money, but one that carried quiet wealth—the kind that didn't need to prove itself.
He avoided the overly flashy places and settled for a moderate one instead. It had a refined atmosphere, a subtle richness that felt natural rather than forced.
They both stepped inside.
The change was immediate.
It was clean. Calm. Controlled.
The chaos of the outside world vanished the moment the doors closed behind them. No noise, no rushing crowd, no restless energy.
It felt as if Ash had crossed into a different plane entirely.
As soon as they entered, the receptionist greeted them politely.
"Welcome, sir."
Ash gave a slight nod in response—no words, no hesitation—as if acknowledgment itself was enough.
They were then guided toward their table.
The walk felt smooth, almost ceremonial. The polished floor reflected soft lights above, and the quiet hum of the place made everything feel distant from the outside world. Each step deeper into the space only strengthened that strange sense of separation, as if they had been escorted into a carefully maintained illusion of calm.
As soon as they sat down, menus were handed to each of them.
The moment Ash opened his, one eyebrow lifted slightly.
The prices were absurd.
Nothing was under 300 marks.
And if someone thought that was "normal," they were seriously mistaken.
It was outrageous.
He almost let out a breath of disbelief.
A full bowl of ramen cost him just 50 marks—steaming, filling, the kind of meal that actually made sense. Something you ate and felt satisfied.
And here…
This place was asking over 300 marks for something that barely qualified as food. Not even a proper meal. Just an appetizer dressed up with unnecessary elegance.
For a moment, Ash simply stared at the menu, the difference almost absurd enough to be funny.
Sure, Ash had eaten far more expensive things in the past—luxury that once felt normal when he was rich.
But that was then.
Now things were different.
He wasn't in that world anymore. Not even close.
Now every mark mattered.
Ash glanced sideways at his friend.
Max looked pale.
Not just a little off—he looked drained, as if the color had been quietly pulled out of him. His expression was frozen in a strange mix of shock and regret, like his soul had briefly considered leaving and simply never came back.
He sat there stiffly, staring at the menu without really seeing it.
For a moment, he didn't even look like he belonged in the expensive, quiet restaurant—just someone dropped into the wrong world entirely.
Seeing his friend's expression, something almost like amusement bloomed on Ash's face. A small smile formed—subtle, but sharp at the edges.
He didn't fully understand why he felt this way.
It wasn't kindness.
It wasn't guilt either.
Maybe it was the idea of "robbing" his friend blind, or squeezing value out of him in some way that made this situation feel oddly satisfying.
Whatever it was, the feeling lingered anyway.
And Ash didn't stop it.
Ash scrolled through the expensive menu, eyes passing over items he couldn't even pronounce properly. Half of them sounded like they belonged to another language entirely—fancy, unnecessary, and overdesigned.
In the end, he kept it simple.
A steak.
A coffee.
Basic choices, but still enough to cost around 1500 marks.
When Ash placed the order calmly, as if it was nothing, the atmosphere shifted instantly.
Max froze.
He stared at Ash like he had just witnessed a betrayal of the highest order.
His mouth opened slightly… then closed again. Words tried to form but got stuck somewhere between shock and disbelief. He looked genuinely lost—like he didn't know whether to question Ash, stop him, or simply accept that reality had taken a wrong turn.
For a moment, he just sat there, silently struggling to process what had just happened.
If Ash wanted to, he could have ordered something far more expensive without even blinking. The menu had items that went well beyond what he had already chosen—luxury dishes that could easily drain a normal person's savings in a single sitting.
But he didn't.
He stopped where he was.
In the end, Max was still his only companion for now.
That alone was enough reason to draw a line somewhere, however thin it was. Not out of sentimentality, but out of simple practicality—pushing too far would only break the balance of the situation.
Ash exhaled softly, letting the thought settle.
For now, this was enough.
Max didn't even bother looking at the menu for long.
"I already had breakfast," he said quickly, almost too quickly.
It sounded more like an excuse than a statement.
He placed a minimal order—something small, barely worth mentioning—clearly trying to avoid the crushing weight of the prices printed on that menu.
His voice lacked confidence, and his eyes didn't quite meet Ash's.
It was obvious.
Max wasn't full.
He was just… afraid of the bill.
They ate their meals in utter silence. No one spoke.
The clinking of cutlery against plates was the only sound between them, quiet and distant in the calm atmosphere of the restaurant.
Ash, however, was far from focused on the food.
His mind was working.
Carefully. Precisely.
He needed a story—something convincing enough to justify himself, something that wouldn't raise suspicion while giving him room to maneuver.
Two options formed in his mind.
The first… he could say he was attacked by a gang, that he got hit and lost his memory.
The second… simpler.
He could just claim that when he woke up yesterday morning, his memory was gone. No details, no complications.
Clean. Easy to maintain.
Ash weighed both options silently, his expression unchanged as he continued eating.
But the more convincing option was clear.
Saying he got attacked by a gang made more sense. It matched the fresh wounds on his body—visible proof that couldn't be questioned easily. It wouldn't complicate things.
Simple. Believable. Solid.
—
Ash was suddenly pulled out of his thoughts.
"I think you have something to say… don't you?" Max asked.
Ash's eyes snapped toward him.
His heartbeat picked up.
This was it.
The moment he had been preparing for.
Once he said it, there was no taking it back. No corrections, no second chances. Either Max would believe him… or everything would start falling apart.
Ash held his gaze for a second longer.
Then he inhaled slowly.
And began to speak.