Haruto didn't touch the cloak again.
Not because he was afraid.
Because he wasn't sure what counted as touching anymore.
The fabric rested over his shoulders exactly as before.
Same weight.
Same warmth.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing wrong.
Which somehow felt worse.
Belial had moved back near the entrance.
It wasn't watching Haruto.
Not directly.
But it wasn't looking away either.
Haruto stood in front of Arthur's wall.
Rows.
Marks.
Interruptions.
And now—
missing pieces.
His eyes drifted back to the sentence.
I noticed.
Still there.
That one remained.
Not the counts.
Not the attempts.
Not the repetitions.
Just that.
Haruto stared for a while.
Then quietly—
"…that's annoying."
Belial looked over.
"…what is?"
Haruto kept looking at the wall.
"…if I was disappearing…"
A pause.
"…I wouldn't write that."
Belial didn't respond.
Haruto continued.
"…I'd write my name."
Silence.
He looked at Arthur's.
Still there.
Arthur.
Short.
Simple.
Present.
Haruto exhaled.
"…so why keep that sentence?"
Belial was quiet.
Then—
"…maybe because names aren't enough."
Haruto glanced at it.
Belial looked away.
"…people forget names first."
That answer stayed.
Haruto looked at the wall again.
Then the cloak.
Then the sentence.
I noticed.
Not:
Remember me.
Not:
I was here.
Not even:
Arthur.
Just—
I noticed.
Like proving the world existed mattered more than proving he did.
Haruto slowly sat down.
His back against stone.
His eyes stayed on the wall.
"…that's depressing."
Belial snorted softly.
"…yeah."
A long silence passed.
Then Haruto asked:
"…what happened to yours?"
Belial froze.
Only slightly.
But enough.
Haruto looked at it.
"…you talk like someone who's seen this before."
Belial didn't answer.
Haruto didn't push.
After a while—
Belial spoke.
"…someone tried."
Haruto stayed quiet.
Belial kept staring at the entrance.
"…different place."
A pause.
"…different method."
Haruto waited.
Belial looked down.
"…they wanted to stay."
Silence.
"…did it work?"
Belial didn't answer immediately.
Then:
"…for a while."
Haruto looked at the cloak.
That answer sounded familiar.
Too familiar.
He looked outside.
The shape remained.
Exactly where it had been.
No movement.
No approach.
Still watching.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Then—
he stood.
Belial looked over.
"…what are you doing?"
Haruto walked past it.
"…checking something."
Belial immediately stood.
"…bad idea."
Haruto ignored it.
He stepped outside.
Stopped.
Looked toward the horizon.
The shape remained.
Then—
Haruto reached up.
And removed Arthur's cloak.
The moment the fabric left his shoulders—
the wind hit him.
Directly.
Hard.
Cold.
Immediate.
His footprints behind him began fading.
Belial stared.
Haruto looked forward.
The shape—
didn't move.
Didn't react.
Haruto looked down.
Then slowly—
put the cloak back on.
The wind bent.
His footprints stayed.
Far away—
the shape moved.
One step.
And stopped.
Silence.
Haruto stood still.
Belial stared.
Haruto looked at the horizon.
Then quietly—
"…it wasn't noticing me."
Belial didn't answer.
Haruto looked at the cloak.
"…it was noticing Arthur."
That thought sat in the air.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Haruto slowly looked back toward the ruin.
Toward the wall.
Toward the remaining name.
Arthur.
For the first time—
he wondered if Arthur had really left the cloak behind.
Or if—
Arthur was still waiting for someone to wear it.
Haruto looked down at the fabric.
Then quietly said:
"…I think I understand your scheme now."
The wind passed around him.
The shape stayed still.
And somewhere—
deep in the stone behind him—
one tally mark quietly disappeared.