Cold Fever - Chapter 1 - Part 2

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His nerves were on edge, and the pain in his foot made it hard to sleep. He finally started to drift off around dawn. When he woke up in the early afternoon and tried to go to the bathroom, a dull pain shot through his head the moment his foot touched the floor. When he rolled up his jeans, his right foot was swollen like an elephant’s. It seemed that his fall the day before had aggravated his injured foot.

Just taking one step made him crouch down. The pain was so intense that he almost wet himself, stripping away all his bravado. Feeling miserable, he picked the cold pack out of the trash and stuck it to his right ankle. He lay down for a while, but eventually couldn’t hold back his urge to use the toilet any longer and got out of bed. Walking was too painful, so he crawled on all fours like a dog. As he shuffled down the hallway, Fujishima came out of the living room, and they ran into each other. He had thought the house was quiet and that Fujishima had gone to work since it was a weekday.

“W-what’s wrong...?”

Fujishima’s eyes widened in surprise. Tohru’s face flushed with embarrassment at how pathetic he looked and he clenched his teeth. What do you mean, ‘what’s wrong?’ It’s obvious just by looking... Tohru cursed internally, ignoring the man as he crawled his way to the bathroom. Somehow, he managed to relieve himself, but now he couldn’t bring himself to come out. He heard the creaking of the floorboards and sensed someone’s presence lingering in the hallway. After about thirty minutes of hiding, there was a cautious knock on the bathroom door.

“...Is it a stomachache? Should I go get some medicine?”

“N-no, it’s not that...”

Embarrassment made his ears hot, and his voice trembled.

“Don’t be shy. Stomachaches happen all the time, and with all the stress from everything...”

Tohru stood on his left foot and swung the door open forcefully.

“I said it’s not that!”

Fujishima’s eyes widened, and he blinked several times. Even though Tohru had opened the door, he felt helpless. Standing was fine, but walking was impossible. Still, he would rather die than let Fujishima see him crawling around like a dog.

“If that’s the case, then alright...”

Fujishima’s gaze fell on his swollen, elephant-like right foot. Tohru lifted his foot off the floor and hid it behind his left leg.

“Let’s go to the hospital,” Fujishima said firmly. “I didn’t realize it was so swollen. You should have it checked out.”

“This will heal on its own if I just rest,” Tohru spat out.

“If it hurts so much you can’t walk, that’s not normal.”

“Shut up!”

Fujishima grabbed his arm, and Tohru yanked it away roughly. The sudden movement made his body lurch, and he accidentally put weight on his right foot. A sharp pain shot through his ankle, and he collapsed to the floor, landing hard on his backside. The pain was so intense that he couldn’t make a sound. As he crouched there for a while, he heard someone call his name, “Tohru.” When he lifted his head, Fujishima’s face was at eye level.

“If it’s hard to walk, you can lean on my shoulder. So, let’s go to the hospital.”

Fujishima grabbed his right hand and pulled hard. With only his left leg to balance on, Tohru had no choice but to let himself be dragged along the hallway and out the front door, wearing a sullen expression.

Reluctantly holding onto Fujishima’s shoulder, Tohru noticed how small and thin it was. Standing side by side, he realized that Fujishima’s eye level was much lower than his own. He thought he had known that already, but it felt like he was noticing it for the first time, leaving him slightly bewildered.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

His foot was sprained. Upon hearing that, Fujishima muttered with a relieved expression, "I'm glad the bone isn't broken." In the end, it was a good thing they went to the hospital. Because he was able to borrow crutches, Tohru no longer had to crawl down the hallway in front of the man, sparing him from showing such a disgraceful sight again. The prescribed medicine was also effective, and the pain became much more bearable. However, Tohru had mixed feelings. He was frustrated that he couldn't endure the pain and ended up doing as the man had told him.

When they returned from the hospital, it was past five in the evening. Even though he hadn't done much, he was exhausted. As soon as he entered his room, he lay down on the bed and fell asleep just like that. When he woke up, it was completely dark around him. When he turned on the light, he saw that the clock in the room read 7:30 p.m.

His stomach growled loudly. Now that he thought about it, he hadn't eaten anything all day. The realization made him even hungrier. He thought about going out to buy something, but he didn’t know what stores were nearby, and he had no money. His throat was dry too, so he decided to go to the kitchen to get some water. As he drank directly from the faucet like a snake drinking water, the light in the living room next to the kitchen suddenly came on. When he looked up, Fujishima was standing at the entrance to the living room.

"You're awake?" Fujishima asked. Tohru didn't reply.

"Let's have dinner," Fujishima said as he slowly walked over to the table. On it were two bento boxes that looked like they were from a convenience store. It was too dark before, so Tohru hadn’t noticed them.

"Would you have preferred something else?" Fujishima asked, sounding a bit flustered. Tohru hadn't been looking at the food with that in mind. Without saying anything, he approached the table and sat down carefully, avoiding putting weight on his right foot. He tore the plastic wrap off the offered bento and opened a bottle of tea. Fujishima sat across from him and started eating as well.

There was no conversation during the meal. Tohru didn’t speak, and the man across from him didn’t try to start a conversation. Fujishima had said yesterday that the two of them used to live together here. Tohru figured that if neither of them cooked, then convenience store meals were to be expected.

As he ate the overly seasoned simmered dishes, Tohru remembered that Fujishima had mentioned he was divorced. He said that was why they started living together again. Tohru sneered internally, thinking how even a pervert who would touch a child of the same sex could still get married to a woman. Or maybe that kind of thing and this kind were separate issues? Tohru let out a small chuckle. Either way, he felt a bit of schadenfreude about the divorce.

After leaving half of his bento uneaten, Fujishima stood up from the table. Then, as if waiting for Tohru to finish eating, he brought over some coffee. The distinctive aroma suggested it wasn’t instant. Fujishima took just a sip of the coffee and left the room, but he soon returned and placed an insurance card on the table.

"Here, I’m returning this. Since today was so sudden, I took it from your room without asking," he said. Tohru stared intently at the insurance card in front of him.

"Your valuables like your bank book and seal should be in the drawer of the bookshelf. The bank book was renewed while you were suffering from amnesia. The bank you used to use doesn’t have a branch here, so it was inconvenient..."

Tohru grabbed the insurance card and carelessly shoved it into the chest pocket of his shirt. When he tried to stand up, Fujishima stopped him by saying, "Wait."

"There are still a few things I need to tell you," Fujishima said, letting out a sigh of relief when Tohru reluctantly sat back down.

"As I mentioned a bit yesterday, while you were suffering from amnesia, you worked as a pastry chef in a hotel restaurant. Given the circumstances, I spoke to the people at your workplace, and they’ve allowed you to take medical leave. But you need to decide what to do from here on."

Even though he said that, Tohru didn’t feel any connection to the idea of having worked in a kitchen, so he couldn’t fathom what his options might be.

"You said you don’t remember anything about the six years you were suffering from amnesia. According to the doctor, if your memory comes back and you don’t remember the time you were amnesiac, it’s often the case that you can’t recall anything from that period."

Fujishima paused for a moment.

"You can't remember being a pastry chef, but you still have to decide whether you want to continue at your current workplace or start something completely new."

Finally, Tohru began to grasp what was being said. In a heavy tone, Fujishima murmured, "I know it's a difficult decision..."

"Of course, I’m quitting," Tohru replied immediately, and Fujishima stared at him intently.

"Are you sure you won’t regret it?"

Pressed on this point, Tohru shrugged.

"How can I regret something I don’t remember?" he shot back.

After a brief silence, Fujishima murmured, "I understand."

"In that case, you should go to the restaurant tomorrow and explain to the head chef why you won’t be able to continue working."

Tohru didn’t reply.

"I have work tomorrow, so I can’t take you to the hotel. I’ll call a taxi for you. That way, you won’t have to walk. It’s a large hotel, so the driver will probably know it just from the name, but I’ll give you a map just in case. If you get lost along the way, you can call my cell—"

"I’m not going," Tohru interrupted, leaning back in his chair.

"It was the 'amnesiac' me who worked there, right? It has nothing to do with me now."

"No matter how much you’ve forgotten, the 'you' who was amnesiac is still you. The head chef is a very kind person and cared about you. I’d like you to at least say goodbye..."

"Shut up!" Tohru shouted, slamming his hand on the table. The loud noise startled the man across from him, making his body tremble.

"I said I’m not going!" he growled in a low, threatening voice. The presence of anger and violence was palpable. It emanated from his expression and entire body, spreading through the air. Once the other person was made to feel 'afraid,' it was easy after that. Humans aren’t stupid. Their instinct to avoid danger kicks in, making them either flee or submit.

"It’s just a final goodbye. Why do you hate the idea so much?" Fujishima’s voice was trembling. Even though he was scared, he still resisted. There were people like that sometimes. Those who were too dense to let their instincts take over.

"Even if you don’t remember, the person who worked there was still 'you.' I think it’s only natural to thank someone who took care of you," Fujishima said.

It wasn’t that Tohru didn’t understand what Fujishima was saying. It was because he understood that he felt irritated. He had refused to go for a farewell because he felt 'awkward,' a childish reason that he was fully aware of.

"You act like you understand, but you don’t know how I feel. How could you possibly understand what it’s like to wake up and find out six years have passed, or how it feels to realize that I, for some insane reason, had been living with you?"

After a brief silence, the man quietly muttered, "I don’t understand."

The bluntness of his response, which almost seemed like he had given up, made Tohru’s anger boil over in an instant.

"If you don’t understand, then don’t give me your opinions!"

"It’s not an opinion; it’s a suggestion," Fujishima replied calmly. "It’s my belief that it would be better for you to go back to your workplace, say your goodbyes, and properly close that chapter. After that, you should do whatever you want."

Using his crutches, Tohru clumsily stood up from his chair. His limited mobility only fueled his irritation. Fujishima also stood up. Tohru grabbed the collar of the unresisting man standing in front of him, but his footing was unsteady, and he had to push Fujishima away. Even though he hadn’t used much force, Fujishima crumpled to the floor.

"If you don’t want to get hurt, keep your mouth shut," Tohru warned.

Despite looking scared, Fujishima still looked him directly in the eyes. …It was infuriating.

"Violence isn’t good," Fujishima said.

All Tohru had done was push him down. To him, that didn’t even count as violence.

"…Violence, huh? This is what violence is!" Tohru said as he stood on his left foot and struck Fujishima’s thigh with the end of his crutch. When Fujishima cried out in pain, Tohru did it again, and again. He was teaching him what "pain" felt like. This should have made him stop resisting. But when Tohru raised the crutch for the fourth time, Fujishima flinched and pulled back. As Tohru reached out to continue, he lost his balance and instinctively tried to steady himself with his right foot. The sharp pain in his ankle made his knee buckle, and before he realized it, he had crashed to the ground.

"A-are you okay?" Fujishima hurried over, trying to help him up. Being unexpectedly assisted by someone he had just been violent towards, Tohru felt a burning shame spread across his back.

"Don’t touch me!" Tohru shouted, but Fujishima didn’t move away.

"I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought it was the right thing to do… If you really don’t want to see them, a phone call or a letter would be fine. I just wanted you to show some appreciation to the people who helped you."

Tohru grabbed his crutches and stood up. He left the living room, put on one shoe on his left foot, and rushed outside. He took the elevator down and looked at his swollen foot, thinking about how uncomfortable that place was. When you hit someone, they should either get angry or be afraid. But this man, who continued to show him kindness even after being struck, was downright unsettling.

Tohru exited the apartment building and turned right. Though crutches weren’t that uncommon, people passing by still glanced back at him. As he turned the second corner, he looked back on impulse. The tall apartment building was still clearly visible. With nowhere to go, no money, and a severe injury... The more he thought about it, the more miserable he felt. He went back a little and entered a park near the building. He sat on a bench and let out a long, white sigh. The cold bit into his body, clad in just a shirt. He regretted not staying in the room instead of rushing outside, but it was too late for that now.

He stared intently at the entrance to the park under the streetlamp. Realizing what he was hoping to see, he became disgusted with himself and lowered his gaze. No expectations, no trust. That’s what Fujishima had taught him long ago. You only get hurt if you expect something, if you trust someone. If you never trust from the start, you won’t get hurt.

If he hadn’t been injured, if he had just a bit of money... He would’ve beaten that guy half to death and gone somewhere no one knew him. The crutches he had leaned against the bench slipped to the ground. He kicked them away in frustration.

Beyond the streetlamp, he saw a figure briefly pass by. A black long coat. As soon as he realized who it was, a sense of relief that he couldn’t hide washed over him. The figure approached at a brisk pace. Looking down, he saw only the tips of leather shoes.

"You’ll catch a cold if you stay here too long."

The voice from across him was breathing shallowly. The crutches were gently placed beside the bench. He felt something being draped over his back, and he looked up instinctively.

"Let’s go home together."

Fujishima looked as if he was genuinely worried. Tohru bit his upper lip hard and looked down. He didn’t say "Let’s go home." But he couldn’t say "I’m not going home," either. Fujishima stood there for a while, but then he left, saying, "Don’t stay out too long; come back home."

Once he was alone, it suddenly felt much colder. Unable to bear the cold, Tohru slipped his arms into the sleeves of the coat that had been draped over him. He shoved his frozen hands into the pockets and felt something hard at his fingertips. When he pulled it out, he found a key on a chain. He gripped it tightly. After fiddling with it until his fingers warmed up, he finally stood up from the bench.

It was about an hour after he stormed out of the apartment that Tohru used the key to open the front door. Without speaking to Fujishima, he went straight to his room. The room was warm with the heating on, and the thoughtfulness behind it made him feel both itchy and irritated. He threw the coat off roughly.

He collapsed on the bed, lying face down, and clutched his head. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what he should be doing. He felt restless, unbearably restless... and a little like crying.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

In the end, Tohru never showed up at the hotel restaurant where he used to work. He didn’t write a letter or even make a phone call. He thought about at least calling, but it felt like he would be doing exactly what Fujishima wanted, so he decided against it.

As Fujishima had said, the drawer in the bookshelf contained a bank book and a seal under Tohru’s name that he had never seen before. When he looked inside, the account balance was 220,000 yen. It seemed like a small amount of savings for a 28-year-old man. There appeared to be a monthly income of about 200,000 yen, presumably from a salary, but half of that amount was transferred each month to someone named "Satoko Kinoshita." The rest was withdrawn in small amounts, apparently for living expenses. Despite the low account balance, Tohru was more concerned about the nearly 100,000 yen that was being withdrawn every month. He thought Fujishima might know who "Satoko Kinoshita" was. But even though he had lost his memory, he wasn’t sure if Fujishima would know where his salary was going, so in the end, he didn’t ask.

In the drawer, there were two keys for something, though he wasn’t sure what they were for. Since there wasn’t any other place in the room that required keys, he had been wondering what they were for. Later, he realized they were for the mountain bike and its chain lock that were parked near the entrance. He had always thought to himself, "Who would ride a bike like that?" as if it were someone else's business, but since Fujishima never seemed to use it, Tohru thought, "Maybe it's mine," and when he tried the keys, they fit perfectly.

While he had the bicycle key, there wasn’t a car key, and the worn-looking black wallet only had a drugstore loyalty card in it, but no driver’s license. He didn’t know whether it had been lost or if he simply hadn’t renewed it. He thought maybe it was in Fujishima’s car, but he couldn’t imagine sharing a car with Fujishima.

After the abrupt jump of six years, time started to pass slowly. Tohru didn’t want to go outside with his crutches, so he spent his days at home, only going out to go to the hospital or to buy cigarettes from the vending machine nearby. He would get up around noon, eat whatever was stored in the house, and blankly watch TV in the living room. Over the six years, the variety show hosts had changed, the popular songs were all from unfamiliar artists, and even the prime minister was different. He slowly got used to the gap created by those six missing years.

Fujishima would leave for work at 8:30 in the morning from Monday to Friday and return around 6 in the evening. The other day, there was a call asking, "This is Yanagisawa from Tamasako Paper Company. Is Section Chief Fujishima available?" The caller asked, "Could you let him know to call the office back when he returns because we couldn’t reach his cell phone?" Tohru was surprised to learn that Fujishima worked for a paper company, as he had always thought Fujishima was running the family dyeing business. He wondered why and then imagined that the dyeing business might have gone bankrupt during those six years, which secretly amused him.

Although they didn’t see each other in the mornings or afternoons, they ate dinner together. Sometimes Fujishima would buy dinner, but with his right foot still in pain, Tohru found it inconvenient to eat unless he was sitting down. Even when they sat across from each other, they barely talked. Fujishima occasionally tried to start a conversation, but if Tohru wasn’t in the mood, he wouldn’t respond, so they never really had a dialogue.

About three weeks after his injury, the swelling and pain in Tohru’s right foot had subsided considerably. Although it still throbbed painfully if he walked for long periods or suddenly tried to run, he no longer needed crutches to move around the house. Now that he could move around more freely, Tohru started to become acutely aware of his boredom.

As if waiting for Tohru to become more mobile, Fujishima handed him a paper bag, saying, "It’s old, but if you like, you can use it." Normally, Tohru would have handed it back, but because it was a paper bag from a camera shop, he accepted it without thinking. When he opened it, he found a DSLR camera inside. The bag was old, and although it had been opened before, the camera inside was in near-new condition. The box even contained a warranty card for the camera, but it had long since expired.

Tohru wondered why Fujishima had given him a camera... Did he know about Tohru's interest in photography, or was it just a coincidence? The cheap but cherished camera Tohru had used before was nowhere to be found in the room. He thought Fujishima might know where it was, but he didn’t ask. Regardless, Tohru was simply happy to have a camera, even if it was an old one.

The next day, Tohru got up around noon as usual and went outside with a purpose other than buying cigarettes. Even in mid-February, the cold showed no signs of letting up, and the snow piled up on the roadside had become a common sight. Though he was seeing the same scenery as when he went to buy cigarettes, his eyes kept drifting to different things around him. Maybe it was because, subconsciously, he was viewing everything as a potential subject for his photographs.

As he walked down the street, he suddenly remembered something his high school photography club advisor had said.

“If you have the will, anything can become a subject. Even a single stone on the road can have meaning beyond what is visible. I love photographs that can perform that kind of magic.”

Tohru’s interest in photography started in his first year of high school during the cultural festival. Tohru thought the whole group celebration was "ridiculous," so on the day of the event, he ignored his assigned role and went to school in the afternoon. While the festivities raged on, he went up to the rooftop and took a nap. He woke up to the scent of impending rain and rushed back into the school building.

After 4 p.m., the cleanup for the cultural festival had begun in various classrooms and hallways. By sheer coincidence, as Tohru was walking towards the entrance, he spotted something that made him stop in his tracks. It was a photo panel carelessly placed in the corner of the hallway.

The photo, titled "Family Portrait," depicted four stones of the same size placed on a dining table for four, taken from above. At first glance, it looked inorganic and cold. However, when Tohru looked at that photograph, he felt a sense of envy. There were no power dynamics or grudges. The four stones, all the same size, were spaced evenly apart, seemingly drawn to each other... needing each other. That’s how he felt.

The photo of the stones had been taken by the young social studies teacher who was the advisor of the photography club. Contrary to the image his photograph projected, the teacher was a cheerful and energetic man who had said that he had been taking photos with stones as a motif for a long time. Talking to this man led Tohru to join the photography club. He wanted to try taking pictures himself. However, he didn’t fit in with the other club members and only went to the club room when he wanted to use the darkroom.

What got Tohru hooked on photography was a magazine contest. His photo of a withered flower, titled "DEAD END," won the grand prize in a monthly photography magazine’s reader contest. He was delighted when he found out. More than the value of the photograph itself, he was simply happy that he was recognized by "someone."

Even though his right foot wasn’t hurting, he found himself dragging it as if by habit. The weather was nice, but the wind was as cold as ice, making him shrug his shoulders repeatedly as he slowly walked through the park. After passing by the convenience store and turning left, he came out onto a main road. He wandered around, looking for a bank where he might have deposited some money. Since he had time, he strolled aimlessly, thinking it was a good way to kill time, and eventually ended up in an old shopping street. There, he found a bank and withdrew 20,000 yen at the counter. Though he had a cash card, he didn’t know the PIN, so he couldn’t use it.

After leaving the bank, he continued walking through the shopping district, searching for camera film. The old storefronts had a certain charm and a distinctive atmosphere. Occasionally, there were newer, tidier shops, but those felt oddly out of place.

As he passed by a fish shop with a sign that read "Uomaru," someone suddenly called out, "Tohru-chan!" When he turned around, he saw an elderly woman wearing an apron, vigorously waving at him. Even though he looked around to see if anyone else might be the intended target, there was no one else nearby. Realizing the action was directed at him, Tohru hesitantly approached the shop marked by the "Uomaru" sign, despite not recognizing the woman who was beaming at him.

Unable to ignore her once they made eye contact, Tohru nervously drew closer to the shopfront. The woman then gave him a hearty slap on the back, so strong that it almost hurt.

"It’s been a while, hasn’t it? We were all wondering if you had moved since we hadn’t seen you recently," she said, narrowing her eyes as she looked up at Tohru from beneath her wrinkled face.

"You don’t look well. Have you been feeling under the weather?" she continued, speaking freely without waiting for a response. Tohru wondered who this woman was talking to. When he remained silent, the woman let out a small sigh, saying, "Just wait a moment," and then took out a plastic bag. She wrapped two fish that were laid out at the shop in newspaper and placed them in the bag.

"Today, we’ve got some good urume sardines. Since you always take good care of us, Tohru-chan, I’ll give you a little extra."

Even though Tohru had no idea how to cook such things, he couldn’t refuse the gift and mumbled a quiet "Thank you" as he accepted the bag.

"Cheer up. You’re the idol of all the shop ladies here in the shopping district," she said. Tohru gave her a strained smile and quickly moved away from the shop. It was clear that this woman was someone who knew the "former" him before his memory loss. From the way she spoke, it seemed they had been quite close. Although Tohru had always been uncomfortable around people, he was surprised to learn that his former self had apparently been more sociable than he had expected.

Just as he escaped from the fishmonger, thinking he was finally free, he was stopped again, this time by a middle-aged woman in front of a butcher shop. The moment he stopped, he was dragged into the shop and subjected to a fifteen-minute story about her neuralgia, which flared up in the cold. Afterward, she gave him two vegetable croquettes, saying, "Here, have these as a snack."

After that, a greengrocer forced him to buy a whole cabbage, and at a tea shop, he was invited to sample some tea with the words, "We have some good tea today." By the time he reached the end of the shopping street, Tohru was utterly exhausted, his hands weighed down by five plastic bags. He understood that the "former" him, who had lost his memory, had been a regular in this shopping district. However, being repeatedly called "Tohru-chan" like a schoolchild was something he hadn’t gotten used to, and it left him feeling strangely fatigued.

As he exited the shopping street, he saw a station and a bookstore on the right. Although he wanted to go back to his apartment as soon as possible, he also wanted a photography magazine. The bookstore, a two-story building, was large, and he wandered aimlessly between the shelves, unsure of where to find what he was looking for. As he did so, he made eye contact with a middle-aged man wearing an apron with the store’s name on it. The man called out, "Tohru-kun," and smiled warmly.

"The book you ordered has arrived. I called your home once, but it seemed like you weren’t there. I’ve left it at the first-floor register, so pick it up on your way out."

Not only the shopping district but even here, remnants of his "six years" were scattered around. Tohru responded with a polite "I understand" and gave a slight nod.

"And thanks for the cake you made for my daughter’s birthday the other day. It was so delicious, we were really impressed. My daughter scolded me, saying, 'Dad, you’re eating too much of my cake!' It was a chocolate cake, wasn’t it? Did it have alcohol in it?"

Tohru swallowed hard. Even if he had really made the cake, he couldn’t remember anything about it, so he had no idea how to respond. As he remained silent, the man was called away by another staff member, and Tohru felt relieved as he hurriedly left the area. Although he had heard stories about how he had made cakes during the time he had lost his memory, it had always seemed like a distant, unreal concept. But now, these fragments were starting to take on vague shapes in the context of real conversations.

When Tohru reached the register, the middle-aged man wasn’t there. He didn’t know what kind of book he had ordered, but he felt that if he didn’t pick it up, they might call his house again. So he told the clerk, "My name is Takahisa, and I ordered a book..." Along with the camera magazine, the clerk handed him a hard-covered book titled "The History of Viennese Confectionery," which was wrapped and priced at more than six times the cost of the magazine.

Tohru avoided the shopping street and took a roundabout route back to his apartment. He carelessly stuffed the food items he had been given or coerced into buying into the refrigerator. Feeling hungry, he took a bite of one of the vegetable croquettes. Though it had completely cooled down, it was still crispy and delicious. While munching on the croquette, he picked up the hard-covered book before the camera magazine. It was filled with colorful pictures of cakes and sweets, but after flipping through just a few pages, he tossed it onto the floor.

He didn’t feel like reading the magazine he had gone out of his way to buy, so he lay down on the living room sofa. No matter how much he regretted wasting six years of his life due to amnesia, he had never really thought about how he had spent those years. Even if he didn’t remember, he had lived here for six years, shopped in the shopping district, and baked cakes. He stared at his fingers once more. It was hard to believe that these hands had made the kinds of pastries shown in that book.

Suddenly, he felt like having something warm to drink, so he got up from the sofa. He walked into the kitchen and began to boil some water. As he absently looked around the sink area, he realized just how well-equipped the kitchen was. There were even tools he didn’t recognize and didn’t know how to use. Fujishima didn’t cook. If he did, he wouldn’t buy convenience store meals even on weekends. If that were the case, could it have been him who had done the cooking? If he had baked sweets, maybe he had cooked meals too. Although Tohru had never prided himself on it, he had never properly held a kitchen knife before. He had spent his middle and high school years in a dormitory, and even after living on his own, his meals had always consisted of convenience store food or eating out at family restaurants.

Even if the mind doesn't remember, the body might. That might be how it works. He took the fish out of the refrigerator, placed it on the cutting board, and picked up the knife. He decided to try filleting the fish but didn't know how, so he simply brought the knife down forcefully from above. The fish's head, severed from its body, rolled into the sink. It seemed that just trying something wasn't enough to bring back the old sensations. As he was doing this, the water boiled, so he threw the knife into the sink.

After drinking his coffee, he discreetly disposed of the severed fish head and returned to his room. He then began to examine "six years" of his bookshelf. There were many books about confectionery—actually, there were only books about confectionery. Some were even in English, and when he picked one up, surprised that he had really read such a book, he noticed that parts of it were marked with colored pens.

He didn't stop at the bookshelf; he also checked the drawers and the closet. He found brochures from confectionery exhibitions, as well as ticket stubs from hot springs and theme parks, and pamphlets from various tourist spots. They were from all over the country, revealing a new side of himself—his six-year self had been a travel enthusiast. He also found several notebooks. They were filled with the names of shops where he had bought sweets, the types of sweets, and his impressions of them. Although the handwriting was undoubtedly his, he had no memory of writing any of it. It was bizarre, and it made him feel a little uneasy.

As he flipped through the notebooks, something slipped out and fell to the floor. When he picked it up, he found it was a Polaroid photo of Fujishima. It must have been summer, as Fujishima was in short sleeves, smiling warmly under the sunlight. As he stared at the photo, Tohru suddenly remembered that he had forgotten to buy camera film today.

That evening at dinner, Fujishima asked, "Did you buy the food in the fridge?" Explaining that he had been given and coerced into buying it seemed too troublesome, so he didn’t answer. As expected, Fujishima didn’t touch any of it, and within a week, everything in the fridge had spoiled.

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