The Color of Smoke and Memory

“…The hell was that dream…?”

With a face full of hair and irritation, the slumbering teenager stirred in the darkness of his room. Vivid dreams of magical knights, walking fish, and glimmering crystal gauntlets weren’t exactly a common occurrence—but truth be told, that wasn’t the reason for his grumpiness.

He was just always like this.

“Ugh…”

Groaning, the young man sat up from his mess of blankets and brushed aside the curtain of hair dangling over his face.

Without turning on a single light, and still half-asleep, Rokuro Adachi lumbered toward the door of his self-made man cave and pushed it open. Civilization awaited—unfortunately.

“Morning, Nii-san! You look as awful as always in the morning!”

Like a caffeinated fairy, a young girl with hair nearly identical to Rokuro’s in both color and length twirled on her heel as she whizzed past him, halfway through prepping for school.

“It’s such a nice day for a walk, right? I don’t even mind going in for make-up class! Just arts and crafts today! I get to finish my project and maybe grab a melon bun on the way!”

“Morning. And buzz off, you messy tornado, let us have some peace.” Rokuro muttered, as he slumped into the family’s kitchen table.

“You don’t need peace right now, Roku, what you need is to go to school.”

“Oh, come on, Ma. Who cares about Saturday make-up class?”

“Everybody does—except you.”

“I certainly do!” Kana, his sister, chirped.

Sachiko, their mother and a seasoned mother of two, didn’t even blink at the familiar exchange. Kana was always this bubbly. Rokuro… was always this much of a pain.

The earrings, the long hair, the cocky fashion sense—and the attitude to match. He looked like trouble and didn’t care who noticed.

Ever since the divorce, Sachiko had tried to rein him in. But Rokuro slipped further and further out of reach. Sometimes, she honestly wondered…

“…What the hell are you even gonna do with your life, Roku?”

Same line, different morning.

“For now I’ll take a walk,” Rokuro replied flatly, munching on some barely toasted bread.

“Adios, familia! See yah latah!” Kana announced from the doorway, striking a peace sign as she bounced out. Yes, she had somehow used both Spanish and English in one sentence.

That was just her. An energetic sugar-fueled gremlin in a petite, school-uniform-wearing body. She wasn’t the brightest bulb in every subject, but she could light up any room.

Unlike her older brother.

“Roku, come on! Just go this once!”

“I got plans already.”

“What plans?! School is supposed to be your plan!”

“See you later, Ma.”

He threw on his signature purple jacket—flamboyant, loud, completely against the rules of fashion—and tied up his hair in a high bun before heading toward the door, swagger in every step. Hina watched him go with a twitch in her brow. That ridiculous outfit paired with those flashy sneakers… she had long since given up trying to understand his wardrobe choices.

“Oh, Roku, wait!”

“…Tch.”

He stopped, clearly hoping to leave without any more parental interference, and turned back with visible reluctance.

“What now?”

“Here.”

She walked over and dropped something into his hand—a small pendant, round with a purple bead inside a silver ring, hanging from a simple chain. She closed his fingers over it.

“If you’re going to skip school, then at least do something useful. Kana forgot this for her arts and crafts project. Deliver it to her.”

Rokuro stared at the trinket in his palm and exhaled slowly.

…Yeah. I can do that much.

Without a word, he slid it into his jacket pocket.

“Sure, sure. Leave it to me.”

“I can go give it to her myself if you—”

The door slammed shut before she could finish the sentence.

“—want to go to school…” Sachiko sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before turning to get ready for work.

“Just be safe out there, idiot,” she muttered at the closed door.

╒ 🗝 ╛

“Man, you’re spectacularly late as always.”

Even in the chaos of central Tokyo, a neon green mohawk wasn’t something you could miss. It bobbed like a traffic hazard in the sea of commuters, and the guy underneath it—leather jacket, cut eyebrow, devil-may-care smirk—was none other than Kenji. Rokuro’s longtime partner-in-dumb.

“Yeah, and you spectacularly stink,” Rokuro fired back, his hands jammed in his jacket pockets. “When’s the last time you washed that thing? The Edo period?”

“Hey! Leather jackets don’t stink.” Kenji crossed his arms, mock offended.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Is that what the cute shop clerk told you?”

“…Maybe.”

With the usual back-and-forth behind them, the two teens matched stride. Kenji fell into step next to his friend, glancing sideways.

“So? Got somewhere to be? I thought we were just chillin’.”

“Need to drop something off for my sister. She forgot her craft project.”

“Damn. Rokuro the errand boy. What’s next? Babysitting duty?”

“You’re welcome to get lost anytime.”

“Chiillll. You’re more grumpy than usual today,” Kenji said, flailing his arms, “Who pissed in your cereal? Had a nightmare or something?”

He said it as a joke—but that was the problem.

He wasn’t wrong.

Rokuro didn’t say anything at first. His brows knit just slightly. That feeling still gnawed at the back of his skull like a toothache. The dream was already evaporating—images gone, details lost—but the unease stuck around, thick and sour in his chest.

There was something wrong with it.

Something real.

“I just woke up that way,” Rokuro muttered.

Kenji raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. Just stuffed his hands into his jacket and walked beside him, carefree as always.

They were a weird pair. Kenji, loudmouthed and animated. Rokuro, sharp-edged and volcanic. Oil and fire. But somehow, they worked.

“Hey, isn’t that your sister’s school?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Kenji stopped. Squinted at something up ahead.

“…Why are there so many people gathered—”

BOOM.

The sidewalk erupted with screaming.

A deafening roar split the air, followed by a flash of blinding white. The sound alone was enough to make Rokuro’s knees buckle. He staggered forward, eyes wide as the shockwave hit him like a punch to the gut.

The school—

Kana’s school—

It was on fire.

Engulfed in a wall of flame and smoke, the building spewed debris into the air like confetti. Windows shattered. Screams echoed. Chaos bloomed in all directions.

And then the sky darkened.

Not from smoke.

From something worse.

A colossal shape hovered above the city—a massive, bone-white airship unlike anything they’d ever seen. Its silhouette blocked out the sun like an eclipse, and from it descended dozens of armored figures, dropping from the sky like wasps from a hive. Guns in hand. Helmets gleaming. 

“RUN!!”

Someone screamed from the crowd as the soldiers landed. Then another figure appeared. And another. Not human.

Kenji stood frozen, mouth open.

“Roku… what… what the hell is this?”

But Rokuro didn’t answer.

His feet wouldn’t move. His blood felt like ice.

All he could do was stare at the flames.

At the school.

At the place his sister had just walked into.