Surrounded by white brick tiles and a soft, refreshing aroma, Kyujaki stood still before the mirror, eyes fixed on his reflection. The cool light bathed the space in quiet stillness. His gaze shifted to a small brush among the tools neatly arranged on the sink. He picked it up, applied toothpaste, and began brushing his teeth in silence, watching himself as the routine settled his thoughts. Two minutes passed. He rinsed his mouth, splashed water across his face, and patted it dry with a clean towel. With his grooming done, he stepped out of the washroom and back into the wooden corridor, its polished floor and soft color tones giving the house a sense of gentle elegance. As he walked toward the kitchen area, he saw his mother standing near the counter, now dressed in a beautiful traditional kimono. Her long black hair was tied up neatly with decorative ribbons, and she was carefully preparing sweet snacks, her movements graceful, her presence calm. The scent of warm sugar and soft rice flour filled the air, wrapping the morning in peaceful simplicity—yet something still lingered beneath it all.
Kyujaki looked around the room—furnished with a blend of wood and various materials, everything crafted with care. Two wooden tables sat at the center, surrounded by four matching chairs, while a bed was tucked neatly against the west wall beneath a window. His mother, Reno, sat in the corner of the room, her posture poised and graceful as she rested one hand gently on the table. In front of her were several bowls filled with rice cakes and sweet snacks, the soft aroma drifting warmly through the air. "Dear son, come sit with me," she called softly, her voice wrapping around the moment like sunlight. Kyujaki flinched slightly—still half-lost in thought—then gave a quick nod and sat beside her, taking his place on her left. Reno smiled warmly, placing a gentle hand on his head. "Ahh, you're still like a little child," she teased. Kyujaki made a dorky, exaggerated face. "Mom, don't call me a kid—I'm an adult now," he protested, half-embarrassed. Reno laughed lightly, her eyes crinkling with warmth. "No, honey, you're sixteen. That still makes you my child." She playfully poked his cheeks, watching him squirm with mild irritation. "Alright, alright," she said with a wink. "Your breakfast's ready—just the way you like it."
Reno picked up a crisp, golden snack from the bowl and leaned forward, holding it close to Kyujaki's mouth with a gentle, playful smile. "Say ahh," she coaxed. Kyujaki's face flushed with embarrassment, the color rising quickly in his cheeks. "Mom… am I a child?" he asked, flustered. Reno chuckled softly, brushing a stray ribbon from her hair. "In front of me? Always," she said without hesitation. Kyujaki huffed, crossing his arms in mild defiance. "I'm not," he muttered. Reno only smirked, undeterred. "So? That just means I can feed you with my hand." Without another word, Kyujaki leaned in and took the snack between his lips, biting into the crispy biscuit. The flavor was warm, sweet, and familiar. "Mmm... tasty," he admitted between chews. Reno beamed at him with a satisfied grin. "Good, my honey," she said, her voice full of love. Kyujaki, still chewing, shifted his gaze to the left—toward the window—letting the moment hang in the air, a rare piece of calm in a world that was slowly beginning to move again beneath the surface.
As Kyujaki continued eating, his eyes drifted toward his mother's face, studying her closely. Something unspoken tugged at the back of his mind. "Mom… umm, are you still the same as before?" he asked hesitantly. Reno paused, rolling her right eye toward him with a puzzled smile. "What do you mean, 'same'?" she asked. Kyujaki flinched slightly, realizing how odd the question sounded. "Ah… nothing. Just asking." Reno's smile faded into something more focused. Her eyes narrowed, her tone low but certain. "I'm not exactly the same as I was before," she said slowly. Kyujaki's eyes widened slightly at her words. But then Reno's smile returned, softer this time. "But I'm still your honest mom. That's what matters, right?" Kyujaki nodded quickly, trying to shake the strange chill that had slipped into the conversation. "Yeah, yeah, that's good," he muttered, returning to his snack and casually digging into another bite. Reno stood up from her seat, smoothing the sleeves of her kimono. "If you're done eating, get your equipment and backpack ready. I'll be busy today, so I won't have time to help you find your things." Kyujaki gave a half-smile and rose from his chair. "Okay, I'll manage," he replied. Reno turned away, walking toward the window, her figure bathed in soft morning light. Kyujaki glanced one last time at her back before turning toward the corridor. Without another word, he left the room and made his way toward the stairs—toward his own room, and toward whatever strange day was beginning to unfold. Kyujaki climbed the stairs to the upper floor and stepped back into his room, the soft creak of the wooden floorboards marking his return. The quiet hum of the morning still lingered as he moved toward his desk. He picked up a small stack of books and a few well-worn manga volumes, sorting through them with practiced ease. With calm focus, he placed them neatly into the correct side of his drawer, organizing his belongings as part of his daily ritual. Once finished, he glanced around the room once more, ensuring everything was in place. Satisfied, he turned and walked back through the corridor, his footsteps steady, and descended the stairs again—unaware that each step was bringing him closer to something far outside the ordinary.Kyujaki paused at the bottom of the stairs, his gaze drifting to the right wall where a framed photo hung quietly, then turned back and made his way upstairs once more. Entering his room, he approached the large drawer against the wall, gripping the twin handles and pulling them open with a soft clack. Inside, folded with precision, lay his school uniform and backpack. He carefully removed both from the drawer, closing it with a soft thud behind him. Standing in the stillness of the room, he began changing into his uniform—white with sleek black lapels and two star-shaped insignias stitched on each shoulder. He slipped on his deep black pants, fastened a neatly pressed tie around his collar, and then slung the backpack over his shoulder. Ready now, Kyujaki stepped out of his room, closing the door behind him with quiet finality. Descending the stairs with calm steps, he approached the main entrance. At the corner near the door stood a wooden shoe drawer. He opened it, pulled out a polished pair of black shoes, and set them neatly on the wooden floor tiles. Bending down, he slipped them on, tying them tightly—each motion precise, routine... and unknowingly, his last moment of peace.
Just as Kyujaki was about to step out the door, his mother appeared before him, standing tall with quiet sincerity. Her expression was calm but carried a depth that words couldn't quite reach. "Dear, I bid you farewell," Reno said softly. Kyujaki blinked for a moment, caught off guard by her tone, then nodded. "O… okay. I'll take my leave," he replied, his voice low but respectful. With that, he stepped through the front door, the air outside brushing lightly against his face. Passing through the main gate, he turned left and looked down the long, open path ahead—a straight, measurable road stretching northward. The sun hung bright in the morning sky, casting golden light across the pavement, warming his skin and clearing the last remnants of sleep from his mind. Kyujaki took a breath, lifted his gaze forward, and began walking—each step steady, unaware that the day ahead would not unfold as any ordinary day should.
Kyujaki walked through the quiet streets, his steps echoing faintly in the calm morning air. To his side, tall boundary walls marked the separation between the road and rows of nearby apartments and houses. This was Neji—one of the more local, less bustling areas in Shinjuku Ward. Familiar and peaceful, yet still carrying that faint urban edge. He continued following the natural curve of the street, keeping to the sidewalk as the road's design forked and shifted. Eventually, he reached a three-way junction—left, right, and forward. He paused briefly, scanning each direction. His eyes narrowed with thought, then settled on the path ahead. Choosing forward, he resumed walking, each step bathed in the growing intensity of the morning sun. The light felt unusually bright—sharper than normal—as if trying to press into his thoughts, into his vision, filling his world with a strange, quiet brilliance. And yet, he walked on.