First day

My life had been silent since that one night — the night when the frost outside made even breathing a struggle, and inside, my world turned to ashes at the hands of the crimson monster.

Whenever I opened my eyes, the first thought was always the same—I wished I hadn't.

The sound of the wind chime by the window and the faint scent of cherry blossoms drifting in on the breeze used to calm me once. Now, they only stirred up what little remained of my heart. They should’ve been here, not me. My warmth, my feelings — all of it had died that cold season.

I heard a sound from downstairs, while folding my futon. It seemed Grandpa was already awake, even though it was barely dawn.

When my grandparents first took me in and told me to choose whichever room I liked, I’d picked this one — the room by the stairs with the slightly large window. I wasn’t sure why. The other rooms had balconies and sunlight, but something about this one felt right. My grandparents had pestered me to take the bigger room instead, but I couldn’t. This room was enough.

No matter what kind of chaos was raging inside me, I couldn’t show it to anyone — especially to my grandparents. They had already lost their child, and they’d gone through the trouble of taking me in. I didn’t want to be more of a burden to them.

Don’t let your feelings show. Don’t let anyone catch on it.

I reminded myself of that every morning, forcing a smile.

I hope I’m doing a good job at it.

“Good morning, Grandpa,” I said, walking downstairs with a smile on my face.

“Oh, hey there, kiddo. Ya up early today, aren’t ya?” he said, turning toward me with a bright smile.

That smile… it didn’t carry any darkness, any evil. It was pure, and that made my chest ache even more. 

I glanced at the clock on the wall — the hands barely brushed past five. “It’s still early for the inn to open... why are you awake already?”

He chuckled, setting down the broom he’d been using to sweep near the entrance. “Ah, well, spring brings more guests, ya know. Gotta make sure the place’s ready before the early ones start rollin’ in. Can’t let yer grandma do all the work.”

“I can help,” I said quietly. “Just tell me what to—”

He waved his hand before I could finish. “No, no. It’s yer first day of school, ain’t it? Ya should take it easy. Can’t have ya draggin’ yer feet on the way there.”

“But I don’t mind. I can at least—”

“Yer grandma’ll be here soon,” he interrupted with a grin, already heading toward the door. “She’ll take care o’ breakfast. Ya just eat before ya go, ya hear? If ya leave on an empty stomach, she’ll scold the both o’ us.”

I opened my mouth to argue again, but the door slid open and the morning breeze slipped in, cool and faintly sweet with the scent of cherry blossoms. Grandpa put on his old work jacket and stepped outside, calling back over his shoulder, “Now hurry along, Haruki. Wouldn’t want yer first day to start with yer grandma chasin’ ya down with a ladle.”

The door closed softly behind him.

For a moment, I just stood there, staring at the quiet kitchen — sunlight slowly spreading across the wooden floor, painting it gold. His voice still lingered in my mind, gentle and warm, but it left that same ache deep in my chest.

To the left of the stairs, the kitchen looked the same as always — neat, familiar, with a faint trace of yesterday’s cooking still in the air. The cutting board was lined against the wall, and Grandma’s favorite iron pot rested by the stove, seasoned from years of use.

When I first came here, I hadn’t known what to do with myself. The inn work kept Grandma and Grandpa busy from dawn till night, and they wouldn't let me help either. I thought I'd only be in their way. I’d started standing here every morning, watching Grandma cook. She’d laugh softly when she caught me staring and began explaining things — how to balance salt in miso, when rice was ready by its scent, and how to tell if the fish was done without cutting it open.

At first, I just listened. Then I tried helping. Before long, I learned enough to manage on my own.

I wasn’t sure if my cooking was any good, but Grandpa and Grandma always praised it like it was something special. Maybe they were just being nice.

I opened the cupboard, took out the miso paste, and poured water into the pot. The faint bubbling sound filled the silence as I stirred slowly, watching the steam rise and curl toward the ceiling.

“...Even if it’s not as good as Grandma’s, this much should be fine,” I murmured.

The smell of grilled fish and soup blended in the air — simple, but warm. I ladled the miso soup into a bowl and set out the rice and a few slices of pickled daikon. The kitchen, bathed in morning light, felt like a quiet memory — one that didn’t quite belong to me, yet somehow, I was still living in it.

When everything was ready, I sat down and clasped my hands.

“Itadakimasu.”

「Itadakimasu: Thank you for the meal. Before eating. 」

The rice was still steaming, the miso soup fragrant with green onions, but I ate slowly — barely more than a few bites. Lately, my appetite had been poor. Whenever I ate with my grandparents, I forced myself to finish everything on my plate so they wouldn’t worry, ending up with an upset stomach each time. So, mornings like this, I preferred eating alone, though I never refused when they called me to join, or I just couldn't.

When I finished, I whispered, “Gochisousama,” 

「Gochisousama: Thank you for the meal. After eating.」 

Then cleaned the dishes, and wiped down the counter.

I headed upstairs. My room looked just as I’d left it — a futon folded neatly in the corner, a small desk by the window, and a strip of sunlight stretching across the tatami through the curtain’s gap . On the chair lay my freshly pressed uniform — a black blazer with gold buttons, a white shirt, and a black tie. The white pine emblem of Kisogawa High gleamed faintly against the fabric.

I stared at it for a long while, my reflection faintly visible in the windowpane. My stomach tightened again, though not from hunger.

High school.

I didn’t feel excitement — not even a trace of it.

All I wanted was to keep my head down, graduate and leave quietly, to stop being a burden to my grandparents. That was enough.

I put on my uniform.

The blazer felt stiff on my shoulders. The white shirt smelled faintly of laundry. I straightened my black tie, careful not to wrinkle it.

I stared at the white pine emblem on my chest. The mountains and tree looked like they belonged somewhere else. However not on me.

I stood in front of the house door. My hand hovered over the handle. Outside, the morning was calm. Sunlight spread across the street. The wind carried the faint scent of cherry blossoms.

But, I had to see—them again. The thought twisted my stomach. Shadows lingered at the edges of my vision, shapes I couldn’t name. Faces I didn’t want to remember. Things people believed didn't exist.

I gripped the handle and took a slow breath. My chest ached. My fingers were cold. I opened the door, thinking...

I don't see them. Let's just pretend that lives normally.

The air outside was warm—peaceful. But something moved in the corner of my eyes — a flicker—shadow, almost nothing. I froze. My heart skipped a beat.

As long as I pretend I can't see them, they won't bother me. So don't mess up and ended up dragging others in your mess again, Haruki.

I stepped onto the path. The world looked normal and quiet, but I knew it wasn’t. They were there. Those—things...