The memory did not behave like a switch. It lived in corners, in the margins of conversations, in the metallic tightness behind Suisei's teeth whenever she breathed too fast. Lately the edges of that memory had begun to fray — lines shifting into something that no longer matched the picture she'd carried for years.
If her father's death was meant to be a tidy line in a book, someone had scribbled in the margins. The public version — tragic home invasion, brave father shielding his child — had a rehearsed polish. Her mother's quiet insistence, the way she shaped those words to settle on Suisei's shoulders, had always felt like someone editing the truth until only a single version remained.
A dangerous, tiny thought slipped in: maybe Suisei wasn't the shard she'd been made to believe. Maybe she hadn't been the magnet that drew danger to their door.
It was absurd. It was terrifying. And for the first time, it felt possible.
She sat in the windowsill watching the city smear into evening. Hikaru was at the tiny kitchen table opposite, fingers worrying the little star charm on his bracelet — a nervous habit she'd learned to recognize like a punctuation mark. His blue hair stuck up in that trademark spiky style; his lime-green eyes were steady in a way that had steadied more than one of her edges lately.
"Aiko texted," he said. "She'll come soon." He didn't meet Suisei's eyes when he said it; he only twisted the charm like it anchored him.
Good. She needed them — everyone she could borrow from the world until she could speak truth in her own voice.
Suisei made a list in pencil until the tip blunted: cameras — storefronts and lamp-posts near the alley, the market by the park; times — the late-afternoon shadow that swallowed the lane the night of the attack; names — the reporter who'd smoothed her mother's words into headlines. Then she did something she'd been taught never to: she asked for help from people she trusted.
They met not with a shadowy stranger but with allies Suisei already knew. Aiko arrived first. Suisei had known Aiko as blunt and fierce; she hadn't known Aiko could disappear into code and reappear with results. Aiko's hands were quick and practiced over her phone, and when she spoke about possibilities, there was a confidence that suggested she'd been doing this in corners for longer than anyone suspected.
Hyuga came next, the kind of presence that made small rooms feel like big funhouses.
Goofy and the only comical relief she had right now, his expression was the equivalent of a seven year old child who just scored a stolen cookie.
Reina arrived last, twin ponytails bright as a headline and a camera slung over one shoulder. The way she angled the strap and tilted her chin made a habit of seeing the world in frames. She'd always been the one to notice vantage points, the way a shadow fell across a step, the small details that made a photograph mean something. To Suisei, Reina looked like someone who could translate the world of images into clues.
Hikaru slid bills across the kitchen table before anyone could argue — a small, quiet move that made the plan feel less like rumor and more like reality. No showy transactions. No grand speeches. Just a handful of people in a small room deciding to look.
Aiko listened, thumb tracing patterns on her phone, then nodded. "I can try to get what we need," she said, voice even. "I've been... learning how to move through systems without leaving prints." She didn't explain how. She didn't need to. The how was something they all agreed not to speak aloud; it had an edge to it that made everyone lower their voices instinctively.
Aiko folded her hands. "We pick camera points first. Reina scouts angles—where lenses point, where blind spots are. Hikaru, you keep watch and handle money. Suisei, tell us everything you remember: the streetlights, the smell, which shops were open, anything small. I will tell you all if footage is even possible to pull." Her calm made the plan feel sensible, which made the fear more manageable.
Reina tapped her camera thoughtfully. "If there's anything on film, it'll be about where the men walked, not what they said. But angles matter. Sometimes a silhouette is enough to notice a habit — the way someone carries themselves, which side they favor. We'll need to know exactly where to look."
Suisei clenched her hands until her knuckles blanched. Saying the night aloud felt like reopening an old bruise, but telling them was a small step away from letting someone else keep writing her life. She told them the tiny things she'd stored in the corners of memory: how the street lamp at the corner flickered, the bell above Tanaka's market door that always chimed twice, the way the park bench near the alley leaned slightly to the left.
Aiko's fingers tapped a rhythm on the table like a metronome. "If the footage exists," she said, "I'll pull it. I'll bring it offline. We watch in one room, together. We don't post. We don't copy. We decide next steps after we see it."
It was not a promise that erased danger, only a plan that contained it. That felt like everything.
They set rules: meet after midnight when fewer eyes watched the watchers; no phones in pockets when viewing anything; view footage off-line in a neutral place; duplicate nothing until everyone agreed. If anything suggested immediate danger, they'd stop and choose safety first.
The plan felt like both a trap and a doorway.
As they left the café the city smelled of rain and hot pavement. Neon smeared the puddles. Suisei's mind kept returning to the night she had run home — to the smallness of her feet, to the brutal clarity of her father's single instruction: Run. She had always carried that night as her private accusation; now the edges looked less like her own handwriting and more like someone else's notation.
Hikaru walked beside her without speaking. When he did, his voice was low and absolute: "If this opens something, I'm not going anywhere. Even if your mom tries to bury you with her words."
She watched his profile glitter in the streetlight, the little star charm at his wrist catching flashes. For the first time since her mother's interview, something steadier than fear threaded beneath her panic.
"Tonight," she said. "Tonight we see what the city remembers."
Aiko would take the lead on pulling the footage; Hyuga and Reina would handle the scouting and logistics; Suisei would bring memory. They'd meet in the old storage unit on Mirai Lane — no windows, no phones, only the four of them and whatever the cameras had tucked away.
She pressed her palms into her knees until the lines went white. The truth would either move out of her chest and into daylight, or it would remain someone else's story about her. Either way, she would not let it be gentle.
Her father's last word still fit inside her like a blunt, stubborn key: Run.
This time, she would run straight into it.
YOU ARE READING
𝓕𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼 ~ Hikaru Hizashi x oc ~ Beyblade Burst
RomanceHikaru Hizashi has lived peaceufully and battled with his bey for a long time. He watches over his brother and strengthens himself as well. But a new challenger joins the comets, and Hikaru's norm's start to shatter, as he starts to fall. In love. (...
