Chapter 4A Wind Blows In

Once a live stream starts, it can’t be stopped without a result. If his superiors accused him of incompetence, his career would be over. With that thought, the judge steeled himself and ordered the trial to continue.

He had the technicians fast-forward, selecting memories from the days surrounding the murders and playing them at high speed. It was a way to save time, but for me, it multiplied the agony.

"She's only in pain for a little while," a comment flashed on screen. "Those three people lost their lives."

Everyone had already decided I was a cold-blooded killer. The more I suffered, the more they reveled in it.

The hum of the machine intensified, and a picture-in-picture display showed my writhing form alongside my memories. I was screaming, my voice raw with pain. People online were cheering, thoroughly enjoying the show.

Their sick pleasure didn't last long. The selected memories finished playing.

There wasn't a single shred of evidence that I had killed anyone. Not even a passing thought of murder. Aside from the… questionable start, the rest of the broadcast painted a clear picture: I was just a normal high school senior on break. Besides my phone, the places I frequented were the local park and the apartment of my elderly blind neighbor, Mrs. Gable.

The time of the murder, according to the security footage, was 6 PM. At that exact moment, my memory showed me walking back from the park and eating dinner at Mrs. Gable's.

"Come on, they seriously got the wrong person."

"If it wasn't for the Memory Trial, this poor girl would have been wrongfully convicted."

The live chat flooded with questions and outrage. The judge was sweating bullets.

The murderer in the footage was a 99.9% match to me. Yet my memories proved I was completely innocent.

If I wasn't the killer, then who was?

As he grappled with this, a middle-aged woman burst through the courtroom doors. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying.

Before the judge could speak, she let out a choked cry. "She's the only daughter I have left! Are you trying to kill her? If Chloe dies, I'll die with her!"

My mother's voice, broadcast into the chamber. The "Chloe" she was talking about was me.

The judge seized on a key phrase. He cut her off. "Wait. What do you mean, 'the only daughter you have left'?"

His career, his reputation—it all hinged on this case. A glint appeared behind his glasses as he frantically shuffled through the papers on his desk.

In the section for my family members, there was a note: a twin sister, missing for twelve years.

The judge’s voice was grim. "Take her memories back twelve years. I want to see what happened!"