Wrong Script, Right Love Chapter 176: The Love That Stayed

[Renji’s POV—Riverside—Continuation]

The river kept moving. Unbothered. Unchanging. As if it didn’t care that my entire world was balanced on a single question.

Who do you see?

Hayato didn’t look at at first. His gaze stayed fixed on the dark water, jaw tight, shoulders drawn like he was bracing himself against sothing unseen.

"I know this must be confusing for you, Renji," he said quietly. "But... I still want to hear the answer."

The night air felt colder.

"Maybe you’re right," he continued, voice steady but strained beneath the surface. "Maybe I am your Alvar. Your husband." He let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh but wasn’t. "Maybe we had a beautiful life. Maybe I loved you so much that I crossed dinsions just to reach you."

My heart twisted painfully.

"But—" He paused.

Then he turned.

His eyes locked onto mine.

Clear. Searching. Afraid.

"There’s a fact you can’t ignore," he said. "I don’t rember any of it."

The words hit harder than anger ever could.

"I lost my mory," he went on, more firmly now. "All of it. And people talk about it like it’s temporary. Like in movies—soone gets hit on the head, forgets their past, and then one day it all cos rushing back."

His lips pressed together.

"That’s not how it feels." His voice dropped, rougher. "It’s terrifying, Renji."

The river murmured behind him, relentless.

"You wake up every day in a life that doesn’t feel like it belongs to you," he said. "Everyone expects you to know things—yourself, your habits, your relationships. And you don’t." His fists clenched. "Every morning starts with questions. Every decision feels wrong. The present is already hard enough to survive when you don’t have a past to anchor you."

My chest ached as I listened.

"So when you tell that you see as your husband from another world—" his voice wavered, just slightly, "—I need to know what that ans."

He stepped closer.

Not invading. Not retreating.

eting exactly where I stood.

"If you’re looking at ," he said slowly, each word deliberate, "and you’re loving a man I don’t rember being—"

His eyes searched mine desperately.

"Then I have the right to ask."

My breath caught.

"Do you love the man I was," he asked, voice breaking through his control at last, "or do you love the man I am now?"

The question shattered the night.

And suddenly, I understood. This wasn’t about doubt. It wasn’t about rejection.

It was fear.

Fear that he would never be enough for the love that ca before him. Fear that even if he chose , he would always be competing with a ghost.

The river kept flowing, and I stood there, heart in my throat, knowing that how I answered would decide everything.

I leaned back against the car. Not because I was tired—but because my legs had finally rembered how heavy truth could be. The tal was cold through my clothes, grounding . I tilted my head back for a mont, drew in a breath that trembled on the way out, then slowly lowered my gaze to him.

"Alvar..." I said softly.

The na left my lips like a prayer. Then I smiled—small, aching.

"A beautiful mory," I continued. "I loved Alvar. Deeply. Completely." My voice wavered, but I didn’t stop. "He was—no... he is—my husband. My ho. The man who held my hand when the world felt too big and sohow made it feel small again. Like nothing could ever hurt us. He protected , pampered , and loved so much...no words could ever describe."

Hayato’s fist clenched at his side as if he was offended to hear all this.

But he didn’t look away.

So I kept going.

"After I returned to my world," I said quietly, "I never thought I would et him, or should I say I would et you again."

A pause.

"I thought that was it—that our happy ending had already been written, sealed away in a place I could never return to."

My chest tightened.

"But then I t you." The river murmured behind us.

"And sohow," I whispered, "I knew you were my Alvar."

Hayato dragged a hand through his hair, frustration flashing across his face. "That’s not my—"

"You weren’t a mory, Hayato," I cut in gently.

He stopped.

Turned back to .

"You weren’t a replacent," I said, stepping closer, my voice steady now. "You weren’t a shadow of soone else. You weren’t a ghost I was chasing."

I shook my head slowly.

"You were real. You were here. You were you."

The wind brushed past us, lifting the edges of his coat.

"I loved the man Alvar was," I continued. "And I love the man you are."

I lifted my hand—not to touch him, but to gesture between us, to the space we shared.

"You’re not competing with a ghost," I said firmly. "Because there is no ghost standing here."

My voice softened.

"I don’t love you instead of who you were," I said. "And I don’t love you because of who you were."

I t his eyes fully now.

"I love you because even without mories—without a past—you still chose . You still felt sothing. You still reached back when it would have been easier to turn away. You still choose as if...I ant to be beside you."

I closed the remaining distance between us.

Slowly.

Carefully.

"You are both my past and my present, Hayato," I whispered. A faint, fragile smile touched my lips. "Even this broody, frustrating version of you."

I reached for his hand.

Not gripping.

Just offering.

"And if you allow it..." my voice trembled, "...I want to hold this hand in this life too."

Our fingers brushed.

"I want you to be my future," I said softly. "Not because of who you were—but because of who you are becoming and who you are now."

The words hung between us—fragile. Honest. Unprotected.

"I’m not asking you to rember," I added. "I’m not asking you to beco Alvar again."

My thumb brushed lightly against his knuckles.

"I’m asking you to choose again openly. Here. Now." I swallowed. "In this life too."

My voice broke on his na.

"Let love you, Hayato."

His eyes stayed locked on mine—deep, searching—as if he were weighing every truth I had laid bare, every piece of my heart I had placed in his hands.

And for the first ti since the question was asked—I wasn’t afraid of the answer.

"Let love you, Hayato."

A deep silence.

"I don’t know how much you’ve suffered," I said softly, voice trembling despite myself. "Losing your mories... waking up every day unsure of who you were." I took a breath. "But I promise you this—if you let , I’ll stand beside you. Every day. Every minute. In this life and any other."

My fingers curled slightly at my side.

"So... am I allowed to—"

I never finished the sentence.

WHOOSH—

In one swift motion, he stepped forward. Strong hands caught by the arms, guiding back until I was seated against the car. He stood between my knees, close enough that I could feel the heat of him, the tension radiating off his body.

Too close.

His hands slid to my waist, firm but grounding, pulling flush against him as his forehead dropped to mine.

"You..." he breathed, voice low and strained, "...you’re driving crazy, Renji."

I looked up at him, heart pounding, a small, helpless smile tugging at my lips.

"Am I?" I murmured.

His jaw tightened. His grip held there—not trapping, not forcing—just refusing to let the space between us exist.

"I’m not letting you leave my side," he said quietly. Not as an order. As a vow.

Then his lips t mine.

Harder than before. Certain. Like every doubt had finally snapped under the weight of want.

The kiss stole my breath instantly—not rushed, not clumsy—but deep, deliberate, like he knew exactly where he wanted to be. Like every doubt he’d carried had finally snapped under the weight of wanting this.

"Hn—"

The sound slipped from without permission, breath breaking as his hand tightened at my waist, steadying , holding there like he was afraid I’d disappear if he loosened his grip.

He felt it.

His breath hitched against my mouth, a low "huff" leaving him as he slowed—just slightly—pressing his forehead to mine for a brief second before kissing again. Deeper. Warr. Intent.

"Renji..." he murmured between breaths, voice rough, unraveling.

My hands slid up to his chest, fingers curling into his coat as my knees pressed closer, grounding us both.

"Go slow," I whispered shakily against his lips, forehead brushing his. "I’m not... I’m not going anywhere."

He stilled at that.

Just for a heartbeat.

Then his thumb brushed my jaw, gentle where everything else felt charged.

"I know," he breathed. "And...I am not letting you go."

The kiss that followed was different.

Slower.Deeper.

Intimate in a way that made my chest ache.

"Hng..." he let out softly, breath uneven now, like the sound had been torn from him rather than spoken, and I felt it—how carefully he held , how deliberately he chose each movent, each mont.

This wasn’t hunger without thought.

This was a choice.

My breath ca apart again, a quiet "hn..." slipping out as I leaned fully into him, trusting him, letting the night wrap around us as the river whispered behind us.

He wasn’t reaching for a past he couldn’t rember.

He was here.

With .

And the way he kissed —slow, grounding, unafraid—made the truth unmistakable: He wasn’t choosing who he had been.

He was choosing the present.

The night felt suddenly lighter for it.

He pulled back just enough to look at , eyes dark but calm now, sothing settled and sure beneath the heat. His thumb brushed my cheek once, almost lazily.

"Do you prefer," he asked, voice low, faintly amused, "my house... or a hotel?"

I blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Heat rushed straight to my face, and I looked away instinctively, clearing my throat as if that might help.

"...A house," I muttered.

There was a brief pause. Then I felt it—his smile. He leaned in and pressed a quick, deliberate peck to my lips, warm and possessive in a way that made my heart stutter.

"Very good," he said softly, amusent curling through his voice. "Because now you’re trapped forever, Renji Takeda."

The river kept flowing.

The night wrapped around us.

And for the first ti, the future didn’t feel uncertain at all.