The sun had already slipped behind the skyline by the time Ren reached home.
A warm glow from the kitchen window spilled across the front step, carrying the smell of soy sauce and simmering miso.
He turned the knob and stepped inside. "I'm home."
From the kitchen came a familiar voice — calm and cheerful.
"Welcome back, Ren!"
Ren blinked in mild surprise. "Mom? You're home early."
She peeked from the kitchen doorway, still wearing her apron. "What, disappointed?"
He shook his head. "No. I'm just surprised."
She laughed softly and went back to tirring the pot. "One of my coworkers covered my shift, so I escaped before the traffic got bad. Thought I'd actually make dinner for a change."
Ren set his bag down neatly by the shoe rack. "Akari's not home yet?"
"Not yet but she said she's on her way back now"
He gave a quiet hum in acknowledgment, slipping off his shoes.
"Go change your clothes" she said without turning. "Dinner's almost done."
"Alright."
Ren headed to his room, turned the doorknob and pushed his room door open.
He reached for the switch and flicked on the light, the ceiling lamp buzzing softly before filling the room with a warm glow.
Everything inside was neat — almost unnaturally so.
A clean desk, organized shelves, his uniform jacket hanging precisely on the chair.
He dropped his bag beside the bed and loosened his tie, letting out a quiet breath.
Against one wall stood a glass cabinet — a quiet display of what his life used to be.
A few trophies, a couple of medals, and framed photos from early middle school.
One showed him smiling widely with a basketball tucked under his arm, surrounded by teammates in matching jerseys.
At the bottom of one trophy, the engraving read:
"MVP — Seiwa Middle School Basketball Tournament."
In the corner, a basketball rested beside a pair of worn-out sneakers — scuffed from use but neatly aligned, as if waiting for a day that never came.
Ren's gaze paused there for a few seconds.
His expression didn't change, but his fingers brushed lightly across his palm — a quiet, reflexive motion, as if remembering something.
He turned away and sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees.
Outside, a faint echo of kids playing drifted from somewhere down the street — the thump of a ball, laughter, and shouts blending with the evening air.
"Still noisy," he muttered, though his tone lacked any irritation.
The smell of dinner reached him — miso, grilled fish, soy. His mother's voice hummed softly from the kitchen downstairs, steady and warm.
Then, the click of the front door echoed through the hallway.
"I'm home!"
Akari's voice carried up the stairs.
Their mother called back, cheerful as ever, "Welcome back, Akari! Change your clothes — dinner's almost ready!"
"Got it!"
Ren leaned back, staring blankly at the ceiling for a moment before hearing footsteps approach.
They stopped outside his door.
A light knock knock.
"Hey, you alive in there?"
Ren replied, his tone flat. "Barely."
"Good. Don't crash before dinner," Akari said through the door, voice teasing as always.
"I wasn't planning to."
"Sure you weren't," she replied, clearly smirking. "Anyway, Mom said food's almost done. Come down when she calls."
"Yeah."
"Cool. Oh, and…" Her voice softened slightly. "You're really bad at sounding awake, you know that?"
"I'm aware."
She laughed quietly. "Figures."
The sound of her footsteps faded back down the hall.
Ren glanced again toward the cabinet. The trophies gleamed faintly in the warm light, untouched. The basketball in the corner sat still — quiet, heavy with memory.
"That was a long time ago," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
The house settled into its usual rhythm — the faint clatter of dishes, his mother's humming, the comfortable quiet of a normal evening.
After a while their mother's voice rang out from the kitchen.
"Dinner's ready! Both of you, come eat before it gets cold!"
The table was already set — bowls of miso soup, grilled salmon, rice, and pickled vegetables neatly arranged.
Their mother smiled as they sat down.
"Perfect timing. Let's eat."
"Thanks for the food," they both said in unison.
For a while, the only sounds were the clinking of chopsticks and the soft hum of the TV from the living room.
Then, as expected, Akari broke the quiet.
"So…" she began casually, "I saw something interesting today."
Ren didn't look up. "If this is about the council meeting, I—"
"Not exactly." Her tone turned playful. "It's about after the meeting. Lunch break."
He stopped mid-bite. "What about it?"
"Oh, nothing," she said, smiling like she knew exactly what she was doing. "Just that someone looked pretty lively during lunch break."
Ren gave her a flat stare. "You were there."
"Of course I was," she said proudly. "I even thought, 'Wow, my brother's actually talking to people instead of eating in silence.' It was a historic moment."
Ren sighed. "You exaggerate."
"Nope," she said with a teasing grin. "I almost took a picture — you know, for evidence."
Their mother perked up, her eyes warm with curiosity.
"You were talking with your classmates, Ren? That's wonderful."
Akari grinned. "Not just talking, Mom. He smiled. Like, Ren? smiling? does that mean the world is healing?"
Their mother paused, chopsticks midair. Then, softly —
"You smiled again…?"
Ren blinked, not meeting her gaze. "…You're imagining things."
She smiled gently. "Maybe. But it's been a while since I've seen you like that."
Akari leaned back, still grinning. "Told you. He's slowly turning back into a social human."
Ren's expression stayed calm. "It was just lunch."
"Uh-huh," Akari said. "Sure it was."
Their mother chuckled softly, setting down her chopsticks. "Whatever it was, I'm just glad you're adjusting, Ren."
He didn't reply, focusing on his rice, though the corners of his mouth twitched — just barely.
Dinner went on in quiet comfort — laughter here and there, a few gentle teases, and the soft rhythm of a normal evening.
The world outside had already grown dark, but inside, the house glowed with familiar warmth —
something Ren didn't comment on, but didn't push away either.