1983. Kamikawa, Gangwon Province.
The next morning came without sunlight.
A gray fog hung over the hills like cigarette smoke. The mountains surrounding Kamikawa wrapped tightly around the sleepy town, cutting it off from the outside world like a secret no one wanted to share.
"일어나," Katarina whispered gently, brushing Souta's bangs from her forehead. "You're going to be late."
Souta blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling. The room still smelled like pinewood and mothballs. Her uniform—a plain white blouse, a navy skirt, and a stiff, unfamiliar blazer—was laid out at the foot of the futon. It looked foreign. Like everything else here.
In the kitchen, Ryouma sat in silence, nursing a lukewarm bowl of 미역국. He hadn't touched the rice.
"Eat," Katarina said. Her voice was soft, but firm.
He didn't respond.
Outside, the engine of the old Hyundai truck rumbled to life. Katarina dropped them off at the front gate of Kamikawa High, a red-brick building with cherry trees that hadn't yet bloomed.
The students in the courtyard looked at them the way animals do when a predator enters the pen—not out of fear, but curiosity.
Ryouma adjusted the strap of his satchel. Souta stood beside him, knuckles white, lips pressed tight.
They had come from Ewha High in Seoul, top-ranked and prestigious. Here, they were nobodies. Seoul felt like another planet.
Inside the faculty office, a teacher with a kind smile greeted them.
"Welcome, welcome! You're the transfer siblings, right? From… 서울?"
Souta nodded. "Yes, sir."
"You can just call me Mr. Kim. You'll be in Class 1-B. Let's go."
They were introduced at the front of the room with the kind of stiff formality that only made it worse.
"This is Saigeru Ryouma and Saigeru Souta. They've just moved here from Seoul. Please treat them kindly."
A few kids whispered.
"일본 이름이야?"
(Are those Japanese names?)
"왜 서울에서 시골로 왔지…?"
(Why'd they come all the way from Seoul to the countryside…?)
Souta heard every word. Ryouma heard none of it.
He just stared out the window, fingers curled tight in his lap. In his mind, the house was still burning.
Lunch Break.
Souta sat alone under the stairwell, her lunch untouched. The kimbap Katarina packed sat in its box like a museum exhibit. She missed her friends. Missed the chatter, the city smells, the loud energy of Seoul station.
A girl approached her hesitantly.
"Hi. Uh… I'm Hyejin. Mind if I sit?"
Souta nodded.
They ate in silence at first. Then Hyejin smiled.
"Your accent's Seoul-style. You're really from the city?"
"Born and raised in Mapo-gu," Souta said softly. "Until… last week."
"Must be a big change."
Souta nodded again. Her voice cracked.
"You okay?"
"No," Souta admitted, tears stinging. "But I'm trying."
After school.
Ryouma stood by the bike racks. A group of boys passed him by, nudging each other.
"You see his eyes? Looks like he's gonna kill someone."
He didn't look at them. He just lit a cigarette behind the gym, hiding behind the shade of a persimmon tree. He didn't inhale. Just let the smoke sting his eyes.
That evening, Katarina watched them both from the kitchen window. The rice cooker hissed in the background. A cassette of BoA's early training demos played low in the living room, the English mixed in awkwardly.
Souta was curled up with her math workbook, barely holding back tears. Ryouma sat on the porch, knees drawn up, a sketchbook in his lap filled with rough, angry lines of someone who looked too much like her—Kairi.
Katarina closed her eyes.
This house was meant to be a refuge.
But all it felt like was a place to survive.
Later that night.
Ryouma stared at the ceiling.
"She was all we had," he said.
Souta didn't respond.
"She killed them, Souta. And she didn't even flinch."
"I know."
"Do you think she's coming for us?"
Souta hesitated.
"Yes."
Silence again.
Then, softly, Ryouma said, "Good."
The next day.
They walked to school together in the cold morning air. Cherry blossoms still hadn't bloomed. The mountain winds were sharper up here.
But the world kept turning. Bells still rang. Teachers still droned on. The math was still unbearable.
And slowly—day by day—they adjusted.
Not because they wanted to.
But because they had to.
Because whatever lay ahead, whatever pain or horror was waiting back in the shadows of their mother's return—
They weren't going to run anymore.