The ankle was definitely sprained. The park ranger had been kind enough to give Mamoru a ride to the ranger station, picking up his fallen shoe along the way. He wouldn't have been able to wear it, as the ankle immediately began to swell, and the ice pack resting on it did little to help.

Mamoru could barely get any words out in his shocked state but somehow got across to the ranger that he had fallen. The middle-aged man scratched at his stubble, muttering about 'weird things' always happening in this city. Whether or not the man believed him didn't matter, he was too far gone and wrapped up in the earlier events to care.

After he'd caught his breath, the ranger lent him a walking stick and drove him to the edge of the park, closest to his apartment.

"You sure you didn't hit your head, son?" The ranger asked before he left. "You still look a little pale. Don't want to mess around with concussions."

"No," Mamoru assured, attempting a smile. "Just a nasty fall. I'm a med student, so I should be able to treat the ankle myself." He gestured to the walking stick in his grip. "I'll return this as soon as I can."

The ranger put his hand up. "Don't worry about it, son. We keep those on hand for old folks and for…accidents…like today."

The older man gave a conspiratorial nod, then continued on his way.

Mamoru hobbled painfully across the street and up to his apartment. Once inside, he stumbled around for painkillers, ointment, an ice pack, a water bottle, and some leftover yakisoba. For once he was grateful that he always cooked too much food. He plopped himself onto the sofa where he would no doubt be stuck the rest of the day.

Going to class in his condition was out of the question. After painfully reaching for his laptop, he begrudgingly emailed both professors for the day. Ditching class this close to finals wasn't ideal, especially with it being his last semester before clinicals, but with Mamoru's 3.8 GPA and flawless attendance record, he was in their good graces. Both of them had happily emailed him lecture notes by the end of the day and wished him a speedy recovery.

Gingerly, he removed his damp t-shirt, wincing with every brush of raw skin. The pain in his ankle had dulled the stinging of his back, but now he could feel with precision every jagged scratch from being dragged across pavement. He applied ointment to every inch of torn flesh he could reach, sighing in relief as the soothing balm worked its magic.

As much pain as he was in now, he'd have suffered twice as much before his ultimate death if Sailor Moon hadn't come to his rescue.

Sailor Moon.

Mamoru had always considered the Sailor Senshi to be more of a cultural myth of Tokyo; a collective hallucination created to brighten spirits, soothe children at bedtime, or explain away sudden traumas.

But Sailor Moon was real. They all were. He had seen them conjure and manipulate the elements with his own eyes, had witnessed the crackling energy pulsing through Sailor Moon's body as she dusted the monster.

How had they known where to find him? Did they have 'Senshi Senses' for whenever a youma manifested in the city?

Sailor Moon had shielded him with her tiny body, standing firmly between Mamoru and the creature, and had taken the attack of the barbed chain that was meant for him. When she scooped him to safety, she had repositioned them midair so she would take the impact of the landing.

Then, bloody and battered, she had helped him to his feet.

She had kissed him.

Mamoru's hand flew to his cheek where she had made the contact, and he fumbled his phone out of his pocket to open the camera app. Sure enough, a dried, bloody smudge caked his cheek, the only physical evidence she left behind. He brushed his fingers over it, remembering the feel of her damp lips pressed into his clammy skin. She had held his face so delicately in her gloved hand. It was the most genuine show of affection he'd ever received in his active memory.

Dazed and flushed from the recollection, he grasped at his laptop and in minutes had eleven browser tabs open to news articles, Reddit threads, and conspiracy videos all dedicated to the legendary Pretty Guardians. The treasure trove of info dated as recently as last week and spanned back at least five years.

Victims of the supposed monster attack reported feeling sluggish and lethargic for several days following the incident. One survivor, Momose Narumi, 26, collapsed at work the following day and had to be treated at the nearby NTT Medical Center for exhaustion. The survivors who remained conscious during the attack claim three young women of indeterminable age were responsible for their rescue, along with a masked man in a seemingly impractical tuxedo and top hat.

-Article by Sohma Mitsuru.

After a peaceful, monster-free year in Tokyo, it appears Sailor Moon and her band of pretty guardians are back on the scene! For reasons unknown, another swarm of menacing youmas has returned to terrorize our tranquil streets, and with their resurgence, so returned our beloved heroines.

Sailor Moon, as always, remains elusive to the citizens of Tokyo. While sightings of the Sailor Senshi are few and far between, witnesses often report that the young heroines seldom linger after a battle, fleeing the scene before more witnesses can catch sight of them.

It appears it wouldn't matter if they did. Those who have caught a rare glimpse of any Senshi report that once the girls depart, no one can recall any details of their physical appearance, despite some witnesses being up close and personal in the moment. Amateur photographers and paparazzi alike are unable to snap any decent shots of the heroes. Whether it be a smartphone camera or the latest Canon 5D, their images always come out blurry and incohesive.

While their origin, as well as their appearances, remain a mystery, civilians across the city can breathe a collective sigh of relief at the return of the Sailor Senshi.

-article by Tsukino Kenji.

Tsukino? Any relation to–?

Mamoru put that thought aside. He couldn't bring this up with Usagi, it was too out there and weird. She'd think he had lost his mind for good. That was the last thing he needed.

After reading Tsukino's article, Mamoru realized with horror that he too could no longer recall any of Sailor Moon's features, nor any of the Senshi he'd caught sight of. He had seen the color of her eyes inches from him! Her hair, her body, the shape of her nose…every finite detail had been crystal clear in the moment.

And now…gone. His memory of the incident was abundantly vivid, but the recollection of her face, or any physical detail of her, was hazy. She had slipped away from him like sand through a sieve and he hadn't been any the wiser.

She was real. The evidence was in his swollen, bruised ankle and the dried blood smeared on his cheek. Why was she fading away? Mamoru hated losing memories. His entire childhood was one boxed-up memory lost forever on his sixth birthday. The accident had left behind nothing but a terrified, amnestic orphan and the scar that cut through his left eyebrow, still deliberately hidden behind his hair.

The message boards and Reddit threads all seem to share the same sentiment as Tsukino. Alleged witnesses could never give a proper description of the Sailor Senshi, and without that, it was difficult to determine how many Senshi there actually were. The most anyone had seen at a time was five. 'One was DEFINITELY blonde,' one witness gushed. 'I'd swear on my life!'

There was even discussion of the masked man mentioned in Sohma's article. They called him Tuxedo Kamen. Apparently, he had been witnessed scooping Sailor Moon out of harm's way at just the right moment, tossing razor sharp roses and using an extending cane as a weapon. According to the threads, he hadn't been seen with the Senshi, or anywhere, in years. Most theories assumed he had been the enemy in disguise or he was killed in battle.

It didn't seem like anyone was talking about Tuxedo Kamen anymore; the most recent thread he could find went cold three years ago. He had been collectively forgotten, it seemed.

Tuxedo Kamen wasn't important. What Mamoru needed was more eyewitness accounts of Sailor Moon.

That was when he remembered something potentially vital; an overheard conversation from years ago. That girl–that red-headed friend of Usagi's–had been talking to her boyfriend at Crown one day. Something about how she thought Sailor Moon might be active again with all the 'weird stuff' happening in Tokyo. When her boyfriend –at least he assumed the kid with glasses was her boyfriend– asked her about her interest in Sailor Moon, she reminded him that she had had several up-close encounters with her. Glasses asked what Sailor Moon was like, and Naru (he thought that was her name) described her as brave and compassionate.

"But it's so weird," she said. "She saved me so many times, she held me while I cried my eyes out, and I still could never remember her face. It's like she and the other Senshi had this magic veil protecting their identities."

Mamoru had dismissed the conversation, thinking the girl was just pulling her boyfriend's leg, or it was some joke between them, or anything other than what it actually was…Real.

It wasn't just his own memory slipping away, and that was mildly comforting.

He hadn't seen that girl at Crown in a long time. Would it be possible to track her down and ask her about her experience? He didn't know her last name, and he wasn't even sure Naru was her given one. He needed to talk to someone about this…someone who would understand. But the only possible connection he had to her was…

Usagi.

Again, that was a hard stop. Usagi didn't even like him, much less owed him any sort of favor. Yesterday he had rudely brushed her off when her only offense had been walking next to him. It wasn't an excuse, but she had caught him off guard with her laugh. And her eyes, the color of a cerulean sky, were open and alluring, her usual guarded demeanor shed.

This happened with Usagi occasionally, and it excited Mamoru, but it equally terrified him. She would get this look on her face, a not quite smug expression, as if she knew all his secrets, and he didn't like it. It was unnerving, like she had something she wanted to tell him but wouldn't. While he had always been undeniably drawn to her, she scared him more than anything in this life.

He took a deep, steadying breath and ran his fingers through his hair, pulling at the scalp. No. He couldn't ask this of her.

Two days later, the soreness in Mamoru's back had eased to a dull ache, and he was able to walk without his stick, albeit with a limp. He had spent the last days spiraling in isolation, soaking up any and all information he could find on the Senshi. It still wasn't enough. Schoolwork, while usually enjoyable, only served as a mild, temporary distraction to keep him from pulling his hair out.

He had also resolved not to talk to Usagi, but he would test the waters with Motoki and see if his closest friend had any thoughts on the matter. Doing so on a crowded Saturday wasn't ideal, but after two days inside he was stir crazy and desperate for fresh air.

On a beautiful spring day like today he'd usually walk the few blocks to Crown, but with his bum ankle he knew he wouldn't make it halfway without keeling over, so he was forced to drive. Mamoru refused to be seen hobbling around with a cane; if Usagi was around she would never let him hear the end of it. Something like that would fuel her fire for months.

Of course, with it being the weekend, she was there, sitting at her usual booth with her usual friends. He tried to scurry past them and straight to the counter, but she caught his eyes, her brow creasing at his obvious limp. He gave her a lazy half salute in acknowledgment and turned away.

Mamoru never really knew how to greet her. Teasing was certainly his go-to, but sometimes it didn't feel appropriate. Times like now, where he wasn't there in hopes of running into her. Smiling and striking up friendly small talk was absolutely beyond both of them. So was reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, as he'd felt the impulse to do several times in the past.

Making it to his usual seat at the counter, he winced only slightly as he sat down, finally alleviating the pressure from his ankle. He waited as Motoki finished up with a group of middle schoolers that had come up from the arcade for burgers.

"Your confident strut is noticeably lacking today," Motoki chided as he poured fresh coffee for Mamoru. "Care to share?"

Mamoru was suddenly very aware of the people surrounding them. "I fell," he muttered.

Motoki paused, his brow furrowing in confusion. "From…a second story window?"

"No, on the ground. I tripped while I was running."

"You did not!" Motoki all but yelled. "You've never done a clumsy thing in your life."

"Be a little bit louder, why don't you?" Mamoru cringed, hoping they weren't drawing attention.

"What really happened?" Motoki pressed, swiping up some used cups and placing them at the window behind him. "Jumped off a bridge on a dare? Get beaten by a gang of thugs?"

"Please stop," Mamoru grumbled, his scalp beginning to burn.

"I know! You ran into one of those monsters and barely escaped with your life."

Mamoru felt the heat rushing to his face, avoiding Motoki's intense gaze. This was a mistake. He had given himself away but they couldn't talk about this here.

Motoki, to his credit, didn't press further. The silence looming between them grew thick with tension.

"-Right!? They should totally update the Sailor V game. There hasn't been a new one for like a hundred years!"

"Or make a Sailor Moon game! That would be so much more epic!"

The middle schoolers seated nearby gabbed amongst each other, oblivious to the spat between two grown men several seats down. Mamoru stiffened, eyes darting to Motoki, who was watching him with suspicion.

"You sure you're okay, man?" He asked carefully. Mamoru could only nod.

"Well, I'm here if you want to talk, alright?" Motoki gave him a genuine smile, melting away the tension and easing his anxiety a bit. Mamoru thanked his friend quietly before he was summoned away by another customer needing attention.

Why was he feeling so embarrassed all of a sudden? Motoki didn't have a judgmental bone in his body, yet the second he attempted to pry answers from him, Mamoru clammed up and couldn't make himself speak.

A petite body hopped onto the empty stool next to him, and he was surprised when she didn't add to his irritation, but relieved it almost entirely. Her flowy, white blouse was tied at the bottom, showing off the smallest inch of her stomach. The pink denim shorts accentuated her slim, pale legs, always decorated with little bruises, no doubt the result of her clumsy nature.

Usagi spun in her seat, facing away from the counter, elbows resting back against it. "Why are you limping?" She asked suspiciously.

"Got jumped by a gang of thugs," he said nonchalantly. "Apparently I owe their leader money. I was lucky, though, they said they'd give me three days to come up with the cash before they broke down my door."

Usagi arched an eyebrow at him, unamused.

"Don't worry," he winked at her. "I gave them your address."

"Dummy," she rolled her eyes and leaned back, swiping a laminated menu from the counter. She looked it over even though Mamoru was certain she knew every item that was offered there, and every item that wasn't, but that she could ask for anyway and Motoki would make it happen.

It was funny; a few years ago Usagi probably would have fallen for that tale, as outrageous as it was. Sometimes he forgot how much she had matured over the years.

"I fell and sprained my ankle while I was jogging," he sighed. "I was cutting through some grass and didn't see the gopher hole until I had face planted. That's the less cool story." And it was only half true.

Usagi was quiet for a moment, looking at him as if she expected him to elaborate further. When he didn't, she grinned. "It's hard to imagine you, of all people, having a klutz attack."

"More your ballpark, I know," Mamoru sighed dramatically.

"Does it hurt?" She asked.

"Not too bad anymore."

She looked like she had more questions, but was hesitant to ask them. Although she still wore her usual scowl, there was a surprising concern etched into her brow, her cracked bottom lip pushed into a slight, adorable pout.

"Speaking of klutz, what happened to your lip?" He asked. "Walk into another light post?"

"Why are you looking at my mouth?" She countered, cocking an eyebrow at him.

"Because there's a big, gaping sore on it, Odango Brain."

"Ew, don't say it like that!" She grimaced, her fingers self consciously touching the cut. "I'll have you know, this time it was a mailbox."

Mamoru laughed despite himself. "I'd hate to see what the mailbox looks like now."

Usagi remained quiet, her gaze distant and…haunted? There was something in her eyes he had never seen before, and it unsettled him. She was absentmindedly biting her scabbed lip.

"Um–" he started. "You're uh.." Mamoru briefly pointed to his own mouth before swiping a napkin out of the canister, handing it to her. "...bleeding."

Usagi blinked and looked at him, confused after being broken from her trance. Then in an instant, she snapped to attention, snatching the proffered napkin and dapping it to her newly bleeding lip.

"Thanks," she muttered, rising from her stool. She turned to face him, a surprising cheerfulness to her tone. "Glad you're okay, baka!"

Mamoru watched Usagi retreat back to where her friends sat, a bounce in her step. She threw an endless strand of blonde hair over her shoulder as she grabbed her purse and made for the exit, Makoto at her heels. The disappointment he felt at watching her leave was a bit of a shock. He found himself wondering where she was headed; imagining what a second location for Tsukino Usagi was.

Motoki was still taking care of other patrons when Ami approached the counter a few minutes later, her group's pooled cash in hand. Ami was in his doctorate program at Keio, and even though he was several years ahead of her, it wasn't uncommon for them to sit together at the library, quietly working on their own assignments or helping each other out. The girl was extremely bright, having taken several college courses before graduating high school. As a result, she would start clinicals a year earlier than anticipated. Mamoru felt a kinship with her, and she was one of the few underclassmen he considered a friend.

While she usually greeted him with a smile and her typical pleasant disposition, she seemed to be in a sour mood today. Mamoru wasn't sure he'd ever actually seen Ami with a scowl on her face until now.

"How's finals prep going?" He asked while she waited for Motoki to bring her the check.

"Decent enough," she replied coolly, not looking at him. He'd definitely never seen her give anyone the cold shoulder before. Mamoru looked past Ami and saw a similar expression painted on Rei's face, while Minako absentmindedly tore at her napkin, looking forlorn.

"Hey, is everything okay with the Odango Atama?" He asked carefully. "She seemed more spacy than usual today." Perhaps spacy wasn't the best word to use at the moment, but he didn't want to appear too concerned.

"Usagi is under a great deal of stress right now. I can't blame her for being a little out of it."

Mamoru paused, shocked by Ami's sharp tone.

"I didn't realize," he muttered apologetically.

"You never stopped to ask," she snapped. "You'd learn a thing or two if you did."

Ami smiled genuinely at Motoki while they settled the bill, making small talk and pretending Mamoru didn't exist three feet away from her. Why was he suddenly public enemy number one, especially to someone as easy-going as Ami? Had he said something to genuinely offend Usagi?

She said goodbye to Motoki and glanced Mamoru's way before turning to leave.

"You shouldn't be walking on that ankle," she said curtly, and turned on her heel back to the other girls.