It was to be expected, but it was still heartbreaking to witness—watching his memory deteriorate.
It was not to be ignored.
Still, this was him, so he fought against it in the small ways that he could. While he could still walk around he would leave notes around the room, small reminders that he would come across in his daily routine.
Do homework. Visitors at 4 on Tuesday. Call Madoka.
As time progressed and he gradually became bedridden, he kept a journal instead, and jot down his notes in there.
Read the book on the table. Have already read the books on the shelf. Play the piano.
The notes varied in importance—
Eat lunch. Blade children. Shiranagatani Sayoko-san's case. Tell nurse to stop bringing milk.
—but near the end, he seemed intent on recording the important people and events in his life, as if this act would cement these things in his memory—
Rio landed herself in the hospital with her own bomb. Asazuki once tried to kill me with hornets. Ryoko is athletic. Eyes Rutherford. Kanone Hillbert.
—or perhaps keep him company as his life became increasingly empty, sterile, and cold.
Mizushiro Hizumi, Mizushiro Yaiba, Narumi Kiyotaka, cloning.
It is such a sad thing, watching a mind deteriorate.
Madoka, Hiyono, blade children.
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Blade children?
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Narumi Ayumu?