Disclaimer: I do not own Terror in Resonance.

A/N: I took some time thinking about what I should write after watching Terror in Resonance/Zankyou no Terror, but what else was there to write about? The answer is obvious. Lisa. I had to carry it out. I just had to. I mean, wouldn't you?

He spoke to her in her dreams at night. Always holding her hand, exactly the same way as that time he rescued her in that Ferris wheel. Although he touched her skin, the warmth was nonexistent. It was only cold, memories that refuse to be forgotten. Remember us. Remember that we lived.

She wakes up in the dim room, which was illuminated by the full round moon in the cloudy sky. How helpless the light felt. As beautiful as that celestial being was, you can never reach it, but if somehow you do, you can't hold onto it. Not long enough for you to clearly express just how much you love it. How much you cherished its existence.

Lisa breathes in deeply through her mouth as she tries to catch her breath. Sweat gleamed on her pale skin and dripped into her long brown hair. She glanced at the time 0:00. She just turned seventeen. It's been a year now.

Knowing fully well that she would not be able to go back to sleep, Lisa sat up. Her eyes are narrowed in a sorrowfully silent anguish. She grabs her phone on her bedside table and notices the date, March 7th. A thought occurs to her: When was it? The last time I had spoken to him. When was the first time? Tears fill her eyes again until soon she was crying herself to sleep.

This time, the answer to her last question is shown to her. Lisa looks down at her yellow school uniform. She is barefoot, and the block she is standing on is warm. The air is humid, hot. Only just enough of it was actual air and not heat. However, Lisa does not focus too long on the sensations.

"Fly high, Lisa!" she hears from behind her. A group of girls surround her, but having lived through it before, she becomes inwardly ecstatic.

"So this is what you call bullying?" the voice was curious and mischievous, yet underneath the sneaky tone was a note of understanding. Someone with good intentions but didn't care to even acknowledge it, or even knew it was there.

Just like what was expected, her hero, a thin boy with light beige colored hair runs off the glass shade of the wall and jumped directly into the water. The splash reaches the bullies, and Lisa smiles. Hoping, she looks up and finds the icy stare. A bit later did she actually know why he looked at everyone that way.

"Twelve, Nine," she sobs in her sleep. Was she crying to relieve her stress or was it because she knew the reality of the situation? "Come back."

Remember us. Remember that we lived.

The detective, Shibazaki, sighs while smoking a cigarette. His adopted daughter cried almost every night. Despite that, he never grew tired to be there by her door, watching just enough to make sure she was unharmed. He cut his hair and shaved most of his beard by then. His reflection in the mirror was ghastly since his failure to save the lives of two young victims two years ago. He would not own that face any longer, he swore. It had seen too much, yet his eyes remained the same. Calculating, dark. The man chuckles as he recalls the thought. There was no use in taking out his perception.

"Twelve," Lisa cries again but harder this time.

"Well, here we go," he says as he rubs the cigarette into a glass ash container. Shibazaki enters her room and sits on a chair beside her. "Happy birthday, Lisa."

She rubs her swollen eyes awake. "I'm sorry, Shiba-san."

"Don't be," he says nonchalantly. Reaching under her bed, he takes out pieces of paper on a clipboard. "Please draw what you saw tonight. I will call Dr. Hosho in the morning." He was Lisa's therapist.

Lisa takes the clipboard and pulls out the pencil from its handle. "I dreamed of the time I was taken hostage at the Ferris wheel with Twelve. That's been my most prominent memory so far. After that, I woke up and later dreamt about the first time I had met them." Her fingers gracefully sketch the two figures. One sitting down and the other in front of her leaning down, nearly about to kiss the knuckles of the girl's hands as he held it. She tenderly draws the moon in the background. The next page contained the sadness portrayed in the boy's eyes. "Shiba-san," she calmly says. "I think I'm ready to know more about their past. Tonight, their words kept repeating in my dreams."

Shibazaki watched patiently. "Those words, huh."

"Yes. They said this before, 'Remember us. Remember that we lived.' I never forgot them."

The old detective closed his eyes for a moment, picturing the expressions on the boys' faces. Nine. He was so fierce yet no one knew until he began to act. So thoughtful he was in every move he made. There so many things that boy could have done. Only if I had reached them sooner…

"Shiba-san?" Lisa was done drawing.

"Lisa," Shibazaki was hushed by his own thoughts. "… I will gladly show you their legacy… However, their past was kept confidential for a reason. The boys have gone through so much, and we might even find out more about why they fought so hard, why I still keep going in this losing battle of persecuting everyone involved in the Athena organization." His jaw tightened. The thought that other institutions similar to those that Twelve, Nine, and Five had been forced to attend still existed.

"Shiba-san," Lisa speaks softly. "I want to know."

"Of course," he replies. "I think it's appropriate for you now." No matter how harsh the details of the reality were, he would tell her. Everything that he knew that night was now information she would hold onto forever.

When he was finished, she brushed her fingers against the sketches.

"Thank you, Shiba-san."

A/N: Thank you for reading this one-shot. I researched the characters' information twice. I apologize if you did not find this sort of continuation to be satisfying, but to me it seemed right. Terror in Resonance is an anime I will not forget, and hopefully my imagination gives me something else to write about in commemoration to this anime's beautiful story.