Location: Former Prefectural Building, East Nagasaki
Description:
A once-forgotten wing of Nagasaki’s civic administration has been reclassified as the Department of Backdated Regret. Established—according to its only existing charter—six years after it was disbanded, the department’s office furniture is scorched, but paperwork persists. Juna finds carbon forms marked “Personal Detour #11” and “Unmade Apology - Form B.” Judai unearths a request for an event to *have never happened*. Dates loop backward in declining decimals. No two drawers contain the same calendar. A sign reads: “Regret only functions when its documentation is misplaced.” Though the building has no electricity, the filing cabinet glows faintly. A looped film plays in the corner, showing people walking away from things they never did.

Keywords:
backdated regret, civic mis-remembrance, reverse chronology, apology registry, memory cancellation

Very Short Story:
They sift through drawers of misfiled emotions. Judai finds a document dated his twelfth birthday—signed “I’m sorry” by a name he never knew. Juna holds a folder labeled “Pre-emptive Shame.” The ink fades as she reads it. On one wall, framed regret applications from across eras ripple like heatwaves. “This one’s for a missed train in 1952,” she murmurs. “And this,” Judai says, “is addressed to someone who hasn’t yet existed.” As they leave, a drawer slams shut. On it: their names. A note inside reads: “We almost turned back.” They hadn’t. But maybe they should have.

---