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He stubbed out the cigarette, letting it fall to the ground, where it died in a puddle, a small, forgotten thing. Octokuro turned to walk away, into the rain, into the night, into whatever came next. The city's heartbeat remained steady, a constant in the chaos of his life.
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“You remember me, don’t you? The one who laughed when you tripped. The one who patched you up after. But this isn’t that room anymore.” He stubbed out the cigarette, letting it fall
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