The room was silent, save for the steady hum of fluorescent lights.
Cold metal pressed against Rei's skin. Restraints bound his wrists and ankles, padded but firm, connected to a chair bolted to the floor. The air felt sterile. Thick. Like the walls had never known warmth.
He stirred.
Eyes opened slowly, unfocused at first—then sharpened. Gray concrete. A metal table. A single observation mirror on one wall, its surface flat and featureless. And in the air: something familiar. Bleach. Electricity. Restraint.
Rei blinked again. His body was heavy. His limbs ached as if he'd been torn apart and sewn back together. Not pain—just exhaustion. Deep, clinging exhaustion.
He didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
A soft hiss broke the quiet as the door unlocked. It opened slowly, deliberately. Two figures stepped in. One in a dark coat, expression calm but unreadable. The other—tired eyes, unshaven jaw, capture weapon draped across his shoulders.
Aizawa.
And beside him: Detective Tsukauchi.
They didn't move right away. Just stood there, taking him in.
Rei stared back. His posture didn't change. Neither did his face. But something flickered—barely—in his eyes.
A question.
A hesitation.
Tsukauchi spoke up first, his tone calm and practiced, the voice of a man used to coaxing words out of silence.
"Good morning, Rei. Sleep well?"
Rei didn't respond. His eyes tracked the two men as they moved—not aggressively, but with caution. He watched them step past the table and settle into chairs on the far side of the observation mirror. A wall of glass between them, but not the one that mattered.
No scowl. No struggle. No ghost hands.
Just stillness.
Aizawa leaned back slightly in his chair, eyes narrowed, measuring every twitch in Rei's expression. "You didn't react negatively to 'Rei,'" he said aloud, almost to himself.
Rei's brows drew together at that. Not anger—but confusion. The kind that came from something half-remembered, something scraped raw in the mind. His gaze flicked between them. Then to the restraints. Then back.
It was Tsukauchi who broke the moment. He didn't sound surprised—more…noting it.
"That's good," the detective said. "You recognized it, at least."
Another beat of silence passed. Heavy, but not hostile.
Aizawa folded his arms. "Do you know where you are?"
Rei hesitated.
His lips parted slightly.
Then closed again.
He didn't answer—but the tension in his jaw, the subtle shift in his posture, spoke louder than words.
He didn't know.
Or… he wasn't sure if he was allowed to.
Aizawa exhaled softly, watching him.
"He's still in there," he murmured.
Rei blinked—slowly—at that.
The word he lingered in the air like a phantom.
"…Where am I?"
The words came slowly, dragged up from a throat unused to softness. Rei's voice wasn't sharp, wasn't coated in venom like Eidolon's had been. No clipped syllables, no mask of dominance. It was uncertain. Human. Young.
Aizawa didn't react visibly, but Tsukauchi leaned forward slightly, folding his hands on the table in front of the glass. His tone remained conversational, almost light—but the weight of the answer carried beneath it.
"You're in Tartarus," he said. "I suppose you've heard of it before?"
He kept his gaze steady, watching for the flicker.
Rei didn't reply.
But he didn't need to.
The small widening of his eyes, the twitch of a brow—barely a ripple across his face—told them everything. His body didn't jerk or thrash, no panic took hold… but something shifted behind his gaze. Awareness. Recognition.
The name meant something to him.
Aizawa caught it, too. He leaned in a little, his voice still even. "You remember that name."
Rei's lips pressed together. Not in defiance—more like restraint. As if he wanted to say something but didn't know if he could. Or if he should.
The silence stretched.
The metal restraints didn't rattle. The ghost hands didn't flicker.
It was just a boy now.
Trapped not just in a room, but in the aftermath of something he couldn't fully name.
Aizawa glanced at Tsukauchi, then back to Rei.
"We're not here to interrogate you," he said, softer now. "We're here because we think you're ready to remember who you are."
And for the first time since waking up, Rei blinked like someone who might want to believe it.
Rei's eyes didn't stay wide for long. Whatever emotion had flickered through—shock, dread, realization—was gone in an instant. Like a wave crashing against a wall, it disappeared beneath the surface. His expression reset into something still, unreadable.
He straightened a little, shifting in his seat just enough for the restraints to tug gently against his arms. He didn't test them. Didn't struggle. Just sat with the quiet, with the weight of everything hanging in the sterile, humming air.
Then he spoke.
"I'm in trouble, aren't I?"
The question wasn't laced with fear. It didn't beg. It didn't even sound particularly surprised. It was simple. Direct. Almost like a student finally admitting he forgot to turn in an assignment. But beneath that calmness… there was something else. A tremor under the surface. Not guilt, not yet—but awareness. That vague ache of cause and consequence beginning to connect.
Tsukauchi opened his mouth, then stopped. For a moment, the room felt suspended—caught between the boy they saw before them, and the ghost they'd been chasing for weeks. The silence wasn't awkward. It was heavy.
Aizawa exhaled softly through his nose.
"We were actually getting to that," he said at last, voice low and measured.
He leaned forward just slightly, elbows resting on his knees, eyes never leaving Rei. Not Erasure. Just Aizawa—tired, worn, but present.
"There's a lot we need to discuss," he continued. "But you should know—we're not treating you like a villain. Not yet."
Tsukauchi picked up the thread, nodding. "What you did… we're not ignoring it. People were hurt. But context matters here. And we believe there's more to what happened than what the reports show."
Rei's eyes stayed fixed on them, unmoving. His face gave little away—but his fingers twitched. A minuscule motion, almost like a flinch he didn't let finish.
Aizawa's gaze softened just slightly. "We're trying to find the line between what you chose to do, and what you were forced to become."
"So," the detective said, his tone still calm but carrying a subtle shift—something more personal, less clinical. "We've been talking. And we thought of a way for you to serve your sentence… without locking you behind bars."
Rei blinked.
He didn't speak, but the effect was instant. His eyes widened ever so slightly, involuntarily, betraying the shock that broke through his detached composure. His breath caught, just once, but enough that both men across the glass noticed. Hope, thin and trembling, tried to claw its way through the quiet.
Aizawa's eyes flicked toward him, studying him carefully—gauging whether it was hope, or just another mask. He said nothing, but his gaze sharpened, his silence heavy with analysis.
Tsukauchi continued, his voice steady. "The arrangement's conditional. You'll start with five weeks. During that time, you'll be under strict observation here in Tartarus. No powers. No privileges. You'll perform basic, supervised tasks to assist the staff—cleaning, organizing, simple inventory. Nothing dangerous. Nothing optional."
Rei didn't interrupt. He barely blinked. But his posture had subtly shifted. He was listening now—fully.
The detective went on. "Think of it as the foundation. A way for us to see where your mind is. What direction you want to go."
Aizawa spoke next, folding his arms loosely as he leaned back in his seat. His tone was firm, but not cold.
"Once those five weeks are up—and if you show you're stable enough—I'll take over your rehabilitation personally. You'll stay under my supervision. Live where I say. Train how I say. Move how I say."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"Freedom will come slowly. And only if we believe you can handle it."
Rei stared between them. A thousand things raced behind his eyes, but none of them came out. His mouth parted slightly, as if to speak—but he hesitated.
Aizawa narrowed his gaze slightly. "This isn't a favor. We're not giving you a second chance because we feel sorry for you."
Tsukauchi nodded. "We're giving you a chance because someone like you—someone with your power, your experience—deserves the possibility of making things right."
Rei lowered his head slightly, the weight of that statement beginning to settle in.
"But if you break that trust," Aizawa added, his voice dipping with quiet finality, "this room will feel like paradise compared to what comes next."
"Yes, sir."
The words left Rei's mouth almost automatically—trained, mechanical, like the thousands of times he'd uttered them as Eidolon. Back then, they were routine: part of his programming, drilled into him like muscle memory. But now… the words came out quieter. Slower. They carried something else underneath.
Choice.
It was small—barely noticeable—but it was there.
Aizawa picked up on it immediately. He didn't smile, not fully, but there was a shift in his expression. The tension in his shoulders lessened. His eyes, though still watchful, lost a bit of their edge.
"Good," he said simply.
Then, turning to his side, he exchanged a silent glance with Tsukauchi. A mutual nod followed—quick, practiced, trusting.
"Moving on," the detective said, placing a small folder onto the metal table in front of him. "We just want to ask you a few questions. Nothing too heavy. Is that okay with you, Rei?"
Rei's gaze flicked from the file to the man behind the glass. He narrowed his eyes slightly, but not with anger—more like guarded skepticism.
"So it is an interrogation," he muttered, a faint edge of sarcasm threading through his tone.
It was dry. Flat. But it was something normal.
Aizawa caught it instantly.
His lips twitched—just a fraction of a smile, barely there but undeniable. For someone like him, that counted as practically beaming.
He didn't say anything in response. He didn't have to.
He's showing humanity again… the thought landed in Aizawa's mind like a stone in still water. Small, but rippling.
Not just the obedience. Not just the quiet. But personality. Humor. Resistance. A piece of Rei—the real Rei—still flickering beneath the surface.
Tsukauchi, ever the professional, kept his tone even. "Call it what you want. But this is your opportunity to be heard. We're not here to trap you."
His eyes met Rei's across the glass. "We just want the truth."
After a pause, Rei gave a small, silent nod—barely a movement, but it was permission enough.
The air in the room seemed to shift. Tsukauchi leaned forward slightly, opening the file in front of him with a soft rustle of paper.
"Rei," he began gently, "do you remember what happened… on the day of your kidnapping?"
The question sat heavy in the air.
Rei didn't answer right away. His brows pulled together, not in resistance—but in thought. He tilted his head slightly, staring through the glass as if searching for something in the distance.
"I was…" he murmured, slowly, "in a forest, I think?"
Aizawa's eyes sharpened. Tsukauchi gave a small nod, encouraging him to continue.
"Alright," the detective said. "Do you remember which forest?"
Rei's eyes darted upward, as if the answer might be waiting on the ceiling.
"No," he admitted after a beat. "But… it had a park. And there was this obstacle course. I used to go there a lot with…"
He stopped. His voice thinned out like mist over cold water.
"…with someone."
His expression faltered. A tiny crack formed in his otherwise calm exterior. He shook his head slowly, as though the memory had just slipped through his fingers.
"That's all I remember from the place," he finished, voice flat again—resigned.
Aizawa and Tsukauchi exchanged a glance. There was quiet understanding in the look: a mixture of disappointment and confirmation. The boy wasn't lying. He couldn't lie, not about this.
They pressed forward.
"What about the kidnapper?" Tsukauchi asked. His voice remained calm, measured, careful not to corner Rei. "Do you remember who it was?"
Another silence. One that stretched longer than before.
Rei's eyes didn't focus on either of them now. They drifted—past the wall, past the glass, past the room. His breathing grew shallow, his brow knit together as he searched for something that simply wasn't there.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Four.
His jaw opened slightly, as if to speak—but no sound came.
Then finally, in a voice that was more confused than afraid, he said:
"I… don't know."
The words landed with a quiet finality.
Like a wall had just been found in his mind.
And Rei had no idea who had built it.
Soon enough, the questioning came to an end.
Rei had tried. That much was clear. He answered what he could, offered what little fragments remained—but every path that led toward All For One ended in a void. Like something had been deliberately carved out of his memory with surgical precision.
He sat quietly behind the glass, shoulders slumped, eyes unfocused. Not angry. Not scared. Just… hollow.
Outside the interrogation room, Tsukauchi shut the folder with a quiet sigh and stood beside the one-way glass, arms crossed.
"Seems like he tangled with the boy's memories quite thoroughly," he said, his tone neutral, but heavy with restrained frustration. His eyes didn't leave Rei. "No names. No voices. Not even a face."
Aizawa stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, watching silently. His gaze was steady, even as his mind raced. After a moment, he spoke, voice lower than before.
"But only anything where he is involved."
Tsukauchi glanced at him.
Aizawa didn't elaborate—he didn't have to.
The implications hung between them like smoke. Rei could remember the park. The obstacle course. Vague slivers of feelings, sounds, places. But nothing that pointed toward the one who had stolen his life. No orders. No face. No voice. No reason.
Just shadows.
A deliberate cut, crafted by someone who knew exactly what he was doing.
All For One hadn't just taken Rei.
He'd scrubbed himself clean from Rei's mind, leaving only the damage behind.
Tsukauchi's jaw tightened. "He was trained to destroy, and now he doesn't even remember who gave the order."
"And that's the point," Aizawa muttered. "He's just a broken sword now. One that doesn't even know who it was forged by."
The two men stood in silence, watching the boy through the glass. Rei sat there unmoving, small against the harsh white light, the weight of memory loss pressing visibly on his shoulders.
Eventually, Tsukauchi straightened.
"We'll monitor him closely during the Tartarus observation period," he said. "If anything comes back—anything—we document it immediately."
Aizawa gave a short nod.
He watched Rei for a second longer.
Then quietly, almost to himself, he said:
"I don't care if he never remembers All For One."
Tsukauchi turned to him, a little surprised.
Aizawa's eyes stayed on the boy, firm but tired.
"I care that he remembers who he is."