CHAPTER 168: INSTINCTS OF A FORGOTTEN LOVE

[Hayato’s POV—The Office, After Renji Enters]

"...take care, my child."

That was the only voice echoing in my skull when consciousness returned to me for the first time after the accident.

A stranger’s voice. Warm. Gentle. A mournful and old woman’s voice. When I opened my eyes, I was in a place I did not recognize.

White walls. Medical machinery. A ceiling that felt too bright, too sterile.

I didn’t know who I was.

I didn’t know where I was.

I didn’t even know what I had lost.

The world felt foreign—too foreign—yet somewhere deep inside me, something whispered:

You came here for a reason.

Two people—crying, shaking, clinging—wrapped their arms around me. Their touch felt familiar, but my heart felt strangely distant.

And that was how I learned my name.

Hayato Kurosawa. Heir of a powerful business empire. Son of status, wealth, and influence. Yet none of that lived in me.

My past was missing. I had no memory of my life, no recollection of how I ended up in that hospital bed. The truth had to be buried—quietly. My family insisted on secrecy.

But the irony?

Though my mind was blank, my body remembered everything.

I knew how to read. How to write. How to use every device placed in my hands. How to speak with control, stand with confidence, and manage my breath in any room.

"Muscle memory," the doctor said. "Your mind is injured, but the habits of your life remain."

For five months I rebuilt myself—piece by piece—before returning to the company as if nothing had happened. A performance orchestrated to silence gossip.

But even as life resumed... A hollow ache throbbed constantly in my skull. And a deeper ache pulsed in my chest.

As if something—someone—was missing from my world. Someone I was supposed to remember.Someone my soul reached for blindly in the dark.

Then—one winter evening—a crosswalk. Falling snow. Warm city lights.

I bumped into a stranger.

No—He didn’t feel like a stranger.

The moment my shoulder brushed his, something warm exploded inside my chest—like a door unlocking. I brushed it off as memory-loss confusion, but—

When he grabbed me—When he held me—When he called me a name I had never heard—

"...Alvar..."

—Every nerve in my body froze.

Not in fear.

In recognition.

Something inside me whispered:

Yes. That’s you. That’s the name someone once said with love.

His arms around me felt like a place my heart had been searching for. I should have pushed him away instantly. I should have treated him like any other delusional stranger.

But I couldn’t.

My instinct—my body—my soul—hesitated.

Just for a breath. Just long enough to know: This was the first hug in my life that felt... right.

Even though I told myself it meant nothing.

Even though I convinced myself it was only loneliness. Even though my mind insisted I had never met him, my heart reacted as if it had been waiting for him.

And at the interview—When he walked through the door, frightened but determined... Time tilted.

My pulse reacted before my mind could catch up. Destiny felt like it was grabbing the collar of my shirt and dragging me forward.

Our lives aligned too easily.

Two men, two accidents, two hollow spaces where memories should have been.

So I did the only thing that felt right—I kept him close.

Hired him instantly.

Trusted him with secrets no one else was given. Because something in me—Something ancient, something aching—told me he was the answer to the emptiness I couldn’t name.

"...Renji."

His name slipped from my lips now, uninvited.

I stiffened.

I should not say his name with such softness. Not with such familiarity. Not when I only met him yesterday.

Yet—why does my chest react without permission? Why does my pulse stumble every time he looks at me? Why does he feel familiar enough to unravel everything I rebuilt?

Why did I hire him on instinct alone?

Why does it feel like I’ve known him longer than my missing memories?

I pressed my fingers to my temple.

Pain flared.

Sharp, sudden.

Images hit me—too fast, too unreal: Warm hands over my cheek. Snow falling gently on someone’s eyelashes.

A voice—soft, trembling— "Alvar... please..."

My breath stuttered.

That name again.

It seeped into my nightmares. It whispered in the edges of my headaches. It echoed now.

But I didn’t know an Alvar.

I didn’t.

And yet—Every time I heard that name... My heart tightened as if someone had just called me home.

What is happening to me? Why does Renji feel like a key turning inside a lock I didn’t know existed?

A knock broke the silence.

"Ku... Kurosawa-sama?" Renji’s voice—small, hesitant—filtered through the door.

My pulse jolted.

"...Enter," I said, too quickly.

The door opened. He stepped inside. Soft tread. Lowered gaze. Gentle presence that shifted the temperature of the entire room.

And the strangest thing happened—the cold vanished.

The office felt warmer.My shoulders loosened.My breath softened.

Just from him being here.

"Sir," Renji said, bowing slightly, "HR told me to ask if you need anything before we begin the scheduled meeting."

He lifted his head.

Our eyes met.

The world narrowed.

Everything else fell away.

A strange pull—some invisible thread—tightened between us, both terrifying and magnetic. I shouldn’t feel this. I don’t even know him.

But...

"...Come here," I said before thinking.

Renji blinked. "Sir?"

I composed myself. "I’ll explain your tasks for the next morning."

He stepped closer.

Too close. Close enough that my heartbeat faltered. The ache behind my temple throbbed again. Images burst across my mind—a man crying against my chest.

A kiss pressed to a forehead.A voice whispering:

"You’re my everything...my love."

I clenched my jaw.

None of these memories belonged to me. But my body reacted as if they did. As if they were fragments of a life I lived in another time.

Another world.

Another name.

I forced my gaze to the documents.

"Let’s begin, Renji."

He nodded, taking notes—quiet, diligent, patient. He stood close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off him.

The warmth eased something deep inside me.

And yet—a quiet truth pressed against my ribs:

Something inside me knows him. Something inside me remembers him. And I don’t know why.

But I would find out.

Even if it means keeping him close—too close for any logical boundary to justify.

Renji scanned the document in his hands, voice soft but clear. "Sir, today you have a dinner meeting with a foreign client. At a traditional restaurant."

"Yes. I remember." My response was automatic. My eyes, however, drifted to him.

Before I could stop myself, the words slipped out:

"...Can you tolerate alcohol, Renji?"

He froze.

His fingers tightened around the paper, and he looked up with a startled flinch. "I... cannot, sir. I apologize—"

"There’s no need to apologize," I cut in sharply.

Too sharply.

He lowered his head quickly, but I wasn’t irritated. Not at him. At myself.

I sighed and forced my tone to be calmer. "Sometimes foreign clients drink more than expected. You simply need to accompany me."

He nodded. "Of course, sir."

"And I can drink for you. No need to except any alcohol from them—"

I stopped.

My jaw clenched. Renji’s eyes widened slightly. His confusion was unmistakable—gentle, innocent, almost hurt.

Why... why did I say that?

To a brand-new assistant? To someone I should be strict with? To someone who is nothing but an employee?

But he isn’t nothing.

He isn’t just an assistant.

My instinct keeps moving toward him—softening. I straightened, the mask dropping back into place.

"You will be driving me back," I said abruptly, my tone colder to cover the slip.

"...Of course."

His smile was small—polite—but I caught it. Disappointment. A faint, flickering disappointment that struck me harder than it should have.

I looked away quickly and handed him another file. "Call the finance team and inform them I need the last five years’ documents on my desk by tomorrow morning."

He blinked. "B—By tomorrow, sir?"

"Yes."

There was no room for negotiation in my tone, yet he nodded without complaint—without hesitation.

"I’ll inform them immediately."

He bowed and turned to leave. His footsteps were soft—so soft I almost didn’t hear them.

But I felt them. Something in me tugged painfully as he reached the door, as if strings tied inside my chest pulled taut.

Then the door closed behind him.

Silence dropped over the room.

I sank back in my chair, hand lifting to my temple, pressing into the familiar ache that never quite left me.

"My instincts..." I whispered, breath unsteady. "...they go soft around him."

Soft, protective, tender. Words I never associated with myself. Words no one would label me with. Words that should have been impossible.

Everything around me—a CEO’s office, a life of structure, a family of expectations—felt solid.

But he felt familiar.

And everything inside me was confusion.

I closed my eyes.

And the ache in my chest deepened.

Why him?

Why do I feel this?

Why does he look at me like he’s already lost me once?

I exhaled slowly.

Something is happening to me. Something old. Something I’ve forgotten.

And whatever it is—Renji Takeda holds the key.