Part 5 — The One Who Is Me
The night air wrapped around him—cool, quiet.
Somewhere behind him was a house full of people who loved him but didn't know how to reach him.
And somewhere ahead…
something was still waiting.
Haruto walked through the quiet streets. The way he was taking didn't lead home—not really—but Yuji-san's words still lingered in his mind:
"Go home."
He whispered it to himself as tears slipped down his cheeks.
"I… I don't even know where that is anymore…"
His footsteps echoed softly against the empty asphalt. His chest felt tight, and his hands trembled slightly.
Then, up ahead, something moved in the shadows.
A figure stood there.
Blue hair. Red eyes. Injured, bruised, and bleeding in places—just as he had imagined in the back of his mind.
Haruto froze, staring.
It looked at him. Haruto's own silver eyes met the figure's red ones. The world seemed to contract around that gaze.
"…R… r‑you Itachi?" he stammered, voice barely audible. "W‑what… happened?"
The figure stepped closer. There was a calm weight to its presence. Without a word, it lifted a hand.
"Come," it said quietly. "Let's walk a bit… let's see the view, once again properly."
Haruto hesitated, then slowly held out his hand. The figure took it, and they began walking side by side.
After a few steps, the figure spoke again, voice low and even:
"You know… I am you."
Haruto blinked. "W‑what?"
The figure's gaze didn't waver. "Your inner self. Every injury, every bruise… every strain you see on me is what you carry inside. It's the weight of everything you've survived, everything you couldn't save."
Haruto swallowed hard. "I… I don't understand…"
"You will," the figure said gently. "The pain, the guilt… it's all yours. But it's not weakness. It's proof that you've lived, and that you can still act. Still protect."
Haruto looked down at his own hands. The tears hadn't stopped, and his chest felt tight with every step.
"Why… why do you look like this?" he whispered.
The figure smiled faintly, almost sadly. "Because this is what it means to carry the lives of others. This is your truth. Your reflection. And I… I am here to remind you… protect her. Protect Ayame."
Haruto felt a shiver run down his spine. He wanted to speak, to ask more, but the words stuck in his throat.
For the first time in hours, the silence between them was not empty—it was heavy, full of meaning, and for once, Haruto felt like he wasn't entirely alone.
The two continued walking, side by side, through the empty streets, Haruto's hand gripping the figure's, the night pressing around them, quiet and dark.
Haruto and the figure walked in silence, the city fading behind them. Soon, they reached a slanted ground that led down to a small pool of water, reflecting the night sky.
The figure gestured toward the edge. "Let's rest here."
Haruto hesitated, then lowered himself to the slope. The figure lay beside him. Side by side, they stared at the reflection of the stars and the moon shimmering in the water below.
For a long moment, there was only quiet—the gentle ripple of the water, the distant sounds of the city, and the steady weight of the figure beside him.
"You… you really are me," Haruto whispered, voice almost lost in the night.
"I am," the figure replied softly. "The part you don't show anyone. The part that carries every burden, every failure, every fear. I am that. I am you."
Haruto's hands clenched into the fabric of his jacket. "I… I don't know if I can… keep protecting everyone. I keep failing."
The figure's gaze was calm, unwavering. "No. You're not failing. Look at the night. Look at what's still here. You've survived, and because of that, you can act. You can protect Ayame. Don't let your fear weigh you down before you even try."
Haruto exhaled slowly, his tears drying in the cool night air. For the first time, he felt a strange mixture of relief and heaviness—relief that he wasn't completely alone, heaviness because the burden he carried hadn't disappeared.
He looked at the reflection in the water, then back at the figure. "I… I don't want to hurt anyone anymore. I just…"
"Shh," the figure said, almost gently nudging him. "I know. And that's why you're here. That's why I'm here."
The two of them lay there for a long while, side by side, watching the stars and the reflection of the night on the water. No words were needed. The darkness was not empty—it was alive with thought, memory, and quiet understanding.