Why Does Muichiro Forget Novels & Stories

After that day, our relationship cooled, little by little, like a radio losing signal. One day, at a company mixer where they were planning a move into medical services, Mario and I sat side by side at the head table. The room hummed with polite conversation until a young man suddenly lunged at Mario, raising a gun. "You fuckin' asshole," he shouted. "You don't deserve Carmilla's love. How dare you hurt her?" People froze. No one moved.

But now, as she ate, she noticed from the corner of her eye that he had already eaten several. She glanced at the side of his masked face. As much as she still hated him, there were now a thousand questions swirling inside her—questions only he could answer. The most pressing of which was: how had Biscuit survived? They say curiosity kills the cat, and Aria couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Micheal, back then didn’t you... didn’t you kill Biscuit...?” “That was a dummy I switched in at the last second,” Micheal replied softly, a flicker of hope in his eyes at her question. Some things only get worse if you avoid them—he might as well face them head-on.

Then I thought about the medical facility photograph. Almost. I pushed off the doorframe and walked into the training room properly. Set my cold coffee on the bench. Looked at the mats on the floor and the equipment on the walls and the way the light came in from the high windows. “Teach me something,” I said. He blinked. “What.” “To fight. I apparently knew how before. My body remembers things even when my brain doesn’t.” I looked at my hands. “I want to know what else it remembers.”

His mind was stuck on those three days Tania was trapped there. How terrified she must have been. He pushed Lucy into the basement, locking the door hard, ignoring her knocks and cries. Samuel wandered the villa, searching for any sign of Tania, but slowly he realized that Tania had been fading from his life since the day Lucy came back. It started when she accidentally broke the dishes. All their shared memories in that house — the gifts he gave, their pictures together — were gone. He had not even noticed when their big wedding photo, the one that hung right in the middle of the villa, had disappeared.

,I walk towards my room, shutting the door behind me,as tears stream my face. I sob to my heart's content,my thoughts bitter and heart pained. He's probably moved on,happy. I hug my knees to my chest,crying like I have never cried before. What should I do to forget him?

So I began to pack my bags, but Sienna texted me halfway, attached with a photo of the car trunk full of champagne roses. [Look, Fiona. Duke still remembers champagne roses—these are my favorite.] [Thank you for grooming such a perfect partner. He's so much more romantic than before.] I didn't reply, and quietly ticked another day off the calendar. - That night, Duke broke his promise again—in fact, he didn't come home over the next few days either. As I solemnly cleared signs that I lived in my house and ticked the days off the calendar, I finally understood—when you were disappointed enough, you wouldn't even want to leave anything for the other person to remember you by.

Not really. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said the moment he saw me. “Then why haven’t you locked your door?” I snapped, shoving the flash drive into his palm. “I need to know if it’s real.” He stared at it for a long time. Then sighed. “I warned you both,” he said. “Back then. Memory tampering comes at a cost.” “I don’t care. I want it back.” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you ready to remember everything?”