The crowd erupted into chaos.
“What did you say to her?!” the father demanded, grabbing the boy by the collar.
But the girl spoke first.
“Dad… wait…”
Her voice was different.
Not weak.
Not fragile.
Shaking—but alive.
“I… I felt my legs,” she said.
The words didn’t sound real.
The father let go slowly.
“That’s not possible,” he whispered.
“I KNOW!” she snapped—then froze, shocked at herself.
She hadn’t raised her voice like that in years.
The boy stepped back, calm, almost distant now.
“It is possible,” he said. “But not for free.”
The air turned cold.
The father’s eyes darkened.
“What do you want?”
The boy looked at the girl—not the father.
“You already heard it,” he said quietly. “Everything comes with a price.”
The girl swallowed hard.
“…What kind of price?”
For the first time—
The boy hesitated.
And that hesitation was worse than anything.
“Not money,” he said.
A pause.
“Not something you can replace.”
The father stepped in front of her instantly.
“You’re done here.”
But she pushed his arm away.
“No,” she said. “I want to hear this.”
Her hands were still shaking.
Not from fear anymore.
From something else.
Something growing.
“Tell me,” she said, locking eyes with the boy.
“If I stand… what do I lose?”
The restaurant was dead silent again.
The boy took a breath.
And finally said it.
“You won’t remember who you used to be.”
The words hit harder than anything before.
The father stared at him like he was insane.
“That’s not a price—that’s a threat.”
But the girl…
Didn’t look away.
“Define ‘used to be,’” she said quietly.
The boy’s voice dropped.
“Your memories. Your pain. Your past. The people who made you who you are.”
A beat.
“…Including him.”
He glanced at her father.
The world seemed to tilt.
The father’s face drained of color.
“You’re not choosing this,” he said, almost pleading now.
But the girl’s eyes filled with something dangerous.
Not fear.
Not hope.
Decision.
“I spent my whole life trapped in a body that wouldn’t listen to me,” she said slowly.
Her fingers tightened around the armrest.
“Maybe… I don’t want to be who I was.”
“NO!” the father shouted.
Too late.
She reached for the boy again.
This time—
Without hesitation.
“Do it.”
Their hands touched.
The world went silent.
Not empty.
Erased.
And as her body began to rise—
Her expression changed.
Not relief.
Not joy.
Confusion.
Deep, terrifying confusion.
She looked at the man in front of her—
Her father—
And asked softly:
“…Who are you?”
Black.
