Volume 02, Chapter 80

Memories [1]

I slowly open my eyes, greeted by the all-too-familiar sight of a leaky ceiling, water stains spreading across its cracked surface. My breath hitches as recognition settles in.

“What…?” I mutter.

I immediately sit up from the futon, my heart racing as my surroundings come into focus: the peeling wallpaper, the faint hum of the old fridge, and the cluttered pile of books and newspapers in the corner—my old apartment, where I spent most of my previous life struggling to make ends meet.

“What am I… No… this cannot be.”

My hands tremble as I clutch the edge of the futon, the weight of the realization crashing down on me. Flashes of what had just happened in Sylvestria flood my mind—the chamber where the Chalice of Merging rested, the purple smoke that had filled the air, and the suffocating darkness that had consumed me.

“Crap…” I whisper, my voice shaky. “The ‘Memory Hall’…”

Célestin mentioned it when we discussed the traps in the temple. It was one of the more dangerous chambers, designed to trap people in their memories and fears. But this… this is not just a memory. It feels too real—the smell of damp wood, the creak of the floorboards, even the faint chill in the air—it is all exactly as I remember.

“But… it does not make sense…” I mutter, standing up and pacing the small, cramped room.

Célestin should have known about the trap. He should have warned us. Instead, he seemed just as surprised as Arthur and me when the smoke filled the chamber. How could someone with his experience not know? Dominic’s web novel did not mention anything like this. In his version, Célestin had walked into the temple, grabbed the chalice, and left without a hitch. There was no mention of traps, no mention of the Memory Hall.

“Why would Célestin not know?” I ask aloud, frustration bubbling to the surface. “And Dominic… why did he not include this? If he wanted me to protect his loved ones in his place, why leave out such a crucial detail?!”

I clench my fists, anger, and confusion swirling within me. None of it adds up. Célestin’s supposed foresight, Dominic’s cryptic messages—it all feels wrong. Very wrong.

“Ugh…” I groan, pressing my hand against my forehead as a dull ache throbs behind my eyes.

The overwhelming questions, the lack of answers, the surreal nature of the Memory Hall—it is all too much.

“Mom, Dad, look at my grades!”

Clark’s voice rings out from beyond the door, startling me from my spiraling thoughts. My chest tightens as the familiar yet distant voice echoes in my ears. I hesitate, then slowly stand up and walk toward the door, my hand trembling slightly as I reach for the handle.

I open it.

What greets me outside is a scene that makes my breath hitch—my parents from my previous life.

Mom kneels before the young Clark, and he takes the paper and hands it to her with a smile. Her face is exactly as I remember: warm, tired from years of hard work, but always full of love.

She ruffles Clark’s hair. “Great job, Clark! I am so proud of you!”

Clark—my younger, naive self—grins up at her, his face glowing with pride. “Thanks, Mom!”

Dad steps over, glancing at the paper in Mom’s hands, his eyes widening slightly. “Wow, another perfect grade! Look at you, champ! Keep it up, and you will be top of the class soon!”

Clark beams, his little fists clenching in excitement. “Thanks, Dad!”

I stand frozen in the doorway, my chest aching as I watch the scene unfold.

My younger self—full of hope and determination—believes that hard work and good grades are the keys to a better future. He thought that if he just tried hard enough, he could help his parents and pull them out of the financial pit we had been trapped in for so long. He believed so deeply in that dream.

But I know how that story ends.

“Well,” Dad says, clapping his hands, “as a reward, how about we treat you to your favorite restaurant tonight?”

Clark’s eyes sparkle. “Really? My favorite one?”

“Of course!” Mom chimes in, standing and brushing her hands on her apron. “You have earned it, sweetheart.”

“Yay!” Clark cheers, bouncing on his feet.

Watching them, my throat tightens. A wave of longing and sorrow washes over me, threatening to pull me under.

I miss them. God, I miss them so much.

Despite everything—the financial struggles, the unpaid bills, the constant stress—Mom and Dad always found ways to make me feel loved. They sacrificed so much to give me moments of joy, moments like this.

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them away. This is the Memory Hall’s cruel trick—showing me something I have lost and can never truly have again.

They did not deserve the life they had or the pain we went through. And while I cannot change what happened, I can carry their love and sacrifices forward—for them, for Clark, and myself.

-Knock! Knock!

Heavy knocking at the front door jolts me out of my thoughts.

“Mister Williams! Pay up!” a gruff voice demands from beyond the door.

My heart sinks. Crap… it is them. The henchmen—the ones who tormented my parents, squeezing them for every last scrap of money they barely had. The same men who tore our lives apart piece by piece.

“What? It has not even been a month!” Dad’s voice cracks slightly, betraying the frustration and desperation he tries to hide.

He turns to Mom, his expression grim. Mom nods, her face pale but resolute.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Without a word, she moves swiftly, bending down to Clark. Her hands gently cup his small, confused face as she leans in close.

“Mom, who was tha—” Clark begins, his innocent voice tinged with worry.

“Shh, Clark, you do not need to worry about that,” she whispers, forcing a smile that does not quite reach her eyes.

Before Clark can protest, she scoops him up and begins walking toward me.

As she approaches, I instinctively step aside, letting them pass. They do not acknowledge me, of course—how could they? I am nothing more than a phantom in this memory, an observer watching the past unfold.

Mom carries Clark into my childhood bedroom and shuts the door firmly behind them. I know exactly what is happening on the other side. She is doing everything she can to distract him—me—to shield me from the horrors unfolding in the next room. I had been in that room, too, back then—confused, scared, but blissfully ignorant of just how bad things were.

-Bam!

The front door slams open, and I flinch, even though I know it is coming. A man enters the apartment, his black suit crisp, his fedora low over his sunglasses-covered eyes. Everything about him radiates menace.

Dad stands his ground, his fists clenched tightly at his sides, but I can see the faint tremor in his hands. He is scared and terrified, but he does not back down—he never did.

The man saunters forward, his polished shoes thudding against the worn wooden floor. He stops just inches from Dad, towering over him with a sneer.

“Pay up, Mister Williams!” he barks, his voice dripping with authority.

Dad straightens his back, trying to appear calm. “I—I have an agreement with Mister Kobayashi,” he says, his voice shaking. “Since I cannot fully pay it right now, I am supposed to pay it off in smaller amounts each month.”

The man’s expression darkens. Without warning, he pulls out a handgun and points it directly at Dad’s head.

My heart feels like it stops.

“Pay up. Now,” the man growls, his voice low and deadly.

Dad freezes, his breath hitching. I can see the fear in his eyes, but more than that, I can see the resolve—the determination to protect his family, no matter the cost. Slowly, he raises his hands in surrender.

“O-Okay,” he stammers, his voice barely above a whisper.

He turns and walks to the cabinet, opening it with shaky hands. Inside is a small stash of cash—the little they had managed to scrape together for emergencies. He pulls it out and hands it over without a word.

The man snatches the money from Dad’s hand, stuffing it into his coat pocket. He shoots Dad a final, cold glare before spinning on his heel and walking out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

The silence that follows is deafening. Dad stands there momentarily, staring at the door, his shoulders slumping as what just happened crashes down on him. He raises a hand to his face, wiping away tears he does not want anyone to see.

And me? I stand there frozen, unable to move, unable to breathe. This… was the first time they had been forced into our apartment.

Back then, I had no idea what was going on. Mom had kept me in the bedroom, distracting me with stories and games while Dad faced the danger alone. I had been so sheltered from the truth that I did not even realize how close Dad had come to dying that day.

I clench my fists so tightly that my nails dig into my palms, the sting snapping me out of my daze. My chest burns with anger—anger at myself for being so oblivious back then, anger at those men for threatening my father, and most of all, anger at the man behind it all.

“Kobayashi,” I mutter, tasting the name like poison on my tongue. “So, that is the bastard who left my family in ruins.”

My nails bite deeper into my palms as the rage inside me grows. If I find a way back to Earth, I will track him down. I do not care how long it takes or what I have to do. I will find him.

And I will kill him.

“Clark.”

Dad’s voice snaps me out of my spiraling thoughts. My chest tightens as I turn toward him, confused and apprehensive. Is he… calling me? How? This is supposed to be just a memory—a mere echo of the past. Yet the intensity in his gaze makes it feel all too real.

“Clark… why?” Dad’s voice trembles, and my stomach churns. His eyes—those familiar, kind eyes—now seem to pierce through me, filled with an unbearable mix of pain and anger. “Why did you leave me… leave us?”

I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. “Dad…” I murmur, my voice weak.

“Why… WHY DID YOU LEAVE US WHEN YOU FINALLY HAD A JOB?!” Dad’s voice cracks as he yells, his anger erupting like a tidal wave.

The sheer force of it makes me flinch, and my mind races for a response, but no words come.

“I… I did not choose this…” I stammer, my voice barely above a whisper. My fists clench as guilt consumes me.

“Clark…” Another voice breaks through, soft yet no less cutting.

I turn slowly, my heart sinking as I see Mom walking out of my childhood bedroom. She holds Clark by the hand. Her face is pale, her expression filled with sorrow.

“Clark… why?” Mom’s voice wavers, each word heavy with grief. “You could have helped with our debts… why did you die?”

“Mom…” My lips tremble.

Memories of my final days on Earth flood my mind—days spent working myself to the bone, dreaming of finally being able to lift the burden off their shoulders. And yet, I never got the chance. I clench my fists tighter, the pain in my chest unbearable.

“Older me…” My younger self speaks this time, his voice eerily calm.

I turn to him, dread clawing at my throat. His expression is unreadable, but his words cut deep.

“You… are a disappointment… You failed.”

“I…” My voice cracks, and my head drops. Tears well up in my eyes as my shoulders shake. “I tried… I tried so hard…”

But the words feel hollow, even to me. The weight of their accusations crushes me, and I truly believe them for a moment. I have failed them. I have failed myself.

Then—

You have exhaled mental gas...

Analyzing gas...

The faint, mechanical tone of the System startles me, pulling me slightly out of the emotional storm.

New Skill Unlocked! You have unlocked the skill "Ironclad Will"

And just like that, a surge of clarity washes over me as though a veil has been lifted. Strength returns to my limbs, and my mind clears. My heart still aches, but reason begins to replace the suffocating guilt.

How could I forget? Dominic told me about my parents after he migrated to Earth. They were fine now. They finally had jobs. They had adopted Dominic as their son and were rebuilding their lives. They were not consumed by blame or bitterness. That was not who they were.

This—this entire scene—is not real. It is a trick, a cruel illusion crafted by the memory hall, feeding on my deepest fears and regrets. It wants to break me, but I will not let it.

I straighten my back, meeting the illusions head-on. “No,” I say firmly, my voice steady for the first time. “You are not my parents. This is not real.”

The figures freeze, their accusing gazes faltering. The room seems to waver, like ripples on the surface of a pond.

“My parents… They are not like this,” I continue, my fists unclenching. “Even if I failed, even if I died, they would not blame me. They will never say these things.”

The younger Clark stares at me, his expression twisting into something darker, more sinister. “You think they are fine? You think you have done enough?”

“I know they are fine,” I say, my voice firm and unwavering. “And no, I did not do enough. I died before I could help them. But I am here now, and I carry their memory with me. I will not let your lies break me.”

The illusions waver, their forms flickering like static before dissolving into nothingness. The oppressive weight in the room lifts, replaced by a faint, comforting glow in the distance.

“I will not let my past define me,” I whisper, more to myself than anyone else. “And I will not let this trap stop me.”

In the distance, the glow of the Chalice of Merging comes into view, beckoning me. I feel my resolve strengthen, my steps steady as I move toward it. My hand reaches out, and the chalice’s smooth, golden surface is cool beneath my fingers; the red gem at its center gleams brilliantly.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

"Hah!" I jolt awake, gasping for breath. My surroundings slowly come into focus. The real chamber is back.

I glance around and see Célestin and Arthur still unconscious nearby, their faces pale but their breathing steady.

Quest Completed! You have successfully retrieved the Chalice of Merging!

You have received 65 Stat Points!

I let out a shaky breath, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. The chalice is mine. And more than that, I have faced my demons and won.

But now is not the time to revel in my victory. I have to wake them up.

"Alright, you two," I mutter, walking toward them. "Let’s get out of here."