Itsuki stood facing the setting sun, the light bleeding over the rooftops like a slow-burning ember. Behind him, the sound of children playing continued to echo through the air.
Whereas, like a man waking up from a long and heavy sleep, a sharp lightness washed over his head. The system's new dashboard still in front of him.
And suddenly, he knew.
The children behind him — the same faces from the pocket watch. The friend who had walked him home, whose smile still lingered faintly in his mind. The narrow streets, the quiet buildings, the moments with people close to him that Adrien had lived every single day before his death.
All of it cascaded into him, memory by memory, gentle and relentless.
Itsuki staggered a bit, bracing himself as he ran a hand through his hair and exhaled deeply. He turned his head slightly to see the laughter behind him go on, unbroken.
Good, they didn't see that.
What the hell, system? It didn't feel like this the last time I received a memory fragment.
He looked back to the hovering display, lines of faint light reflecting in his eyes.
Adrien De Clairmont...
The name shone clearly across the top of the interface.
Even the system doesn't recognize me as who I used to be anymore…
He slowly scanned through the rest of the information on the dashboard.
So this is my progress tracker. The system must be designed to let me keep up with whatever's happening to me in this new world, how convenient. Even the way it's all laid out feels so 21st century — weirdly comforting, I guess.
His gaze fell lower.
Level 7 huh,
Seems somewhat pretty low….
Further down, two slots caught his eye.
Two archetypes? I thought once I picked one, that was it. Was the system lying to me back then?
He was still lost in thought looking through the dashboard when he felt a soft thud against his side — a small pair of arms wrapped tightly around his waist.
"Why are you looking at the sun, Adrien?"
He looked down. The little girl's eyes glimmered, her wide smile framed by the fading orange light.
René De Clairmont.... Even in his memories, she's always been this clingy to him.
He instinctively raised a hand and gently patted her head
"It just looks really beautiful today.. so beautiful it's hard for me to look away."
She tilted her head at the direction of the sun before gazing back up at him. "It looks the same as it always does."
Itsuki let out a faint laugh.
"I guess it does, huh? Come on. If you're done playing, let's go help Mother inside."
The system's dashboard dissolved as he lifted her into his arms. She clung tighter, resting her head on his shoulder, the simple warmth of her presence grounding him more than he expected.
As he walked, he glanced toward the boy from the photo—still laughing as he played with the others on the street.
André De Clairmont.... He's less clingy, but also just as fond of Adrien. She must've begged to stay out and play with them just so she could see her brother come home.
He turned away and climbed the weathered wooden stairs leading to the old apartment. The wood creaking softly beneath his feet. Pushing open the door, he stepped into the corridor and walking past the stairs etched to the right side of the wall, he made his way toward one of the doors on his left.
He turned the handle with a quiet click and stepped through.
The small apartment greeted him with a dim, amber glow — the kind that clung to the air long after daylight faded. The first room, serving as both living space and sleeping quarters, was simple but homely in its own way.
A single couch rested by the wall beside a modest table, its surface marked by scratches and candle wax stains. Near the corner on another side of the room stood a narrow bed, its sheets carefully tucked though slightly faded, and beside it lay straw mats folded neatly together — thin, yet made to last. A small shelf stood besides the bed, holding a chipped enamel bowl, a brass candlestick, and an old photograph in a wooden frame.
Across the room, a small radio sat on the windowsill — its brass knobs dulled from years of use. Below it, a bowl of tradable goods rested quietly on the floor. The faint hum of life in the street below drifted through the open window, mingling with the aroma of food in the house.
The smell of stew simmering with potatoes and minced beef filled the air — rich and earthy, laced with herbs and the faint smokiness of overworked stoves.
He set René down gently. Her small hand stayed in his, tugging him toward the next room.
"Come on, let's go to Mother."
They stepped into the second room — part kitchen, part dining space, part pantry — a single heart keeping the house alive.
A cast-iron stove sat near the window, a black box of heat and iron, its pipe snaking up toward the wall. Lace trim hung loosely by the window frame, browned a little by smoke. On the shelf beside it stood a few ceramic jars and tin cups, their mismatched shapes giving the room an oddly personal charm.
At the center was a wooden table surrounded by five uneven chairs, one leg of which had been patched with a piece of folded paper to keep it level. Near the far wall, an old cupboard leaned slightly under the weight of pots, dented pans, and jars filled with potatoes, beans, and dried vegetables.
"Mother, Adrien is finally back!" René said, her voice breaking the stillness.
The woman turned. She looked almost exactly like she had in the picture from the pocket watch — though time and labor had pressed deeper lines into her face. Her hair was tied back hastily beneath a handkerchief, her apron smudged with traces of flour and stew.
For someone who seemed so dashing in that photo, she looks… worn down now.
Yet despite that, the softness in her expression hadn't faded. When her gaze met his, her eyes warmed instantly.
"Welcome home, Adrien. How were things at the site?"
"It was okay — same old, same old," he replied, forcing a small chuckle.
Guess it'll take more than a memory fragment to make talking to adults feel natural.
"That's good to hear," she said, returning to her cutting board. The table before her was covered in half-sliced vegetables, stained bowls, chipped knives and other old cutlery dulled by time. René rushed to help her, picking up stray scraps of carrot and potato with the eagerness only a child could have.
I doubt she'd want my help even if I offered. From Adrien's memories, she's always seen Adrien and his father as the ones carrying the weight of the household, even though she helps with trading here and there.
"I'll drop what I earned today in your coat," he said after a pause. "It's not much, but it should help out a bit."
"Thank you, sweetie. You and your father already do so much. Go wash up and rest — I'll have René call you when dinner's ready."
He nodded quietly and stepped back toward the door that led to the corridor.
From the memories, only Adrien and his father bathe twice a day to save costs. Primitive, maybe — but they've found a way to make it work. Especially since there isn't any proper plumbing in the building.
He walked down the narrow corridor outside the apartment, the floorboards creaking beneath his steps. At the far end, behind a faded curtain partition, was the shared bathroom — a small, cold space lit by a single oil lamp.
The toilet was little more than a wooden seat above a pit, the walls patched with plaster and old newspaper scraps. A cracked basin sat on a stool, next to a metal bucket half-filled with collected water from the single tap it was under. The air smelled faintly of soap, rust, and damp wood — a quiet reminder of how far from luxury this life truly was.
He leaned against the wall for a moment, staring into the empty space in front of him.
The system's dashboard flickered to life once more, its faint glow reflecting in his eyes.
Adrien's friend mentioned something about wanting to make life easier for his family once he's able to get his limit checked. From everything I've seen so far and from the fragments of his memories, that wish had always been there
He exhaled slowly, a quiet resolve forming in his chest.
"…You really were just unlucky, weren't you?" he murmured under his breath.
"I'll help you finish what you always wanted to accomplish for your family," his tone now etching towards being steady "It's the least I can do… for the life you gave me a chance to live in."