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CHAPTER 3 – “The One Who Woke Up After Seven Years”
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ACT 1 – “Awakening in a Quiet Room”
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[INT. HOSPITAL ROOM – NOON]
A soft, steady beeping breaks the stillness.
The heart monitor pulses quietly in rhythm.
White curtains dance gently at the window, stirred by a warm breeze slipping through.
Alain’s eyes flicker open—slowly, uncertainly.
He lies still for a second. Then, with a sudden jolt, he sits up, gasping for breath like a drowning man pulled from deep waters.
Beads of sweat cling to his brow. His breathing is ragged.
Alain (whispering, dazed):
“Where… am I?”
(looking down, eyes widening)
“These wires… these tubes…?”
His gaze drops to his hands—larger, unfamiliar.
He lifts one to his face, fingers tracing the sharpness of a jawline that wasn’t there before.
Alain (inner voice, shaken):
“This… isn’t my body…
I’ve… grown older?”
The door clicks.
A nurse steps in with a tablet in hand—only to freeze.
Her eyes widen. The tablet nearly slips from her grip.
Nurse (stammering):
“You… you’re awake?!”
She rushes forward, checking the vitals, overwhelmed by shock.
Nurse:
“Please don’t strain yourself. You’ve been… unconscious for seven years.”
Alain (in disbelief):
“Seven... years?!”
His breath catches. His chest tightens.
Alain (inner voice):
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“Seven years… All of it…
Was it just a dream?”
The nurse taps on the tablet, showing news clippings—his accident, the medical impossibility of his survival, the vigil that never ended.
Alain stares, expression hollow.
Alain (faintly):
“No… I feel fine. I’m sitting. I’m awake. That’s what matters, right?”
Nurse (gently):
“That’s what they all say in the beginning.”
She turns to the hallway, calling out.
Nurse:
“Mrs. Mitsuki… you can come in now.”
A sudden clatter—something metal drops.
At the door stands his mother, frozen in place. Her eyes widen as they fill with tears. Her hands tremble.
In the next breath—she runs to him.
She wraps her arms around him with desperate force, trembling, as if afraid he’ll vanish again.
Alain’s arms lift slowly, returning the embrace. His body responds before his mind can.
Alain (inner voice):
“This warmth…
This scent…
It’s real.”
Another presence joins—the embrace tightens.
His sister, Mizumi—once so small—is now a young woman. She hugs him from behind, face buried in his back, sobbing.
Alain (softly, barely audible):
“It’s true…
Seven years really passed…”
Doctors enter, overwhelmed by the impossibility of what they’re witnessing.
One reviews Alain’s vitals, astonished.
Doctor (murmuring):
“This rate of recovery… it shouldn’t even be possible.”
Alain now sits upright, steady.
His tone is calm—measured—but laced with quiet determination.
Alain:
“I’ve already lost enough time.”
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ACT 2 – “Ashes Beneath the Rain”
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[INT. HOSPITAL ROOM – NIGHT]
The lights are dim.
Rain pours gently outside, casting glimmering trails on the windowpane.
Alain stands by the window, unmoving, lost in the darkness outside.
The rain feels endless—like it’s washing away more than just dust. It’s trying to clean the silence of the years.
A nurse enters quietly, stopping beside him.
Nurse (softly):
“Only two days of stay have been granted… Until then, you and your family can remain in the storage room.”
Alain doesn’t respond.
No anger, no resistance—just a silence that speaks more than words.
The nurse looks into his eyes, something softens in her face. She quietly exits.
Alain (inner voice):
“After I went into a coma…
The government helped. Gave money.
But… even that wasn’t enough.
Mom… had to sell the house.
Because of me.”
In frustration, he slams his fist against the wall.
A dull thud echoes through the room.
And with it, a breath escapes him—fragile and broken.
Alain (whispering angrily):
“Why did I survive…?"
His eyes drift toward the storage room door.
He steps toward it—hesitant, but drawn like a thread being pulled back through time.
Alain (inner voice):
“This… this is where they’ve been living…
For years…
Because of me.”
[INT. HOSPITAL STORAGE ROOM – CONTINUOUS]
He steps in quietly.
In one corner, his mother and Mizumi sleep side by side, curled up on thin blankets.
The space is cramped, but their faces are calm—strangely peaceful.
Alain notices something near Mizumi’s hand—a diary.
He carefully picks it up and flips to the last page.
Written in her handwriting:
“I don’t know when my brother will wake up…
But when he does…
I just want to hug him. That’s all.”
Alain’s hands tremble.
The diary slips from his grip, landing softly on the floor.
Tears fall—silently—landing on Mizumi’s name.
At the sound, his mother stirs.
Mother (sleepily, softly):
“Alain…? Is that you, my son? What’s wrong?”
Alain quickly wipes his face, but she sees it all.
She reaches out, holds his hand, and gently presses it to her cheek.
Mother (quietly):
“Come… let’s eat something.
Chi-chi, wake up sweetheart. It’s dinner time.”
Mizumi wakes slowly—partly dazed, partly curious.
Alain forces a soft smile.
Alain (lightly, trying to ease the moment):
“Come on… I’m starving too.”
Mizumi perks up, rummaging beside her pillow.
She pulls out a tiny toy and offers it to Alain with a smile.
Mizumi (innocently):
“Here! Your toy. You used to play with this all the time when we were little.”
Alain takes it slowly.
A memory flashes—him as a kid, laughing, holding this same toy.
Alain (softly, with nostalgia):
“This wasn’t just a toy.
This was my idol…
Our nation’s hero—Grandbeast”
Mizumi (teasing):
“Haha, still looks like a doll to me!”
Alain chuckles faintly.
He gently brushes the toy with his thumb.
Alain (softly):
“Yeah… whatever you say.”
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ACT 3 – “Resolve”
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[INT. HOSPITAL HALLWAY – LATER]
Alain steps into the hallway, the rain still trickling outside.
He walks slowly until he finds himself standing in front of a mirror.
He looks at his reflection.
He brushes back his grown hair, studying his older face.
A stillness falls. Then, something shifts—clarity, like a flame reigniting.
Alain (firmly, to his reflection):
“I’m here to live.
Not just survive.”
The camera pulls back.
The hospital sign glows faintly above the storage room.
Rain continues to fall—but now, it carries a scent of new beginnings.
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TO BE CONTINUED…
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