Mika knelt and dug her hands into the sand. She felt shells, then broken glass, then a photograph. In the photo: a festival, a bonfire, a child pointing at her. “You were there,” the voice whispered. Mika forgot her mother’s face.

Ren looked at his grandmother’s cards — all Jokers now, all faceless.

Haru grinned. “The flyer said: Those who play will remember what the city forgot. ”

The voice returned, softer this time: “The game ends when no one remembers the park. Then we will truly disappear. Until then… thank you for playing.” They left the park as the sun rose. Outside the gate, they blinked at one another.

Behind them, the rusted gate creaked once. A child’s laughter echoed from the empty swings.

“We won,” Haru whispered, but he didn’t remember why winning mattered.

“I don’t know,” Haru said. “I feel… lighter.”