...
10th of November –
"Auaghh!"
Noir wakes up in an alien room with a sharp pain in his chest.
Where am I? What is this place? I don't remember?
Noir rubs his forehead instinctively, responding to the mild headache.
"Ouch!" A wave of sharp pain in his chest jolted him.
My chest! A sudden memory flashed in his mind. I was shot!
He quickly reached to check his chest, which was covered in bandages
"What is going on? I'm still alive?" He murmured to himself.
At that moment, the door creaked softly and an old woman entered with a platter. She certainly looked old, yet physically fit as a 25-year-old – roughly 5'9, white hair, dressed in a classic attire. Her eyes were sharp, even from across the room.
"Good Morning. It's been 3 days since you were found on the seashore, all bloody." Her voice was calm, steady.
"Where am I? And how am I still alive?" Noir's voice came out rougher than he expected.
"You were shot... but your heart is on the right side... pretty rare. And this place is my home." She spoke like it was just a fact, no big deal.
Noir sat up, taking the platter from her hands, he took a bite of the food. It was hot, surprisingly good. The taste, simple and hearty, cut through the weirdness.
What a coincidence, a heart on the right. Guess my luck is off the charts. Or maybe really, really bad, depending on how you looked at it.
The room wasn't anything extraordinary; it was just a simple room that seemed not to have been housing someone before him.
Plain, pale walls. Worn wood floor with faint scuffs. A small window with thick curtains let in a sliver of light and dancing dust.
The air felt cool, carrying a hint of sea. Besides the bed, only a rough table with a glass of water and a straight-backed chair. It was clean but empty, a temporary space, smelling faintly of old wood and the sea.
"The food's nice." Noir mumbled around a mouthful.
"Isn't it? I really enjoy cooking." She gave a small, approving nod.
"Cool– So... where exactly am I?" He took a swallow of water, eyeing her.
"The Twin Islands, the eastern half. Perhaps you came here along the waves... If I may, young man." Her gaze was steady and calm.
"Yes– what is it?"
"You haven't told me your name." She stated it plainly with no judgment.
"Oh! Yeah, my bad. I'm..." He hesitated. His name? Here? No. Not yet. Not ever, maybe.
"It's okay that you don't want to disclose any personal information; you aren't required to do so anyway." She seemed to read his thoughts. A strange old lady.
As Noir munched through the food he replied, "Thwanks, I aphriciate that." The food was actually helping him think clearer.
"Easy now, finish the food first, you can find me outside." She turned, her movements quick despite her age.
Noir nodded slightly as the old woman exited the room. The door clicked softly behind her. The room felt quiet again, too quiet after the brief conversation.
Noir had been through a lot, but somehow he was so at ease, like he was on vacation or something. He didn't understand it. He should be freaking out. But he just felt calm. Almost bored.
"That's a plus point of being German. I'm Noir Kagenou... a 17-year-old cold-hearted naz— I mean German."
Stop talking to the narrative, sir!
"Whatever"
He finished his food, pushing the empty platter aside. He just needed to figure out what to do next. And where "next" actually was.
He stood up, put on his shoes, took his shirt and started moving out while wearing it. His chest still ached, but not that it was unbearable.
His shirt had a hole in it, from the bullet that pierced his chest. He walked outside in that bloody shirt. What else was he supposed to do?
The people greeted him, they weren't acting differently because of the bloody shirt, after all, they were the ones to save him.
The air outside hit him first. Fresh. Salty. Much better than the quiet room. Sunlight, real sunlight, streamed down, not just a sliver.
The small house he was in looked sturdy, well-built. Like the kind of houses you'd see from the 1950s, not fancy, but definitely not rough.
It was part of a scattering of other similar, well-maintained homes, all facing the sea. A small, quiet village, it seemed.
Kids were playing nearby, their shouts soft in the breeze. Old men sat on benches, just watching the waves. Nobody stared. Nobody pointed. It was weird.
He had a hole in his shirt, still dark with dried blood, and everyone just nodded, like it was normal. Maybe it was.
He took a deep breath. The ocean was right there. Waves crashed softly, a steady, calming rhythm.
He could see fishing boats, small ones, bobbing far out. He needed a plan. What exactly was he supposed to do on a random island with a bullet hole in his chest?
Two major things came to his mind–
Step one: find out more about this place. Step two: find new clothes. His bloody shirt was getting annoying.
He started walking. Just picked a direction and moved. The ache in his chest was still there, a dull reminder, but it was easy enough to ignore.
He saw the old woman on the shore, and he decided to ask her directly whatever he wanted to know.
He approached her slowly; he couldn't move properly due to the wound. Before he could ask anything, she began.
"You seem to be unaware of yourself."
The phrase left Noir frozen, confused and a bit startled
"What do you mean by that?"
She turned her gaze from the sea to Noir while sitting on a rock amidst the cool breeze of the ocean.
"You, young man... don't know who you truly are."