I woke up choking on air.
Like someone had pressed a hand over my mouth in the middle of a nightmare — only to let go once I'd already forgotten what I was screaming about. My heart thundered against my ribs, ragged and frantic, like it didn't belong to my body anymore.
The room was silent, but the silence wasn't comforting. It was too clean. Too untouched. As if the world was pretending nothing had happened.
But something had.
The cold sweat on my back, the strange metallic taste in my mouth, and the overwhelming sense that I had done something — something irreversible — told me that.
I looked at my hands.
No blood.
I stared at my shirt, then my bedsheets. Nothing.
But still…
I think I killed someone.
And not just someone.
Mei.
The name hit me like a wave of nausea. My throat tightened. My legs swung off the bed, but the moment my feet touched the ground, I collapsed to my knees.
I didn't remember doing it.
But I knew.
Like the smell of fire after smoke has vanished.
Like a hole in your memory shaped exactly like a scream.
---
The sky outside was grey. Tokyo's heartbeat echoed faintly beyond my apartment walls — cars, bicycles, conversations I couldn't hear. Everything sounded so normal. How dare the world move on while I was falling apart?
I showered in boiling water and still felt cold. I got dressed without thinking — grey hoodie, black jeans, the sneakers Mei had once said made me look like a "tragic background character." That memory almost made me smile.
Almost.
---
I didn't even know why I went to the police station.
Maybe some part of me thought confessing would be… cleansing. Or maybe I hoped they'd tell me I was wrong. That I was dreaming. That I wasn't a murderer.
The lady at the front desk barely looked up.
"I… I think I need to talk to someone," I said.
"What kind of case?" she asked, still typing.
"I think… I killed someone."
That got her attention. She raised an eyebrow.
"When?"
"I… don't know."
"You don't know?"
"Not exactly. I just… I have these pieces. Her name was Mei. I remember shouting. A fight. Rain. Then nothing. But I woke up and I knew."
She studied me carefully now, but not with alarm. With caution.
"Do you have evidence? A location? Witnesses? A missing person report?"
"No," I admitted, voice cracking. "Just… me."
She sighed. "Look, young man. Sometimes our minds play tricks on us. Do you have a therapist? You might want to talk to someone."
I stepped back from the counter.
So that was it. No body. No crime.
No truth.
---
I walked the streets in a haze. My thoughts were chewing themselves from the inside. Every time I thought I had found something solid, it melted in my hands. I couldn't trust my memories. I couldn't trust myself.
Then, at 11:14 PM that night, I got the message.
From my own number.
> You used your reset. You don't get to ask questions now.
My stomach dropped. I stared at the screen, rereading it until the letters blurred.
Reset?
What reset?
No reply followed. Just silence. And the feeling that I wasn't alone — even though I was the only person in the room.
---
The next day, I started digging.
Through old photos.
Through messages.
Through memories I had buried even deeper than I realized.
I found photos of Mei and me — smiling in the sunlight, in cafes, outside uni, even drenched from summer rain. She looked alive. Radiant.
I stared at those photos like a ghost was staring back at me.
But no one else remembered her.
Not Haruki, my closest friend.
Not my professors.
Not even her old classmates.
It was as if she had been erased — not just from the world, but from everyone's memories.
Everyone… except mine.
---
And then I saw the shadow.
In my dreams at first. A tall figure wearing robes that shimmered like broken glass — eyes that didn't blink. A voice that sounded like pages turning.
"I am The Archivist," it whispered. "I deal in resets. But every gift has a price."
I'd wake up gasping, drenched in sweat, convinced I'd seen it standing in the corner of my room.
---
One night, I went back to the bridge.
The bridge where I think she died.
I didn't know why I knew that. The memories weren't clear, just sensations — rain, shouting, a sudden drop.
I stood on the edge, looking down into the dark water.
"If you're there," I whispered, "I'm sorry. I don't remember… but I know it was me."
The wind howled. I closed my eyes.
And then a whisper behind me.
> "You erased her."
I spun around — no one.
Just the wind.
---
The Archivist came to me a week later. Not in a dream.
In the reflection.
I was brushing my teeth when I saw it in the mirror, standing behind me. Tall. Still. Featureless except for those page-turning eyes.
"You begged to forget," it said calmly.
I couldn't move. My body locked.
"You traded one life… for a clean conscience. A reset."
"Why… why do I still remember her?" I choked.
The Archivist tilted its head.
"Because guilt isn't part of the bargain. It's the interest."
I fell to my knees, sobbing.
---
I know now that I made a deal.
One reset.
One erasure.
Everyone forgot Mei.
Everyone… but me.
And the worst part?
I wanted it.
I didn't want to face what I'd done.
I chose forgetting over forgiveness.
---
But now the memories are leaking back.
The reset is failing.
And the truth?
The truth is this:
I didn't just kill her.
I asked for the power to erase her.
And now?
Now I have to pay.