Hourglass [Quintessential Quintuplets x OCs]

To You, What Hidden Behind Your Eyelids

St. Catherine's annual cultural festival? I remember. It was one of the few days of my life that I'll never forget. And it wasn't just me; I don't think any of us who experienced it will ever forget.

Even though it was winter, it was still a warm and pleasant day and the winter snow had not yet started to fall. For me, I hadn't planned on attending the festival that day. But Kazuma changed a lot of people's plans, not just mine. 

On that day, in the tent of the Theatre Club, him and I talked about many things. I also gave him a good slap in the face, well-deserved one and it was quite the relief to be honest. I told him all my deepest secrets, all the things that I had torn my own heart out not to tell anyone else. 

His methods were unethical, but Kazuma and the word 'ethics' have never gone hand in hand. Still, it's one of the many things that make him who he is. Everything I learned that day, the feelings I had when I discovered his secret, and the events that followed are still etched to my brain.

''—Everything now start to settle down... Asuka's words, the book of the Velvet Labyrinth that you claim to have read, and my notes that perished—it's all coming together. YOU! You have some sort of photographic memory or...or...or some kind of talent! Otherwise, there's no way you able to do these things in just one day! Yeah, that must be it!''

An idea of photographical memory was the only idea I could come up with. That was the answer he wanted me to find, but the reaction I got was very different from what I expected.

''...Took you long enough. I swear, I thought I was talking with a pile of stone. A little incomplete, but I'll fill in the rest.''

''Wait, am I r-right? You really hav—'' 

''Yes then a no, Madoka.'' His tone felt so nonchalant that it was as if he wasn't the least bit impressed, his expression said it all. ''Yes, I can remember things I've seen or hear, but it's not that simple. First of all, it's not a talent. It's a disease. The medical dictionary calls it 𝗛𝘆𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘁𝗵𝘆𝗺𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗮 or 𝗛𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗹𝘆 𝗦𝘂𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗼𝗿 𝗔𝘂𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗶𝗼𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗠𝗲𝗺𝗼𝗿𝘆. Yeah yeah, you just had to find out eventually.''

''. . .'' I was at a loss for words. What could be said? What do you call someone who says such a thing like it's nothing? ''Explain...''

''Hai hai, don't crack yourself up.'' He rolled his eyes in boredom. ''My synaps to the memory and recall centre of the brain are basically not working. Think of it as the destruction of the bridge between the subconscious mind and the brain. Without the bridge, the brain cannot transfer memories and information to the subconscious and the process called forgetting cannot take place. And so on, blah blah blah— Is that really what you're interested in?''

His behaviour annoyed me to such an extent that it was hard for me not to slap him again. Instead, I grabbed his collar with all my strength. ''. . .!''