Dylan had gone farther than expected during his shopping trip. On the way back, he got caught in rush hour traffic, stretching his drive back to nearly two hours. So, by the time he parked the gray sedan in a private lot near his residence, it was already eight-thirty at night.
Once he had slipped his wristwatch into his pants pocket, he hurried down the dimly lit streets, wary of getting mugged. Twenty minutes later, he finally arrived at his doorstep.
The metal gate let out a loud creak as he pushed it open. He then stepped through the wooden door behind it. Once inside, he carelessly tossed his house keys toward the dining table to his right. They clattered onto the floor, yet he didn't bother picking them up. He even considered doing the same with the car keys but decided against it, as those weren't his property.
Exhausted, he kicked off his shoes without using his hands, letting his sock-covered feet slide free. His gray socks picked up dirt from the scuffed soles, but he ignored it. Then, he moved through the house. He flicked on the lights and made his way straight to the kitchen.
Soon, his stomach growled; he hadn't eaten properly at noon, just a coffee and a few slices of cake. However, the foul smell coming from the sink immediately killed any desire to prepare dinner.
The kitchen was a disaster. The green tiles on the counter near the stove were streaked with grease and grime. Stacks of dirty dishes and pots were piled high, not even soaked to make scrubbing easier.
Opting for the fastest solution, he opened his old fridge. Its once-white exterior had long since turned blackened with age, and the inside wasn't much better—moldy cheese, overripe bananas, and leftovers so old he couldn't even remember when he bought them.
Letting out a disappointed sigh, he turned back toward the living room and sank onto the couch in front of the TV. He grabbed the remote from the floor and powered it on, cracking his knuckles absentmindedly with his free hand.
Soft music, children's laughter, and the chatter of two women filled the space. Judging by the channel, the last thing he had watched was a soap opera. Now, a contemporary romantic comedy was playing.
Not his thing. But he didn't change the channel either.
He closed his eyes, barely aware of the flickering images on the screen. Dylan hadn't turned on the TV for entertainment—he just needed to drown out the silence. Silence invited thoughts he had no interest in entertaining.
A kind of PTSD lingered in the corners of his mind. When his guard was down, old habits crept back. Certain thoughts and reflexes returned with unwelcome clarity. Fortunately, he could always suppress them as long as he kept himself busy or had noise around him.
Cleaning the kitchen was out of the question. Cooking, too. Hence, the only thing he could do was turn on the TV. Even if the show playing was embarrassing, at least it filled the void.
"I brought this shit on myself," he muttered under his breath.
Pushing aside his inner turmoil, Dylan acknowledged—without much emotion—that he had no one to blame but himself. Things wouldn't have reached this point if he had taken the time to correct his habits sooner.
It was too late to change the past, but at least he could make sure history didn't repeat itself. Starting tomorrow, things would be different.
It wasn't just the mess in his house that occupied his thoughts—there were bigger things to worry about. He still had research to do, names to verify, and potential future celebrities to track down on social media.
His encounter with Haru, the eccentric alliance guardian, had him thinking. Could there be more coincidences like that out there? The odds of running into someone like her again were astronomical, yet it had happened. Ignoring that possibility felt irresponsible now.
Still, some matters couldn't be solved from behind a screen. He would have to leave his apartment, maybe even travel beyond the city—mountains, rivers, the coast...
Preparing his body to face the wilderness before the transfer seemed like a reasonable idea.
Then again, maybe he was overthinking it. His deal with Roberto, his former coworker, had ended earlier than expected, leaving that particular plan in limbo.
"Ha, ha, ha!"
Dylan burst into laughter in the solitude of his living room.
'Forgetting is a strange thing, People always say you don't appreciate what you had until you've lost it. But memory works differently. When you forget, you're not even aware of what's missing.'
And that was exactly what had happened to him.
''Guess I got lucky, huh?''
That reflection only made him laugh more.
He was lucky his father's driving lessons had stuck in his muscle memory rather than his conscious mind. Otherwise, handling a rental car might've been a nightmare. If he'd messed up, the police could've stopped him. And if that had happened, things could have gone south fast.
It was almost comical how he hadn't even considered one crucial detail—he had needed a driver's license to be on the road.
This time, nothing bad had happened. It was just a funny little oversight. Tomorrow, Roberto would pick up the keys and return part of the rental money. Nevertheless, how much longer could he keep dodging trouble like this?
"What else have I forgotten?"
A question without an easy answer.
In this world, society was built on rules. From childhood, humans were taught to follow them, learning everything they needed to function as adults. Dylan, however, didn't have time to relearn them all.
The simplest solution was to avoid interacting with others until December. By then, none of it would matter anyway.
'Oh, I punched someone because I thought that's how men greet each other? Well, that's a crime here. But over there… if I were stronger, the poor guy could just grit his teeth and offer the other cheek...'
Following that train of thought, which flirted with the absurd and the unlawful, Dylan slowly peeled himself off the couch as the cheerful ending theme of the romantic comedy played, stretching his stiff muscles before heading to his landline phone: an old, forgotten relic resting near a pillar in the hallway leading to the bedrooms.
His last hope was finding a restaurant open for delivery. If not, he'd have to go to bed hungry.
"Let's see… If I remember right, their number should be in…" he murmured, flipping through a worn-out green notebook passed down from his parents.
. . . . .
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the city…
"Goodbye, Aunt Ana! See you tomorrow!"
"Take care, dear. Say hello to your father for me."
For the first time that Monday, Haru smiled—genuinely, warmly—as she waved goodbye to the housekeeper, who remained behind, awaiting her return.
Ana wasn't just an employee hired by her father. She was her family. After Haru lost her mother at nine years old, Ana had filled the void with love and devotion, becoming her safe haven. She cooked her favorite meals, played with her on lonely afternoons, and helped her pick out dresses for special occasions.
Yet, the warmth she left behind did little to ease the impact of the encounter with the man who called himself Dylan just hours earlier.
The fear that had paralyzed her was still fresh in her mind, yet now that they were apart, a different emotion had taken its place: an unsettling curiosity.
'Who was he really? How did he know my name?!'
She wanted to rush to her room and search for answers. But first, there were responsibilities to take care of.
Haru bent down, slipping off her shoes with a soft sigh of satisfaction as her feet welcomed the change to the gentle touch of the slippers she had taken from the shoe rack. With light steps, she headed for the front door, checking the lock and turning it twice—she still remembered her father's scolding the last time she forgot.
Once everything was secure, she moved deeper into the house. At the first intersection, she turned right, her gaze briefly landing on a painting—a herd of wild horses galloping under a golden sky.
Ahead, three familiar barks rang out from the inner courtyard, their enthusiasm greeting her arrival.
They were a gift from her father, but she had never truly cared for them. He had chosen them carefully—breeds meant to intimidate at first sight. To her, though, they were just loud, annoying creatures wagging their tails or sticking out their tongues, blissfully unaware of their intended original purpose.
Feeding them could have easily been Ana's job, but Hiroshi had made one thing clear—this was Haru's responsibility.
According to him, it was the only way to earn their loyalty. And he wasn't wrong.
Shoving the eager dogs aside with gentle nudges, she filled their metal bowls, ensuring they had enough food to last until morning. The excited animals dug in immediately.
She watched them for a moment before heading to the kitchen to pick up the dinner Ana had left for her, already thinking about what she'd do once she got to her bedroom…