There is no such thing as true empathy in this world. Tsukiyuki Rio remained silent the entire time. Unspoken grief often cuts deeper and more profoundly. Gao Sijin pulled her delicate body into his arms, attempting to comfort the girl, but his thoughts inevitably drifted far away.
Yu Qingxue had told Gao Sijin before that nearly all the people contacting him daily were fabrications—carefully crafted illusions by artificial intelligences and the maids. He had been living in a fictitious world, utterly cut off from the real outside. His aunt was now an old woman. If she needed him by her side but couldn’t reach him no matter how many times she dialed his phone, what a miserable tragedy that would be.
When Grandfather Kyoichi fell ill, his family was right there with him, ready to care for him at any moment.
But what about Gao Sijin’s family?
It was a very real, urgent problem.
His aunt had once suffered from leukemia and had even been issued a Critical Condition Notice. She was later cured successfully, but there was no guarantee against complications. Moreover, his aunt’s health was poor; she had chronic conditions like hypertension and heart disease. His cousin, exhausted from overwork, had to inject insulin daily. Someday, they would inevitably need Gao Sijin to return home and shoulder the family’s burdens.
Yet now, he had become Tsukiyuki Rio’s toy. Even though Tsukiyuki Rio perfectly overlapped with the image of the ideal female protagonist in his heart, Gao Sijin could not place love above his responsibilities.
“Rio, don’t worry. You still have me by your side,” he said, feigning tenderness.
Even after being hurt by her, Gao Sijin would never gloat at a time like this. Besides, in Gao Sijin’s impression, Tsukiyuki Kyoichi was an authoritative yet slightly gentle old man. He was the patriarch of the Tsukiyuki Family, wielding great power, yet he always held an immense, deep affection for his first wife.
Moreover, the old man loved to chat idly with Gao Sijin and could face history squarely. He had told Gao Sijin many historical truths that even he hadn’t known. His mind was rational and wise. If asked whether he wished for the old man’s death or for him to be tormented by Alzheimer’s, Gao Sijin’s answer would be a firm no.
“Gao-kun, thank you. I believe Grandfather will definitely pull through.”
…
…
A Tsukiyuki Kyoichi who looked only in his thirties stood before an old man, his shoulders hunched, too afraid to look directly at him.
In the old man’s hand was a copy of 『Shogakukan』. The serialized Doraemon inside had once been Tsukiyuki Kyoichi’s favorite manga.
Suddenly, the magazine was flung into Tsukiyuki Kyoichi’s face with tremendous force, leaving a red mark and nearly knocking him unconscious.
The enraged old man bellowed:
“You are the future head of the Tsukiyuki Family! How dare you read something meant only for children?! You disappoint me utterly!”
Tsukiyuki Kyoichi dared not defy the old man before him. He lifted his head to steal a glance at the elder’s features, but it was just a twisted, swirling haze. He could no longer remember who the old man was—perhaps his father, maybe his uncle, or his grandfather. In Tsukiyuki Kyoichi’s memory, they saw imperial expansion as the only way out and would be moved to tears at the mere sight of the Emperor.
In that era of national fervor, his uncle’s munitions factory churned out masses of Zero Fighters.
“Indecisive and weak! You are unworthy of being called a Samurai!”
Tsukiyuki Kyoichi wanted to retort, but the only reply he received was a fist.
Now that this memory had been unlocked again, Tsukiyuki Kyoichi’s heart suffered another blow.
“Mr. Tsukiyuki, if you dislike it here, just leave. Once you reach the 40th floor, you won’t have to see this strange old man anymore.”
“Why will I stop seeing him at the 40th floor? And why does every person I meet in this hotel have a fixed range of movement?” Tsukiyuki Kyoichi asked.
“With your intelligence, you must have already guessed the reason, haven’t you?” The mysterious girl smiled faintly, linking her arm with Kyoichi’s as they left the room.
The moment they stepped out, the room where he had just been berated by the old man was marked with a “Under Maintenance” sign and could no longer be opened. Tsukiyuki Kyoichi’s cognitive abilities began to decline, but that didn’t mean his mind had grown dull. He was certain that once he reached the 40th floor, something would surely come back to him.
After taking the elevator to the 40th floor, Kyoichi was met with a bustling streetscape. This was the thriving, prosperous 80s, a time when the booming economy of J-Country was once wealthy enough to buy the entirety of Country A. Many landmark buildings had been acquired by J-Country citizens—massive, influential enterprises like the Rockefeller Center and Columbia Pictures were all bought up by them.
On the 40th floor, Tsukiyuki Kyoichi saw many people in suits and leather shoes. They bowed and greeted him with absolute obedience.
“Good day, Patriarch.”
Every person he encountered was overly cautious; their faces, too, were completely blurred.
Kyoichi walked alongside the girl.
“Is there a mirror?”
“Here, Mr. Tsukiyuki.”
Tsukiyuki Kyoichi stood before the mirror and carefully examined his own face straight on.
So that’s how it is?
The man in the reflection had already aged considerably, with clear, distinct wrinkles. His countenance was far more imposing than it had been on the 32nd floor, radiating an authority that left no room for defiance.
“If I descend to the 20th floor, will I see a version of myself that’s twice as young?”
“It seems you’ve finally understood.”
“If I were to celebrate my 83rd birthday tomorrow, would this hotel also transform into the 83rd floor?”
The girl caressed Kyoichi’s face, a profound smile on her lips, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes.
“You’ve finally figured it out.”
From beginning to end, the girl was the only one who had never changed, always preserving her youthful features. Tsukiyuki Kyoichi now believed without a doubt that she was the most important person in his entire life.
This place had never been a hotel.
The floor number represented Kyoichi’s age. The people and events he encountered were all left behind on their respective floors. He realized each floor had many rooms—the ones with the highest numbers were often Room 365 or 366. He finally understood everything. The rooms represented his memories, and the rooms “Under Maintenance” signified they had been forgotten.
“What’s the highest floor you can accompany me to again?”
“The 72nd floor, Mr. Tsukiyuki.”
The girl had first stepped into the elevator on the 17th floor and would get off at the 72nd floor.
That meant she entered his life when Tsukiyuki Kyoichi was seventeen, and at the age of seventy-two, she would quietly exit the stage.
Tsukiyuki Kyoichi finally realized who she was.
“You are…”
Light enveloped her form, and a stunning, petite lady appeared before Kyoichi.
“To be remembered by you… how annoying. Now I can no longer appear before you as a young girl, Mr. Tsukiyuki.”
“Why do you still call me Mr. Tsukiyuki?”
“What else should I call you?”
“Call me Kyoichi.”
“I’ve missed you so much, Kyoichi.”
“As have I, Riko,” Kyoichi murmured, gently embracing the beautiful, petite woman. She didn’t look old at all, barely appearing to be in her early thirties. “No matter what you become, in my eyes, you will always be that young girl.”
Specific people appear only on specific floors. The only person who could walk through every floor with him was himself.
At this moment, Tsukiyuki Kyoichi was fully aware that he was suffering from a disease that would steal his memories. But at least he still remembered the woman he loved. That was enough.
