But even if she wanted to meet them, how could she?

  She barely remembered this place at all.

  The corridors blurred together, doors repeating like a maze that didn’t want her to leave. She slowed, her irritation rising, when a sudden movement cut across her path.

  A cat jumped in through an open window.

  It landed lightly, shook itself once, then meowed, sharp and demanding before tugging at the hem of her coat with its teeth.

  Her first instinct was to kick it away.

  Her leg moved before she could think but stopped midair.

  The cat didn’t flinch or run away. Just kept tugging, meowing again, as if she were expected to follow.

  “…Whatever,” Aki muttered.

  She didn’t question it. Didn’t wonder why a cat was here, or why it wasn’t afraid. It was moving forward, and she needed direction. That was enough.

  Luck, apparently, had opinions.

  Moments later, she found herself standing in front of a large door.

  “I’ve been expecting you,” a calm voice said.

  Aki clicked her tongue. What is this, a villain monologue? How cliché and what with this fragrance?

  “Come in. Sit.”

  The Chancellor gestured to the chair across from him. She did as she was told.

  “Aki,” he said, folding his hands. “You remember the monster, don’t you?”

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  She didn’t react.

  No gasp. No denial. Not even tension.

  Just stillness.

  He paused, watching her carefully.

  “That monster wasn’t acting on its own,” he continued. “It was following orders. And the one giving those orders was inside your car.”

  “…What?”

  “We don’t yet know who or what was controlling it. But something interfered. That may be why we couldn’t erase your memory completely.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The matchsticks,” he said calmly. “They were meant to erase everything. Let you forget. Let you live normally.”

  “Then release me,” Aki said flatly. “I’ll act like I didn’t see anything.”

  He smiled. “We both know it isn’t that simple.”

  She leaned back slightly. “So you locked up my parents too? To study the ‘impact’?”

  “Your parents?” His brow furrowed. “I know nothing about them.”

  Her breath hitched.

  “What? Dr. Nicolas said they were transferred. Another hospital.”

  “I’m sorry,” the Chancellor said. “I truly don’t know.”

  Her hands clenched.

  “If they’re dead,” she snapped, “just say so.”

  “I don’t know,” he repeated, firmer this time. “Please—drink some water and calm yourself down.”

  He poured it himself and handed her the glass.

  She barely had time to react before he pressed it to her lips, forcing her to swallow.

  “Let’s not lose focus,” he said. “Aki, you’re an ordinary human.”

  Her throat burned as she coughed.

  “…At least,” he added, watching her closely, “that’s what we believe. For now.”

  Her vision sharpened. The dull pressure behind her eyes eased, just slightly. Sounds felt clearer. Too clear.

  “You have an ability,” he continued. “One we don’t understand.”

  “W-what?”

  “Unlike others, we can’t erase your memories. And we can’t let you leave. You understand the situation we’re in, don’t you?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Did you come into contact with the monster?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?” His gaze narrowed. “Blood, perhaps?”

  Something flickered in her mind. Blood. Too much of it.

  “Aki,” he said softly, “do you feel hungry?”

  Her eyes widened. “What? No. I’m fine.”

  “And your emotional state,” he went on. “It’s stabilizing faster than expected. Have you read anything from the library?”

  “No.”

  He leaned back.

  “Aki, based on your symptoms, you may have no more than two years left to live.”

  “…What?”

  “No appetite. No thirst. Emotional flattening. It’s as if something non-human has formed a pact with you— granting power in exchange for your lifespan.”

  “So I’ll die in two years?” she said calmly.

  “We’re working on a solution.”

  “Then let me go,” she replied. “I’m dying anyway. And I’m a ‘mental patient.’ No one would believe me.”

  “You still don’t understand,” he said. “How do you think we’ll find that solution?”

  She tilted her head.

  “By experimenting on you,” he said pleasantly. “Of course.”

  She scoffed. “Okay. So?”

  “For that, you’ll be enrolled in our academy. Free of cost.”

  “So you can use students as disposable tools?”

  “Precisely.”

  “And if I run away?”

  “We’ll bring you back.”

  She snorted. “Wish I had a phone. I’d record you.”

  “It wouldn’t matter,” he said. “Now about enrollment.”

  He said while sliding a paper toward her.

  “No parent name?” she asked. “No address?”

  “Do you have any?” he smiled. “Just sign.”

  She hesitated only a second before doing it.

  “Four years to graduate,” she said. “You said I have two.”

  He laughed. “You’re funny.”

  “So failing’s fine?”

  “We’ll pass you regardless.”

  He handed her a phone.

  “You prepared this already.”

  Without further explaining anything “I’m busy now,” he said, tone shifting. “You may go.”

  And once again, she obeyed.