The rain fell gently over Yongen-Jaya that evening, casting the streetlights in a soft, hazy glow. Inside Café Leblanc, the scent of coffee beans mingled with the quiet hum of conversation. Most of the team had gathered—huddled in worn booths or perched on stools—half-lost in thought.
The dreams hadn't stopped.
Since returning from the second layer of the Crown of the Forgotten King, nearly everyone had admitted—carefully, sometimes reluctantly—to having lingering memories of other lives. Lives filled with emotion. Unspoken desires. Longings they'd buried… or never known existed.
"Is it just me," Futaba muttered from her seat near the heater, "or did those dreams feel more like memories? Like… someone else's truth pressing into my brain."
Ryuji shifted, visibly uncomfortable. "Yeah. Same here. I—I don't even wanna say what mine was about."
There was silence. Haru stared down at her untouched tea. Morgana curled up on a shelf above the counter, tail twitching.
But Ren?
Ren's eyes weren't on the others. He was watching Makoto.
She stood in the kitchen doorway, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. She hadn't said much tonight. But the quiet tension in her jaw said everything.
When her eyes met his, something unspoken passed between them.
Later, as the others gradually filtered out into the rain, Ren remained behind, leaning on the counter. Makoto lingered too, the two of them exchanging silence until the door clicked shut.
"You saw me in yours, didn't you?" she asked at last, her voice barely above the soft patter of the storm outside.
"I did."
"And I saw you in mine."
They didn't speak for a while after that.
It wasn't awkward—just heavy. Weighty in a way that made the air feel thick between them. Finally, she stepped closer. Not as Student Council President. Not as Queen. Just… Makoto.
"You were different," she murmured. "But not wrong. It felt like a version of us I never allowed myself to want."
Ren tilted his head. "And what about now?"
Makoto hesitated. Then: "Now I don't want to ignore it."
She leaned in. Her hands slid gently up his arms, hesitant at first, then firmer when he didn't pull away. Their lips met—not with urgency, but with the aching softness of two people who'd thought too much for too long.
Their moment was interrupted by a strange vibration—a low hum from the television in the corner. The screen flickered, then went black.
A sudden static-heavy voice echoed out.
"Fragment Located: Shibuya Underground Walkway. Displacement Level: Critical."
Ren and Makoto pulled apart.
Another distortion.
But this one… was in the real world.