Arou took a step back.
"You're lying," he said quickly. "I'm not Zata."
Lumina didn't answer. Her expression remained calm, as if she had expected that reaction.
"I'm just an ordinary human," Arou continued, his voice rising.
"I go to school. I get tired. I get scared. If I'm Zata, then why do I feel all of this?"
"Because you forgot," Lumina replied softly.
"And forgetting was intentional."
Arou shook his head firmly.
"No. All of that was just a dream. A game. Nothing but imagination."
The moment those words left his mouth, a sharp pain pulsed through his head.
For an instant—
an endless white space.
a game board constantly changing shape.
a voice announcing rules, cold yet strangely familiar.
Arou staggered.
"Stop..." he muttered.
He saw a vision of himself standing face-to-face with another figure.
The figure wasn't hostile.
"That's not me," Arou said, trying to convince himself.
"Then why do those memories fit?" Lumina asked.
"Why do you understand how it works even though nobody ever taught you?"
Arou fell silent.
Another fragment forced its way into his mind—
every time a game changed, guilt appeared before the rules did.
not to punish.
but to test.
not to hurt.
but to awaken.
Arou covered his ears.
"Enough."
"Zata never intended to do evil," Lumina continued.
"He simply didn't know how to wake you from your long sleep."
Arou stared at his hands.
They were trembling.
"If I'm Zata..." his voice cracked,
"then everything that happened... was my fault?"
Lumina stepped closer.
"It's not a matter of fault. It was a choice made when you weren't capable of waking up."
Silence.
Arou let out a long breath.
"If I accept this... what happens?"
"Your memories will return," Lumina answered.
"Slowly. And this world will begin responding to you differently."
Arou looked up at the evening sky as darkness slowly spread.
He wasn't ready to believe it.
But one thing was clear—
the crack was already there,
and the truth could no longer be forced back into its original place.
Arou raised his head.
His eyes were no longer empty.
"If all of this is true," he said quietly but firmly,
"if I really am Zata... then I don't want to be just a spectator."
Lumina looked at him, one eyebrow lifting slightly.
"What exactly are you challenging?"
"This truth," Arou answered.
"If Zata is me, then every game existed because of my choice.
And if there are rules, then there must be a way to break them."
The air around them grew heavy.
A streetlight flickered once before stabilizing again.
"That's dangerous," Lumina warned.
"Your memories are incomplete. You're not fully recovered."
"That's exactly why," Arou interrupted.
"If I accept everything without understanding it, I'll slowly fall apart."
He stepped forward.
"If Zata is my soul, then bring him out."
Lumina was silent for a long moment.
For the first time, uncertainty appeared on her face.
"You're not ready to meet that version of yourself."
Arou clenched his fists.
"And who decides whether I'm ready?"
The next second, the world trembled slightly.
Not like an earthquake—
more like reality taking a breath too deep.
Arou closed his eyes.
For a moment, another voice echoed inside his mind.
Calm.
Deep.
Familiar.
"You've always been stubborn."
Arou opened his eyes.
"Well," he whispered,
"there you are."
Lumina stepped back half a pace.
"Zata..."
A faint shadow stood behind Arou.
It wasn't fully visible, but its presence was undeniable.
"You're challenging me," the voice said.
"That means you're ready to bear the consequences."
Arou swallowed hard, but he didn't retreat.
"If the consequence is learning who I really am,
then I accept."
Silence.
Then the voice answered:
"Very well.
Then the final game shall begin.
Not in dreams.
But in your real world."
Lumina looked at Arou seriously.
"Once you go any further... there will be no turning back."
Arou nodded.
"I wasn't planning to turn back anyway."
And that night,
it wasn't a dream that began—
but a confrontation with himself.
---
Arou still stood by the roadside, facing Lumina.
The streetlights were beginning to turn on, and the evening air felt calm.
"So... you came here just to see how I'm doing?" Arou asked.
Lumina nodded.
"More or less."
Arou sighed.
"That's strange. You all show up only after everything is over."
"Nothing is truly over," Lumina replied.
Just as Arou was about to speak again, a voice came from behind him.
Soft.
Hesitant.
As though its owner was gathering courage.
"D... Dad?"
Arou froze.
He turned around.
A young girl stood a few steps behind him. Her light-colored hair swayed gently as she nervously held the edge of her shirt.
"Hikari...?" Arou's voice barely escaped his lips.
Hikari gave a small nod, her cheeks turning red.
"Yeah... sorry," she said softly.
"I know it sounds strange."
Arou stared at her for a long moment. His chest tightened.
"You... still call me that?"
Hikari smiled shyly.
"Because... that's what feels most right to me."
Lumina glanced at them before giving a faint smile.
"You're always like this, Hikari."
Arou looked away, trying to steady his breathing.
"So... you came too."
"Yes," Hikari replied gently.
"I wasn't sure if I should appear. I thought Dad might not be ready."
Arou looked back at her.
"I'm not sure I'm ready either."
"That's okay," Hikari quickly answered.
"I didn't come to force anything."
She stepped a little closer while still keeping her distance.
"I just wanted to see if Dad was okay."
Arou lowered his gaze.
"...I'm okay."
Hikari smiled softly.
"That's enough for now."
A gentle evening breeze passed by.
For the first time, being called that didn't make Arou want to run away.
And perhaps...
he didn't mind it anymore.
---
Arou let out a long sigh.
His mind was overflowing with everything Lumina and Hikari had said.
Too much information in too little time.
"I'm tired," he admitted honestly.
"I want to go home."
Lumina looked at him for a moment before nodding.
"We understand."
Arou walked a few steps, then stopped.
He turned back toward them.
"Do you want to come to my house?" he asked quietly.
"Just for a while."
Lumina hesitated.
"Will your family allow us to stay there?"
Arou paused before answering flatly,
"Don't worry. My family isn't there."
Hikari looked up in surprise.
"They aren't?"
"Where did they go?"
Arou shrugged.
"I don't know. When I woke up from my long sleep, they were already gone."
There was no dramatic sadness in his voice.
Just a fact he had accepted.
Lumina nodded slowly.
"Alright."
Hikari looked worried but chose not to ask further questions.
"In that case... we'll come with you."
The three of them walked away from the road together.
The city lights came on one by one, illuminating their path toward Arou's house.
No one spoke much along the way.
But for the first time,
Arou wasn't walking home alone.
And somehow,
the house that usually felt empty...
felt different tonight.
---
Arou's house was dark when they arrived.
Not messy,
but clearly a place that had been inhabited by only one person for a long time.
Arou switched on the living room lights and set down his bag.
"This is my home," he said simply.
Hikari looked around curiously.
"It's quiet," she said softly.
"But peaceful."
Lumina said little. Her eyes wandered around the room as though trying to understand it.
Without another word, Arou sat down in front of the television and turned on a game console.
He wanted to distract himself.
"Do you want to play with me?" he asked.
Hikari approached and hesitated for a moment before nodding.
"Sure."
Lumina raised an eyebrow.
"What game?"
"Just a simple one," Arou replied.
Soon, the three of them were sitting together in the living room.
The television glowed brightly while the sounds of the game filled the house.
Hikari smiled when her character lost.
"I'm not used to this yet."
Arou glanced at her briefly.
"You'll get better."
Lumina, who had initially seemed stiff and distant, gradually became absorbed in the game.
"Interesting," she commented.
The night passed almost unnoticed.
There were no heavy discussions.
No difficult questions demanding answers.
Just small laughter,
comfortable silence,
and simple companionship.
For the first time in a very long while,
Arou felt that this house...
was no longer completely empty.