Ever since morning, Arou had felt that something was wrong. He stood in front of the mirror, staring at his own reflection. His face looked normal—not pale, not tired—yet there was a strange pressure tightening in his chest.
I'm sure something has changed, he thought.
When he stepped outside, he noticed a small mark on the wooden fence in front of his house. A thin slash-shaped scratch—the mark he had carved last night to make sure his memory wasn't betraying him.
But now, the fence was perfectly smooth.
There was no trace of it at all.
Arou stared at it for a long moment before touching the wood with his fingertips.
"Impossible…" he muttered.
He walked toward the park and found Airi waiting there. As usual, she greeted him with a calm smile.
"Arou, you look pale. Are you okay?"
Arou swallowed hard.
"Airi… last night, I left a mark on my fence."
Airi tilted her head.
"A mark?"
"Yeah. A small scratch. I'm sure I made it."
Airi slowly shook her head.
"I've never seen anything like that."
Her answer was gentle and certain.
And that certainty only made the pressure in Arou's chest worse.
They sat together on the park bench. Arou narrowed his eyes at the seat beneath them.
"We sat here three days ago," he said quietly. "You dropped your water bottle."
Airi paused for a second before answering.
"This is our first time sitting here."
Arou immediately turned toward her.
"That's not true."
His voice came out sharper than he intended.
Airi flinched slightly.
"Arou…"
He pressed a hand against his forehead.
"You really don't remember?"
Airi shook her head again, worry spreading across her face.
"I think… you're just tired."
Those words hit him harder than expected.
Tired.
As if every memory he held onto was nothing more than a mistake made by his own mind.
After they parted ways, Arou walked alone through streets that felt increasingly unfamiliar. At a quiet corner, he stopped and wrote a sentence across his palm with a pen.
I remember.
A few steps later, he looked down at his hand again.
The words were fading.
Not erased—
as if the ink had never touched his skin in the first place.
Arou's breath caught in his throat.
"So… even this isn't allowed," he whispered.
His head felt heavy. Every time he tried to remember certain things—Slenderman, Zata, the erased memories—a crushing pressure tightened around his chest, forcing his thoughts to stop.
But whenever he let those thoughts go, the world became calm again.
Bright skies.
Cool wind.
Nothing wrong at all.
So this is the happiness you promised, Arou thought bitterly.
A happiness without truth.
That night, he sat alone in his dark room without turning on the lights.
"If I keep remembering," he said softly, "then I'll be erased instead of my memories."
In the corner of the room, the air trembled faintly.
Not a visible presence—
just the unsettling feeling of being watched.
But Zata never appeared.
It was as if the world itself wanted to see how long Arou could endure.
Arou no longer had any doubts.
If he stayed silent, his memories would disappear one by one.
If he accepted this overly gentle world, then he himself would slowly vanish.
The next morning, Arou stood at a crossroads.
There were two paths ahead of him, both looking completely ordinary.
But he was certain that one of them should not exist.
He chose the left path.
A few steps later, a sharp pain pulsed through his head.
The scenery around him blurred slightly, like wet paint smearing across a canvas.
Arou stopped.
Took a breath.
Then continued walking.
Suddenly, he was standing in front of his own house again.
His eyes widened.
"What…?"
He was certain he had never turned around.
Never walked that far.
The world had moved him back without permission—without warning.
Arou clenched his fists.
"So you won't allow me to stray."
He left again.
This time heading toward the park.
Airi was already sitting on the bench, waiting for him like always.
Her face looked calm.
Too calm.
"Arou," she called gently. "You're late."
Arou stared at her for a long moment.
"Airi… do you remember that night?"
Airi blinked.
"What night?"
"The night something appeared in this city," Arou answered quietly. "The night you forgot everything the next morning."
Airi frowned slightly.
"Arou, I don't understand."
He leaned closer.
"You don't remember because your memories were erased."
Silence fell between them.
The air around the bench suddenly felt heavier.
Even the wind stopped moving.
Airi looked at him with concern.
"Please stop saying strange things."
"I'm fine."
Those words pierced deeper than anger ever could.
Arou stood up abruptly.
"No," he said firmly. "You were made to be fine."
For a brief second, the sky above them trembled almost invisibly.
Several people walking nearby paused—
then continued as if nothing had happened.
The world was correcting itself.
A sharp pain exploded inside Arou's head.
Time skipped.
When his awareness returned, he was suddenly standing several meters away from the bench.
Airi remained seated exactly where she had been.
As though he had never stood in front of her at all.
"So this is how you fight back," Arou whispered. "By moving me."
He looked around.
Everything seemed normal.
Far too normal.
Arou raised his voice.
"If this is a game," he declared loudly, "then I reject rules I can't even remember."
Several nearby windows trembled softly.
The sky darkened for a moment—
then turned bright again.
The world wasn't angry.
It was suppressing him.
That night, Arou sat alone in his room. The light was on, but the shadows in the corner looked darker than they should have been.
"If I keep resisting," he murmured, "you'll take something away from me."
No answer came.
But Arou understood one thing clearly:
every small act of resistance made the world react faster.
And that meant—
he was getting closer to the truth.
The Fourth Game did not want him to win.
The Fourth Game wanted him to surrender happily.
Arou stared ahead with sharp eyes.
"I won't stop remembering."
By the third day, Arou finally realized it.
Every time he tried to distance himself—
from the park, from the streets they always walked together, from Airi herself—
the world became unstable.
His steps grew heavier.
The sounds around him became muffled, as though the air itself pressed against his ears.
But whenever he stopped and looked back—
Airi was always there.
"Arou," she called softly. "Where are you going?"
Arou looked at her with conflicted emotions.
He didn't remember inviting her.
He didn't remember telling her where he was going.
Yet she always appeared with that same calm expression.
"I just wanted to walk alone," he answered.
Airi smiled gently.
"Isn't it better when we're together?"
The words sounded perfectly natural.
Arou slowly nodded and continued walking beside her.
And immediately, the world stabilized again.
That afternoon, Arou tried once more to remember the figure that should not exist.
Tall.
Thin.
Faceless.
Tentacles stretching from behind its body.
A violent pain shot through his skull.
"Arou?"
Airi's voice suddenly came from nearby.
He looked up.
She was standing far too close, staring at him with concern.
"You don't look well," she said softly. "Sit down for a while."
The moment Arou sat beside her, the pain began to fade.
The sky, which had seemed to ripple unnaturally, became calm once more.
"What were you thinking about?" Airi asked.
Arou opened his mouth—
then stopped.
And in that instant, he realized something horrifying.
Every time he tried to remember the truth,
Airi appeared.
And every time Airi appeared,
the world repaired itself.
"We're okay," Airi whispered gently. "You don't need to think about strange things."
Arou stared at her silently.
Her face was sincere.
There was no lie in her expression.
And that was exactly what terrified him.
Late that night, Arou stood alone in his room, staring at the empty wall.
He tried to say a single name inside his mind.
Zata.
His thoughts immediately felt heavy, as though the name itself was being rejected.
The meaning faded before it could fully form.
But along with that fading came warmth.
Comfort.
Peace.
A happiness he had never asked for.
"I understand now," Arou whispered quietly.
"You're not erasing me directly."
He closed his eyes.
"You're the anchor of this world, Airi."
"If I resist, Airi suffers.
If I remember, Airi gets hurt.
If I surrender—
Airi will be happy."
Outside, the night wind blew softly.
No strange noises.
No shadows.
Only a silent world waiting for his decision.
And for the first time since the Fourth Game began,
Arou realized something terrifying:
his greatest battle was not against the world—
but against his own desire to stay inside it.