My twin sister was brutally dismembered in our home, and I was the sole witness.

But I had forgotten everything.

The doctor called it traumatic amnesia, saying I might never recover.

Mom and Dad didn't believe it.

They tried every method imaginable—shock therapy, hypnosis, medication...

Not only did it fail, but it also gave me the same depression my sister had suffered from.

After my ninth failed suicide attempt, my parents finally snapped, roaring at me with bloodshot eyes:

"Stop copying her! No matter how much you pretend, you can't replace her. You only make us sick!"

"If you really want to atone for your sins, tell us what happened that day!"

---

That night, I was kicked out of the house.

As I wandered aimlessly by the river, a mysterious stranger blocked my path.

He handed me a photo of my sister and whispered:

"I can help you restore the memories of that day, but the price is your life."

I looked at the photo, then at the surging river below, and forced a bitter smile:

"Alright."

After all, to me, oblivion was far more terrifying than death.

I just never expected that when the memories were laid bare in the courtroom, the first ones to break down would be my parents.

......

Inside the Neural Forensic Tribunal, the lighting was pale and cold.

A sparse crowd sat in the audience.

They said this trial would be recorded in full, serving as a precious case study for deep memory extraction.

The man who had stopped me by the river was my sister's best friend, Ethan.

He stood silently beside me, a flicker of conflict in his eyes.

"It's not too late to leave."

His voice was low.

I looked at the dense web of scars on my wrist and shook my head.

Just then, the side door was shoved open, and my parents rushed in.

Their hair was messy, as if they had arrived in a frantic hurry.

Mom's gaze locked onto me instantly, holding no worry, only pain and resentment that seemed ready to spill over.

"What are you doing here?

Do you think this will atone for your sins?!"

Her voice was shrill, echoing through the cavernous Neural Forensic Tribunal.

"Your sister... she died such a horrible death!!

You were right there! How could you forget?!

How dare you forget?!"

Dad didn't cry. He just stared at me, his eyes bloodshot and intense:

"We tried everything to help you remember!

Shock therapy, hypnosis... and what did you do?"

"You knew how much she suffered, yet you dared to fake depression just to copy her?!"

"And now you're pulling this stunt?

A Neural Forensic Trial?"

"Do you think this makes you look tragic? Just like her?!"

A murmur of whispers rippled through the audience.

The observers exchanged glances.

Mom’s chest heaved violently:

"Haven't we always been good to you?

Because you're the youngest, we were always afraid you'd feel left out!

But what about her?"

"She was so responsible, always yielding to you, protecting you!

In the end, she... she..."

She choked on her sobs. It took her a long moment to recover before she pointed a trembling finger at me, as if using the last of her strength:

"Did she die that horrible death trying to protect you?!

Was it because of you that she got mixed up in all that?!"

"Is that why you're too scared to speak!? Is it!?"

I stood frozen in place, a chill creeping up from the soles of my feet, seizing my limbs and chilling me to the bone.

Was I truly so despicable in their eyes?

Ethan’s hand rested silently on my stiff shoulder as he offered a soft reassurance:

"Your sister wouldn't blame you."

I turned to look at him, seeing the pity in his eyes, and asked quietly:

"As long as we complete the trial, the truth of what happened to my sister will come to light, right?"

Ethan fell silent for a few seconds, then gave a barely perceptible nod:

"The memories will be broadcast in real-time. All the buried details... nothing will remain hidden."

"Then let's begin." I said.

Ethan frowned, pointing toward the chilling metal chair in the center of the tribunal.

Suspended above it was a neural probe, glinting with a cold, metallic light.

"That is the Light-Tracing Probe. It will penetrate your skull and reach the very center of your brain."

"The older the memory, and the deeper the trauma is buried, the deeper it must go. And the more it will hurt."

My gaze swept past the slender, icy probe and landed on the faces of my parents in the audience.

Mom was still burying her face in her hands, weeping. Dad had looked away, his chest heaving with emotion.

Then, I gave a soft, faint smile.

"It's okay. I'm not afraid."

"As long as my sister can rest in peace, and Mom and Dad can know what really happened that night... I don't care how much it hurts."

Ethan remained silent for a moment before finally nodding to the lead physician.

The doctor stepped forward and spoke solemnly:

"Once the memory extraction sequence is activated, it cannot be aborted."

"Upon completion of the extraction, the subject will suffer permanent brain damage resulting in brain death."

"Protocol dictates that the immediate family must be informed of the ultimate risk."

"No!"

The word left my mouth before I could stop it.

I looked at Ethan with pleading eyes:

"Please don't tell them now... alright?"

In the audience, my mother looked up through her tears. My father looked over as well, the anger still lingering in his eyes.

Ethan’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. He turned to the doctor and said in a hoarse voice:

"Fine... I will take full responsibility."

"Let's begin."

Two assistants stepped forward, guiding me into that cold metal chair.

My limbs were strapped down tight.

The probe overhead slowly adjusted its angle, aiming directly at my skull.

The anesthesiologist walked over, preparing to administer a sedative.

Just then—

Dad shot to his feet, his voice trembling:

"Wait!"

My numb gaze flickered slightly, a faint, almost imperceptible ripple stirring in my heart.

Are they... finally feeling sorry for me?

The next second, Dad’s words ruthlessly shattered my pitiful delusion.

He looked at the doctor, his gaze sharp and cold:

"I’ve heard... that anesthetics affect the authenticity and clarity of the memory extraction, don't they?"

The lead doctor paused, hesitating:

"Theoretically, there is a minor impact, but to ensure the subject can withstand it..."

"Then don't use it!"

Before the doctor could finish, Dad cut him off decisively.

"Doesn't she want to remember?

Let her remember it all, vividly!"

Mom swayed slightly, a flicker of reluctance and conflict passing through her eyes.

But in the end, she turned her face away and agreed firmly:

"Right... she says he forgot, so let her take a good, hard look!"

A dead silence fell over the Tribunal.

The observers looked stunned; someone gasped sharply.

Ethan shot forward, his face twisted with unconcealed shock and rage:

"Do you realize what you're saying?!

The pain of the Neural Forensic scan is beyond anything a normal person can imagine!

This is—"

"Ethan."

I called out to stop him.

Staring at those two faces in the audience—so familiar yet so estranged—I said softly:

"Fine. No anesthesia."

Ethan whipped around, his eyes wide with shock.

"Julia! The pain of the scan is a thousand, ten thousand times worse than having your bones scraped or your heart carved out!"

"You... you won't be able to take it!"

"I can take it."

I cut him off, gently averting my gaze. "Let's begin."

"I want to see what the truth really is, too."

Ethan opened his mouth, but seeing my resolve, he fell silent.

A moment later, he signaled the doctor to proceed.

The overhead probe descended slowly, then drove ruthlessly into my skull.

"Urgh—!"

A piercing agony surged through me; I gritted my teeth hard.

On the large screen, the first memory began to surface.

In the image, I was wearing an oversized hospital gown, curled up on the bed, staring blankly into the void.

Bang!

The hospital room door was slammed open.

Mom rushed in, her eyes red with hysteria.

She threw herself at the bedside, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me violently:

"Julia! Look at me!

Tell me, what exactly happened that night?!

"Who came into our house?!

Your sister... how... how exactly did she die?!"

I was shaken dizzy, tears rolling down silently as I shook my head over and over:

"I'm sorry, I don't know... I really can't remember... I'm sorry..."

"How can you not remember?!

How could you!!"

Mom's sanity snapped completely. Screaming, her hands clamped tight around my throat.

"That was your sister!

Your twin sister!!"

"You spent ten months together in my womb!

You grew up side by side!!"

"She was right there beside you... right there being... How could you forget?!

How dare you forget?!!"

A sense of suffocation and overwhelming guilt drowned me.

My face flushed red as broken sobs squeezed from my throat:

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."

Dad stood at the door, his eyes bloodshot.

Mom abruptly let go, screaming at me:

"What good is saying sorry?!

I want the truth! I want the killer!!"

In the next second, the scene shifted abruptly.

I was strapped tightly into a metal chair.

Electrodes were plastered all over my head and body.

"Final shock. Julia, what did you see that night?"

The doctor's cold voice drifted over.

I shook my head in terror, tears streaming down my face:

"I'm sorry... I can't remember... I really don't know..."

The moment my words fell, a violent current surged through my entire body.

"Ahhh—!!!"

I let out a wretched scream, my body trembling uncontrollably.

"Do you remember now?!

Did you see anything?!"

Mom demanded shrilly from behind the glass.

My mouth gaped open, but I could only produce ragged gasps and agonized wails, shaking my head incessantly.

"Increase the voltage!"

Dad's command came without a shred of hesitation.

A more violent wave of shock assaulted me.

My body arched instantly, saliva mixing with tears, my pupils dilating from the sheer agony.

"Do you remember yet?!

Speak!!"

Dad's furious voice exploded:

"What is this?!"

"Is this what we're here to see?!

We need to see what happened that night!"

Mom also shot to her feet, sobbing and shouting toward the platform:

"Keep going! Dig deeper!

Skip this useless garbage!

We want the truth!"

Suppressed whispers and sobbing rippled through the audience below.

Ethan watched my sweat-drenched, wretched state, his brows furrowed tight.

The lead doctor took a deep breath, his voice laced with fatigue:

"Extraction of the first layer of surface memory complete. The subject is conscious, but vital signs are fluctuating."

"Warning again: forced memory extraction without anesthesia may result in the subject's sudden death."

The moment the doctor finished, Dad shouted without hesitation:

"Continue! I said, whatever the cost!

We just want the truth!"

The doctor looked at me with pity. I nodded weakly, gritting my teeth:

"Continue."

He took a deep breath, his trembling hands entering the command on the console.

The machine whirred to life again, the probes spinning and drilling into my brain once more.

"Ahhh—!!!"

The excruciating pain forced a wretched scream from my lips.

My body began to convulse and writhe.

Dad and Mom looked over at the sound, seeming to only now realize my agony.

But in the next instant, the screen lit up, and their attention shifted once more.

The image gradually sharpened into focus.

This memory was set in an ordinary hair salon.

In the mirror sat a young girl wearing a simple white T-shirt.

Her side profile was distinct, her features clean, with stray bangs falling across her forehead.

That look, that aura... was exactly the same as his sister, Emily Blackwood.

Inside the Neural Forensic Tribunal, his parents held their breath almost simultaneously.

Ethan was also stunned, his fingers tightening slightly on the console.

In the memory projection, the person in the mirror looked up, revealing her full face.

It wasn't my sister; it was me.

I was wearing a shoulder-length wig, looking exactly like my sister, Emily.

I wore the loose pale white T-shirt she used to wear when she was alive; it was a bit tight.

Below the stage, the light in my parents' eyes extinguished the instant they recognized it was me.

The memory scene shifted; I walked out of the salon and went home.

In the living room, Mom and Dad were sitting on the sofa.

"Dad, Mom, I'm back."

I tried my best to lower my voice, imitating my sister's tone.

The two on the sofa jolted violently, turning their heads in unison.

The moment they saw the figure at the door clearly, Mom's eyes widened abruptly:

"Em... Emily?"

Dad also stood up abruptly, his pupils constricting as he stared dead at me.

However, when they saw my face clearly, the light in their eyes instantly died.

"Ju... lia!"

Mom screamed my name.

"You... what the hell is this look?!

What are you trying to do?!"

She rushed up, grabbed my arm, and questioned me frantically.

I was frightened and explained with a stammer:

"I... I just wanted... wanted to make you a little happier..."

"I thought... I thought if I looked a bit like Sister, you wouldn't be so sad..."

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to atone..."

"Slap—!"

Dad raised his hand and slapped me hard across the face.

He was trembling with rage, his eyes bloodshot:

"Atone?!

You think dressing up as Emily is atonement?!"

"Julia, let me tell you, you are disgusting us!"

"You want us to completely forget Emily so you can replace her, don't you?!

Huh?!"

My face burned with stinging pain; I covered it and shook my head frantically:

"No! Dad! It's not like that!

I didn't want to replace Sister!"

"I... I really just... wanted to atone..."

Mom shoved me away violently and started screaming hysterically:

"You want to atone?!

Then tell us what you saw that night!"

"Find the murderer!"

"What is the point of you pretending to be your sister here?!"

I slumped to the ground, facing my parents' fury and accusations, only able to repeat over and over:

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I really can't remember... I'm sorry..."

Dad leaned down, his bloodshot eyes closing in on me.

"It's not us you should be sorry to!

It's your sister, Emily!"

"If you really want to apologize to her, then go die! Go to the Underworld and tell her you're sorry—"

The scene finally froze on the living room late at night.

I knelt stiffly on the floor, my forehead a bloody mess.

The tears on my face had dried, leaving only a numb emptiness.

I faced my sister's framed memorial photo, begging on my knees over and over again, muttering repeatedly:

"I'm sorry, Emily."

Thud.

"I'm sorry..."

Thud.

"I'm sorry..."

Thud.

The dull thud of impact echoed through the room, accompanying my apologies.

The screen went dark.

Mom's hysterical crying and cursing pulled everyone out of the memory projection.

She pointed at me, tears and snot streaming down her face,

"Julia! Do you have a heart at all?!

"Who are you showing this to?!

Who are you trying to gain sympathy from?!"

"We want to see the truth about how your sister died!

The truth!! Do you hear me?!"

Dad's face was livid, veins bulging on his temples, as he shouted sternly:

"Skip this self-pitying garbage!

Keep digging! Continue!"

Watching their hysterical abuse, tears burst from my eyes again.

My lips trembled as I subconsciously began to mutter:

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry... Mom, Dad... I'm sorry..."

"I'm sorry... Emily... I'm sorry..."

With every "I'm sorry," the probe deep in my brain drove in a little deeper.

"Ngh—!"

After the last apology, I suddenly spat out a mouthful of fresh blood.