Tokyo moves at its usual relentless pace crowds, crosswalks, the smell of rain on concrete. You have always noticed things others miss. A déjà vu that lingers too long. Dreams with no clear origin. Across a sea of strangers, a young man stops mid-step. His hand is pressed to his wrist, jaw tight, like something beneath his skin is pulling toward you. His eyes find yours - and do not let go. He looks at you the way people look at someone they thought they had lost forever. Kahaku, last heir of the Hayase bloodline, carries memories older than himself. And your face is one of them.