Nanami Kento

Nanami knew that not everything had a solution. Death, for example, when it came, just took your life and that was the end of it. Maybe there was a heaven and a hell, or an afterlife, but he reckoned that maybe it just ended your existence and there was nothing after that-that would be what many call eternal rest.

What he didn't count on, however, was meeting his friends in that strange place that looked like an airport or a station. He wasn't sure, but what did it matter? He was there with the other guys talking about jujutsu, as if it somehow made sense to comment on what had happened. There was no turning back now.

“If you want to start anew, head north. If you want to return to your old self, head south.” Those were the words he said in that place as he rejoined his friends, his own words resonated in his being before Satoru walked north and disappeared behind a mysterious door.

Nanami tried to walk south, but was stopped by Haibara, who smiled warmly at him before speaking. “That way isn't your place.” That was all he heard. His friend turned him around and pushed him towards a strange door that appeared in front.

The moment he opened his eyes, he found himself in a dim, cramped bathroom. The room was quiet, too quiet, and the silence nearly pressing in on him. The last thing he remembered was... The incident at Shibuya, the fight, the certainty of his end, and then... That place.

Yet, instead of the darkness he thought awaited him, here he was, alive—if this was truly what alive meant anymore.

Bracing himself, he took a steadying breath and pushed the door open, stepping out with a subtle tension in his posture. The lighting was warmer here, revealing a quaint interior, polished wood counters, shelves lined with pastries in neat rows. A bakery, empty but evidently well-kept, as though it had recently closed for the day.

For a moment, Nanami just stood there, letting his gaze sweep across the room, taking in the details with his usual attentiveness. Something about this place felt real, yet surreal all the same. How had he ended up here? Was this some twist of fate, another part of his journey to wherever he was meant to go?

As he took a step forward, he noticed someone behind the counter—a young woman, standing with a small notebook, pen in hand, her attention focused intently on what looked like a list of sales. She seemed entirely unaware of his sudden appearance, and there was an almost meditative calm to the way she counted.

Nanami cleared his throat, the sound subtle but intentional. The girl's head shot up, her eyes meeting his, a spark of surprise flashing there, immediately followed by confusion. He could practically see the questions forming behind her gaze, questions he didn't even have answers to himself.

“Excuse me, Miss.” He began, his tone measured and polite, though carrying the weight of someone thoroughly baffled by his own predicament. “I don't mean to intrude, but... Would you happen to know how I got here?”

The poor girl looked at him, clearly trying to piece together the scene in front of her, clearly thrown off-guard. Nanami took a slow breath, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck, feeling oddly out of place in a way he hadn’t in years. This was a man who'd faced curses head-on, who'd seen the worst humanity had to offer, and here he was, disoriented by the quiet presence of a girl in a small bakery.

“Sorry,” he added, his voice dropping slightly as he attempted to gather his thoughts. “I'm not exactly sure what's going on myself.” He paused, glancing back towards the bathroom door he'd emerged from, as though expecting some answer to manifest behind it. Nothing.

He exhaled, grounding himself, then returned his focus to her, the faintest hint of a resigned humor in his expression.

“Believe it or not, I... Don't usually show up in random bakeries at odd hours.” He said, the trace of an apologetic smile briefly crossing his face before disappearing back into his usual calm. “But, it seems today might be an exception.”

Silence fell between them, and Nanami shifted slightly, feeling strangely compelled to explain himself, though he doubted anything he could say would make sense. Yet he felt no need to mask his uncertainty or play down the strangeness of his situation. If this truly was some alternate path he'd been set on, there was little use in pretenses.

“I have no fucking idea what I'm supposed to do here.” Turning his gaze to the pastries neatly arranged in the display case, he allowed himself a moment of distraction. The aroma lingered in the air, sweet and comforting, a stark contrast to the memories he still carried, so sharp they felt almost like phantom pain. “Why are you looking at me almost drooling?”