Chapter 2: Memory Buffs and Terrible Animation
(Suzune POV)
I am currently witnessing a crime. A digital, high-definition atrocity.
On the screen, One Punch Man Season 3 is flickering away, and with every poorly rendered frame, a piece of my soul withers and dies. This was supposed to be a masterpiece. It was supposed to be the pinnacle of hype. Instead, it looks like it was animated by three interns and a caffeinated squirrel.
I look over at Sunny. He's sitting there with a dead-eyed stare that I usually only see when he's looking at a blank loading screen or trying to understand why I'm still mad at him for something he did in third grade.
"Suzune," he says, his voice flat and devoid of hope. "Do you want to die watching this? Because I can feel my brain cells committing mass suicide. I think the animation just dropped to four frames per second. That's not a fight scene; that's a PowerPoint presentation."
"It's an insult," I hiss, my grip on the couch cushion tightening until I hear the seams groan. "Every manager, every artist, every executive who looked at this and said, 'Yeah, this is fine,' needs to be banned from the industry. Permanently. I've seen better animation in a fan-made Flash game from 2005. This isn't just mid; it's a tragedy."
I'm so fueled by pure, unadulterated nerd rage that I don't even think before I lunging at him. I wrap my arms around his torso in a "koala hug" so tight I can feel his ribs start to protest. I bury my face in his chest, partly to hide from the screen and partly because I'm about five seconds away from throwing the remote through the TV.
"Gah—Suzune! Ribs! Crucial for breathing!" Sunny gasps, though he doesn't actually try to push me off. He just pats my head with that annoying, perfect left-hand technique of his. "Relax. We'll just go back to watching Looney Tunes or something with actual quality. Don't let the bad pixels win."
"I hate them," I mumble into his shirt. "I hate everyone involved in this."
"I know, I know. Let's take a breather before you actually break me in half."
I finally let go, huffing as I stand up. I need air. I need to see something that wasn't rendered by a failing GPU. I walk out toward the garden, the cool night air hitting my face and finally dampening the fire of my anime-induced fury.
I lean against the wooden railing, looking out at the dark trees. Tomorrow. Tomorrow we go to that school. Advanced Nurturing High School. It feels like a lifetime ago that I was just another student there—serious, lonely, and obsessed with a brother who wouldn't even look at me.
Actually, it was a lifetime ago.
Flashback: Late January
I had just finished my interview for the school. Back then, I didn't have my memories. I was just Suzune Horikita: the Ice Queen, the girl who thought love was a distraction and that a gaming buddy was just a noisy neighbor I couldn't get rid of. I didn't understand why my heart did that weird little skip whenever Sunny did something stupid, which was approximately every ten minutes.
I walked out of the building, my posture perfect, my face a mask of cold indifference. I was looking for him. Sunny's interview had finished early, and despite my "independence," I found myself scanning the crowd for that messy hair and that lazy smirk.
I found him leaning against a vending machine, looking like he was about to fall asleep standing up.
"There you are," I said, stopping in front of him. "How did your interview go? I assume you didn't accidentally offend the faculty with your lack of ambition."
Sunny opened one eye, giving me a look that was far too knowing. "Oh? Is my Suzune worried about her favorite gaming buddy? Or are you just terrified that I'm going to end up in a different high school and you'll have nobody to carry you in Brawl Stars?"
"I do not need to be carried," I snapped, crossing my arms. "And I am not 'your' Suzune."
"Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that," he grinned, pushing off the machine. "I know why I didn't go to your middle school, Suzu. You've been pining for me this whole time. It's okay. In January, I take care of everything. We'll be in the same class, guaranteed."
"You can't guarantee that. The school's placement system is confidential," I said, though his words sent a weird wave of warmth through me that I immediately tried to crush.
"Trust me," he winked, looking far too confident for a guy who spent most of his time trying to find the most efficient way to walk five thousand steps while watching YouTube. "I've got a system."
On the bus ride home, I gave him the cold shoulder. It was my default setting. I sat by the window, staring out at the passing city, while Sunny sat next to me. Within five minutes, his head had tilted back, his mouth had popped open, and he was snoring softly, a tiny bit of drool escaping the corner of his mouth.
Why is he always by my side? I wondered, watching him. He drags me into everything. Stupid anime, hours of gaming, even that embarrassing cosplay session where he made me dress up as a character with way too much lace. He makes me so angry... and yet...
I reached into my bag, pulled out my phone, and silently recorded him drooling. Leverage, I told myself. For when he tries to roast me later.
And then, it happened.
A sharp pain shot through my skull, like a static shock to the brain. Images, sounds, emotions—they all came rushing back like a dam breaking. I saw a different life. A life where I was twenty-five. A life where Sunny was my boyfriend. A life where we died together.
I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth. The weight of it was suffocating. Sadness for the life we lost, happiness that he was right here next to me, jealousy at the "me" who had spent all these years with him without even knowing the truth, and a simmering anger that he had known since he was nine and hadn't said a word.
I looked at the sleeping, drooling Sunny. I felt a surge of pure, petty jealousy. He looked so peaceful. He had his memories for a decade! He got to watch me be a "serious" little girl while he probably had a mental scoreboard of every embarrassing thing I did.
I saw a memory from our past life—something private, something embarrassing that he used to tease me about—and I felt my face turn a shade of red that shouldn't be biologically possible.
The bus stopped. I didn't even wait for him to wake up. I stood up and bolted. I ran all the way home, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Suzune? Hey!" I heard him yell behind me, but I didn't stop.
I reached my house, slammed the front door, ran to my room, and locked it. I didn't want to see him. I didn't want to deal with the fact that my boyfriend was also my childhood friend who had been gaslighting me with "friendship" for years.
I did the only thing a rational, reincarnated adult woman would do. I turned on my console, loaded up Call of Duty, and spent the next forty-eight hours in a toxic, profanity-laced trash-talking session that probably got me reported by half the player base. I vented every ounce of my confusion and rage into the headset.
Two Days Later
I finally emerged from my room, looking like a disaster. My hair was a mess, my eyes were bloodshot, and I was pretty sure I smelled like salt and energy drinks. I called Sunny.
"Come over," I said, my voice hoarse. "Video games. Now."
I didn't tell him I remembered. I wanted to see how long he'd play the game.
We sat on my floor, playing a Mario board game. It was a massacre. I was crushing him. I was stealing his stars, sabotaging his moves, and playing with a level of cold-blooded aggression that would have made a professional gambler weep.
But I wasn't roasting him. I wasn't trash-talking. I was silent.
Why isn't he saying anything? I thought, my anger bubbling up. Does he really think I'm just 'sad'? Does he not see that I'm playing exactly like I used to back then?
Sunny sat there, playing his turns with a focused, quiet energy. It went on for a long, agonizing hour. Finally, he leaned back, looking at the screen where I had just bankrupted him for the third time.
"So," he said, his voice casual. "Why are you not roasting or trash-talking today, Suzu? Usually, by now, you've called me a 'noob' at least twelve times and told me my strategy has the depth of a puddle."
My heart stopped. The silence in the room became deafening. I looked at him, and I saw that damn smirk—the one that said he had known the second I stepped off that bus.
"You little shit," I whispered. "You knew. You've known the whole time."
"Knew what?" he asked, his face a masterpiece of fake innocence. "That you finally realized your Mario Party skills are mid? That you—"
"Stop overacting!" I yelled, throwing a controller at him. "You knew I regained my memories! You've been sitting there watching me 'process' for two days like I'm some kind of science experiment!"
Sunny caught the controller, his smirk widening into a full-blown cackle. "Wait, did I blow my cover? Damn, I thought I could get at least another hour out of the 'silent treatment' phase."
"What time did you know?!" I demanded, lunging at him. "Tell me right now or you will regret ever coming back to this life!"
He laughed, pinning my wrists with one hand—not with strength, but with that annoying agility he has. "Suzy, I knew the moment you bolted off the bus like your hair was on fire. And then, I may or have not stood outside your door for a few minutes while you were 'venting' on Call of Duty. You have a very distinct way of telling a twelve-year-old from Ohio that his aim is 'disgraceful and an insult to the genre.' I recognized the phrasing immediately. You used the exact same line on me in our past life when I missed a shot in Warzone."
"I... you... you were listening?!" I felt the heat rise in my cheeks. "I am going to kill you! I am going to erase you from existence!"
"Stop it, stop it!" he laughed, dodging my half-hearted swipes. "You were adorable! A little jumble of past-life rage and current-life confusion. I figured I'd let you get it out of your system before we went back to the usual schedule."
Present Day: The Garden
I smile at the memory, the cool air finally chilling my temper. I hear footsteps behind me—the familiar, lazy gait of the man who has been the center of my world for two lifetimes.
"Suzune," Sunny calls out, leaning against the doorframe. "Dinner is ready. And since I'm a saint who wants to survive the night, I made your favorite sweet dish. Buckle up, because we're carbo-loading for tomorrow."
I turn around, and the last bit of my stress vanishes. I walk over and wrap my arms around him again, this time without the rib-crushing force. Just a quiet, lingering hug.
"Only tomorrow left," I whisper. "We're really doing this. We're going back to that school."
"Yup," he says, resting his chin on my head. "Back to the lions' den. You nervous?"
"A little," I admit. "About meeting my brother again. He... he won't know me. Not this version of me. Do you think he'll be surprised by the changes?"
Sunny pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes, his expression softening into something genuinely warm. "Surprised? Suzune, the man is going to have a stroke. His 'perfect, silent, obedient' little sister is walking in there as a toxic gamer who roasts people for fun and has a genius-level tech-god for a boyfriend. He's not just going to be surprised; he's going to be terrified."
I let out a small, genuine laugh. "Are you suggesting I should roast him the first time we meet?"
"I mean, if you don't call him a 'try-hard' within the first five minutes, are you even my girlfriend?" Sunny grins. "But seriously, Suzu. He'll be happy. Even if he doesn't show it, seeing you actually... living? That's all he ever wanted for you, even in the original timeline."
I lean in, pressing a quick, firm kiss to his lips. "I love you, you idiot."
Sunny grins, that familiar, chaotic sparkle in his eyes. "I love you too, you toxic little queen. Now come on. The food is getting cold, and I didn't spend three hours in the kitchen just for you to fill up on night air."
I follow him inside, the weight of the future feeling a lot lighter than it did a few minutes ago. Tomorrow, the school gets us.
God help them.