The wind was quiet in Miyagi that day. A warm sun shone overhead, but the light seemed to carry no warmth at all, not for the boy who stepped out of the car, his expression as still as stone.
Kenshiro stood for a moment in front of the house, his home, but something about it felt distant and hollow now. Not because the house had changed, but because the people who filled it with love, noise, and laughter were no longer waiting at the door.
They never would again.
"Kenshiro!"
Just at that moment, a soft voice called out, breaking the silence.
Kiyoko dashed out from the neighboring yard, her mother just behind her. She had been waiting all morning, heart pounding with worry, ever since her parents told her what had happened. Her face was flushed, her eyes slightly red. "I—I heard what happened. I'm so sorry…"
She stopped a few steps away, breath catching in her throat when she got a good look at him.
The boy she knew was no longer there.
Gone was the cheeky smile, the confident glint in his eye, the constant banter he shared with her on the way to school. What stood in front of her was a shadow of that boy. His gaze was far off, his presence muted, as if part of him had been left behind in that city, buried with his parents.
Kiyoko opened her mouth again, this time more carefully. "Kenshiro… are you okay?"
His eyes flicked toward her for just a moment, and then away again.
"I'm fine," He replied quietly. His voice was almost rough and flat.
He walked past her without another word.
Kiyoko's chest tightened. She turned to follow, but her mother gently caught her arm.
"Give him some time, Kiyoko," She said softly. "He needs to be alone right now."
"But I just…" She trailed off, tears stinging her eyes.
Her mother gave her a sad smile and pulled her into a hug. "I know, sweetie. But grief doesn't move at the pace we want it to. Let him take the first step."
A few feet away, Daisuke was helping Misaki lift bags from the trunk. He watched Kenshiro's back as the boy slowly walked toward his house and let out a long, quiet sigh.
"Still can't get used to seeing him like this," He muttered.
Aiko walked up beside him, her expression grim. "Poor child. It's going to take him a long time to heal."
"I just hope he lets us in before it's too late," Daisuke murmured. He turned to Misaki. "Keep an eye on him, will you? If anything feels off, anything at all… tell me immediately."
Misaki nodded solemnly. "I will. I promise."
She carried Kenshiro's bag and quietly followed behind him, her steps light. The door creaked open, and she slipped in just before it closed behind him.
Daisuke remained on the porch with Aiko, staring at the doorway with heavy eyes.
Aiko gently rubbed his shoulder. "Come inside. You need to rest."
"I will," He muttered, then called out, "Ren, come down for a bit."
A pair of footsteps echoed from upstairs, and soon a teenage boy with messy hair and a serious expression descended.
"What's going on?"
Daisuke motioned him into the living room. "We need to talk."
The family gathered quietly inside. Aiko placed a tray of tea on the table, but no one touched it. The air was thick with the kind of unease that silence only made worse.
Daisuke finally sat down, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. "I want to tell you all what happened in the capital… but I need you to stay calm. Understand?"
Ren nodded. Kiyoko wiped at her eyes and sat beside her mother, clinging to her hand.
Aiko gave her husband a gentle nod. "Tell us."
Daisuke's jaw tightened. "When we got there… it was already over. The hospital had already performed the autopsy, and the cremation was completed before we even arrived. Kenshiro didn't get to see them—not even for one last goodbye."
Gasps echoed through the room. Kiyoko's hands flew to her mouth, and Ren's fists clenched at his sides.
"What?" Aiko asked in disbelief. "But why? That's not normal—families are always informed first…"
"That's the part that unsettles me," Daisuke admitted. "Everything was… rushed. Forced. Like someone wanted to erase something quickly."
He looked at each of them in turn. "And then the doctor… the one who conducted the autopsy…"
He paused.
"What about him?" Ren asked sharply.
Daisuke's voice dropped to a whisper. "He was found dead the next morning. They said it was like his insides had been crushed. There were no wounds on the outside, but internal organs ruptured. Dozens of bones broken."
Aiko looked pale. Kiyoko clung tightly to her mother. Ren's expression darkened.
"That's not natural," Ren said quietly. "That's not just a coincidence."
Daisuke nodded slowly. "I don't think so either. But I didn't say anything to Kenshiro... not yet. He's already hurting so much… I don't want him chasing shadows."
"But what if it's not shadows?" Ren asked. "What if someone did kill his parents? What if it's all connected?"
Daisuke closed his eyes. "I've thought about that. And it scares me more than anything else. Because if it is connected, if someone truly did this… then we're all in danger."
Aiko's eyes welled up. "What are we supposed to do?"
"We must protect him and each other," Daisuke said, his voice firm now. "No matter what... Or I will be sorry to my dear friend. We first give him time to heal, but we never let him be alone if something feels wrong."
Everyone nodded.
------
Meanwhile, across the yard, inside the quiet home Kenshiro had returned to, silence reigned.
Misaki stood in the hallway, watching from a short distance as Kenshiro sat down on the edge of his bed, still wearing his shoes. His bag remained untouched on the floor. His eyes were fixed on a photo on the shelf.
It was an old picture—his parents standing beside him, arms wrapped around each other, smiling so warmly.
Misaki felt her heart ache. She quietly walked over and placed the bag down beside the bed.
Kenshiro didn't move.
"Do you want something to eat?" She asked gently.
"No," He whispered.
She sat down beside him, not touching, just close enough to be there. "You can talk to me, you know…"
He said nothing.
Minutes passed in silence.
Finally, she spoke again. "They loved you so much, Kenshiro. I know it doesn't feel real yet. I know it hurts more than anything. But you're not alone. You still have us."
He turned to her slowly, his eyes hollow.
"That's what they said when my grandfather died, too," He murmured. "But it's not the same. It never is."
Misaki bit her lip, unsure of what to say.
"I couldn't even say goodbye," He continued, voice trembling. "They didn't even let me see them. I…"
A tear slipped down his cheek, and Misaki finally reached out, wrapping her arms around him.
He didn't cry. He didn't sob or scream or break.
He just sat there, wrapped in silence, the weight of the world sitting on his young shoulders.
Later that night
Everyone had gone to bed. The house was quiet.
But Kenshiro lay awake, staring at the ceiling, eyes sharp and clear.
The boy who had been Kenshiro was gone.
What remained was something colder, more aware, shaped by loss, and sharpened by the truth he was only beginning to uncover.
Everyone who had taken his parents from him would pay for it.