Wrong Script, Right Love Chapter 168: Instincts of a Forgotten Love

[Hayato’s POV—The Office, After Renji Enters]

"...take care, my child."

That was the only voice echoing in my skull when consciousness returned to for the first ti after the accident.

A stranger’s voice. Warm. Gentle. A mournful and old woman’s voice. When I opened my eyes, I was in a place I did not recognize.

White walls. dical machinery. A ceiling that felt too bright, too sterile.

I didn’t know who I was.

I didn’t know where I was.

I didn’t even know what I had lost.

The world felt foreign—too foreign—yet sowhere deep inside , sothing whispered:

You ca here for a reason.

Two people—crying, shaking, clinging—wrapped their arms around . Their touch felt familiar, but my heart felt strangely distant.

And that was how I learned my na.

Hayato Kurosawa. Heir of a powerful business empire. Son of status, wealth, and influence. Yet none of that lived in .

My past was missing. I had no mory of my life, no recollection of how I ended up in that hospital bed. The truth had to be buried—quietly. My family insisted on secrecy.

But the irony?

Though my mind was blank, my body rembered everything.

I knew how to read. How to write. How to use every device placed in my hands. How to speak with control, stand with confidence, and manage my breath in any room.

"Muscle mory," the doctor said. "Your mind is injured, but the habits of your life remain."

For five months I rebuilt myself—piece by piece—before returning to the company as if nothing had happened. A performance orchestrated to silence gossip.

But even as life resud... A hollow ache throbbed constantly in my skull. And a deeper ache pulsed in my chest.

As if sothing—soone—was missing from my world. Soone I was supposed to rember.Soone my soul reached for blindly in the dark.

Then—one winter evening—a crosswalk. Falling snow. Warm city lights.

I bumped into a stranger.

No—He didn’t feel like a stranger.

The mont my shoulder brushed his, sothing warm exploded inside my chest—like a door unlocking. I brushed it off as mory-loss confusion, but—

When he grabbed —When he held —When he called a na I had never heard—

"...Alvar..."

—Every nerve in my body froze.

Not in fear.

In recognition.

Sothing inside whispered:

Yes. That’s you. That’s the na soone once said with love.

His arms around felt like a place my heart had been searching for. I should have pushed him away instantly. I should have treated him like any other delusional stranger.

But I couldn’t.

My instinct—my body—my soul—hesitated.

Just for a breath. Just long enough to know: This was the first hug in my life that felt... right.

Even though I told myself it ant nothing.

Even though I convinced myself it was only loneliness. Even though my mind insisted I had never t him, my heart reacted as if it had been waiting for him.

And at the interview—When he walked through the door, frightened but determined... Ti tilted.

My pulse reacted before my mind could catch up. Destiny felt like it was grabbing the collar of my shirt and dragging forward.

Our lives aligned too easily.

Two n, two accidents, two hollow spaces where mories should have been.

So I did the only thing that felt right—I kept him close.

Hired him instantly.

Trusted him with secrets no one else was given. Because sothing in —Sothing ancient, sothing aching—told he was the answer to the emptiness I couldn’t na.

"...Renji."

His na slipped from my lips now, uninvited.

I stiffened.

I should not say his na with such softness. Not with such familiarity. Not when I only t him yesterday.

Yet—why does my chest react without permission? Why does my pulse stumble every ti he looks at ? Why does he feel familiar enough to unravel everything I rebuilt?

Why did I hire him on instinct alone?

Why does it feel like I’ve known him longer than my missing mories?

I pressed my fingers to my temple.

Pain flared.

Sharp, sudden.

Images hit —too fast, too unreal: Warm hands over my cheek. Snow falling gently on soone’s eyelashes.

A voice—soft, trembling— "Alvar... please..."

My breath stuttered.

That na again.

It seeped into my nightmares. It whispered in the edges of my headaches. It echoed now.

But I didn’t know an Alvar.

I didn’t.

And yet—Every ti I heard that na... My heart tightened as if soone had just called ho.

What is happening to ? Why does Renji feel like a key turning inside a lock I didn’t know existed?

A knock broke the silence.

"Ku... Kurosawa-sama?" Renji’s voice—small, hesitant—filtered through the door.

My pulse jolted.

"...Enter," I said, too quickly.

The door opened. He stepped inside. Soft tread. Lowered gaze. Gentle presence that shifted the temperature of the entire room.

And the strangest thing happened—the cold vanished.

The office felt warr.My shoulders loosened.My breath softened.

Just from him being here.

"Sir," Renji said, bowing slightly, "HR told to ask if you need anything before we begin the scheduled eting."

He lifted his head.

Our eyes t.

The world narrowed.

Everything else fell away.

A strange pull—so invisible thread—tightened between us, both terrifying and magnetic. I shouldn’t feel this. I don’t even know him.

But...

"...Co here," I said before thinking.

Renji blinked. "Sir?"

I composed myself. "I’ll explain your tasks for the next morning."

He stepped closer.

Too close. Close enough that my heartbeat faltered. The ache behind my temple throbbed again. Images burst across my mind—a man crying against my chest.

A kiss pressed to a forehead.A voice whispering:

"You’re my everything...my love."

I clenched my jaw.

None of these mories belonged to . But my body reacted as if they did. As if they were fragnts of a life I lived in another ti.

Another world.

Another na.

I forced my gaze to the docunts.

"Let’s begin, Renji."

He nodded, taking notes—quiet, diligent, patient. He stood close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off him.

The warmth eased sothing deep inside .

And yet—a quiet truth pressed against my ribs:

Sothing inside knows him. Sothing inside rembers him. And I don’t know why.

But I would find out.

Even if it ans keeping him close—too close for any logical boundary to justify.

Renji scanned the docunt in his hands, voice soft but clear. "Sir, today you have a dinner eting with a foreign client. At a traditional restaurant."

"Yes. I rember." My response was automatic. My eyes, however, drifted to him.

Before I could stop myself, the words slipped out:

"...Can you tolerate alcohol, Renji?"

He froze.

His fingers tightened around the paper, and he looked up with a startled flinch. "I... cannot, sir. I apologize—"

"There’s no need to apologize," I cut in sharply.

Too sharply.

He lowered his head quickly, but I wasn’t irritated. Not at him. At myself.

I sighed and forced my tone to be calr. "Sotis foreign clients drink more than expected. You simply need to accompany ."

He nodded. "Of course, sir."

"And I can drink for you. No need to except any alcohol from them—"

I stopped.

My jaw clenched. Renji’s eyes widened slightly. His confusion was unmistakable—gentle, innocent, almost hurt.

Why... why did I say that?

To a brand-new assistant? To soone I should be strict with? To soone who is nothing but an employee?

But he isn’t nothing.

He isn’t just an assistant.

My instinct keeps moving toward him—softening. I straightened, the mask dropping back into place.

"You will be driving back," I said abruptly, my tone colder to cover the slip.

"...Of course."

His smile was small—polite—but I caught it. Disappointnt. A faint, flickering disappointnt that struck harder than it should have.

I looked away quickly and handed him another file. "Call the finance team and inform them I need the last five years’ docunts on my desk by tomorrow morning."

He blinked. "B—By tomorrow, sir?"

"Yes."

There was no room for negotiation in my tone, yet he nodded without complaint—without hesitation.

"I’ll inform them imdiately."

He bowed and turned to leave. His footsteps were soft—so soft I almost didn’t hear them.

But I felt them. Sothing in tugged painfully as he reached the door, as if strings tied inside my chest pulled taut.

Then the door closed behind him.

Silence dropped over the room.

I sank back in my chair, hand lifting to my temple, pressing into the familiar ache that never quite left .

"My instincts..." I whispered, breath unsteady. "...they go soft around him."

Soft, protective, tender. Words I never associated with myself. Words no one would label with. Words that should have been impossible.

Everything around —a CEO’s office, a life of structure, a family of expectations—felt solid.

But he felt familiar.

And everything inside was confusion.

I closed my eyes.

And the ache in my chest deepened.

Why him?

Why do I feel this?

Why does he look at like he’s already lost once?

I exhaled slowly.

Sothing is happening to . Sothing old. Sothing I’ve forgotten.

And whatever it is—Renji Takeda holds the key.