1,095 Days III

If you’d asked seventeen-year-old Ren how the war would end, he’d have given you a ridiculously simple answer.

“The good guys will win!”

In the end, there were no good guys—nobody won.

“How’s your arm?”

Yuka Fujimori’s voice was gentle, precisely what you’d expect from someone in her line of work. She sat behind a modest desk cluttered with files, a cardigan draped loosely around her frame. Pale afternoon light glinted off her silver-framed glasses as she studied him.

Ren shifted in his chair, the empty sleeve of his jacket brushing against his side. “Does it look like I’m hurting?”

Yuka tilted her head, lips curling in a small, thoughtful smile. “That depends—physical pain? Or something deeper?”

He exhaled. “I’m fine.”

She didn’t believe him. He could see it in the way her pen hovered over her notes without writing. “Really? Your professors say you’re dozing off in lectures, skipping gym. You refuse to join any clubs. You think you can keep going like this?” Her tone softened. “Ren—is there anything you want to talk about? Anything at all?”

He tapped a dull rhythm against his knee. No point. You wouldn’t believe me. But she waited patiently. “It’s just… the pain’s been worse lately. Sometimes it flares up and I grit my teeth until it passes. It always does.”

He avoided her eyes, letting his gaze drift across the desk—a coffee mug with lipstick smudges along the rim, folders bulging with papers bearing the university's gold seal.

Behind her, a wall-mounted TV flickered silently. On screen, a police officer in a rumpled uniform dabbed sweat from his forehead, jaw clenching as microphones pushed toward his face. The red ticker beneath him crawled: SIXTH UNEXPLAINED DEATH THIS WEEK—AUTHORITIES URGE CAUTION.

His gaze lingered on the screen, fingers stilling on his knee while his mind wandered elsewhere, the news anchor's silent mouth forming words he wouldn't remember.

Yuka set her pen down. “I see... I can excuse you from P.E., but the campus nurse needs to sign off on it tomorrow. All I ask is that you try not to sleep in class—your professors are worried.”

His chin dipped slightly, just enough to acknowledge her words without making any real promise.

“Right.”

“That’s all for today. Come by tomorrow for the note—and use the hand sanitizer on your way out. Seems like half the place is catching something.”

He stood and bowed slightly. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“Ren.” She gave him a gentle smile. “Anytime you need to talk, I’m here.”

He finally met her gaze, his stance loosening a notch.

"I know. I’ll see you tomorrow, Doc."

The door clicked shut behind. Sunlight ambushed him through the wide glass corridor, forcing him to shield his eyes with his forearm. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, Seiryo University's main plaza unfurled: students in hoodies and sneakers darted between cherry trees, their voices rising and falling as they thrust club flyers at passing freshmen. A group of women in matching scarves huddled by the fountain, checking watches and glancing toward the station where the 3:15 train would arrive any minute.

“Hey! Move it!”

Footsteps shuffled behind him.

“Senpai! Over here!”

Two women bolted past, squealing. He turned toward their gaze. Near the stairs stood a woman in a dark blazer. When she turned, the afternoon sun caught her cheekbones in a way that made three passing men stop mid-conversation. The corner of her mouth lifted, as though privy to some private amusement. Her name rippled through the crowd in whispers as she passed.

"Shion Makabe."

Students straightened their posture, professors lowered their heads as if she were royalty. She moved with the casual confidence of someone who had never questioned her place at the top. Her eyes swept across the plaza and snagged on him for a heartbeat.

Must’ve been my imagination.

He dropped his chin and kept walking as the last bell chimed from the central tower.

━━━━━━━━━━𝑾𝑪𝑨━━━━━━━━━━

Ren leaned against the iron railing halfway across the arched bridge linking Seiryo’s island campus to Hanamizu’s mainland. He shoved his hand deeper into his woolen coat pocket while he watched the afternoon sun flicker off the university’s glass spires behind him. Below, the city fanned out in rows of skyscrapers—golden rectangles framed in steel—reflecting shards of light like scattered bullion. Salt from the harbor air had collected in fine white crystals along the bolts, and a briny breeze teased at the ends of his loose strands of hair.

“You’re ignoring me again,” Reina said.

“I’m not.”

She clicked her tongue and stepped up onto the same riveted plate, folding her arms so her sleeves crept past her wrists. The heels of her black flats tapped against the steel grating. “When someone answers ‘I’m not,’ and then shuts up, that’s still ignoring.”

He shrugged one shoulder, eyes fixed on the distant shoreline. “Conversation’s never been my strong suit.”

Reina’s lips curved into a brief, disapproving smile, but she didn’t argue. She edged closer, her coat brushing his sleeve. A few paces behind them, beneath a diagonal support beam, Lilly Aokawa lingered—scarf wound twice around her neck, buttoned blazer hugging her frame. Only her blue eyes and the top of her nose peeked out, cataloguing their exchange in silence.

Ren snuck a glance at Lilly and felt a faint stir of envy at her quiet watchfulness.

“Do you always walk this way?” Reina asked.

He inhaled the tang of the river below. “Sometimes. It’s quieter than the monorail.”

“Fair point.” She hesitated, then nudged his elbow with a knuckle. The contact was light but deliberate. “Actually... I was thinking of swinging by the market stalls before heading home. My apartment’s just a few blocks off the main road. You wouldn’t mind?”

He blinked at her. Noting the small tilt in her voice—almost uncertain. The market was exactly on his route to Hayate’s place, a narrow detour through tents draped in striped tarps. Habit made his instinct flip to no, but her unease held him back.

“...Fine,” he muttered. “But I’m not hauling anything that needs both hands.”

Her shoulders lifted in a relieved exhale. “Don’t worry, promise it won’t be heavy.”

Lilly’s muffled whisper drifted from behind them, words caught in her scarf. “We’re making sukiyaki tonight.”

Reina spun around, eyebrows arching so high they nearly brushed her hairline. “I thought we settled on curry?”

Lilly’s gaze flicked toward Ren for a heartbeat—blue eyes cautious—then slid away toward the rippling water. “Changed my mind.”

Reina’s laugh was soft, more curious than annoyed. “So curry’s demoted.” She studied Lilly’s concealed expression as if piecing together a puzzle.

Ren stared down at a cargo boat carving a white wake through the jade-green current. A blast of diesel drifted up, sharp in his nostrils. He waited for Reina to press on, but her next words drifted back like a gentle tide.

“Do you ever think about what happens when this is all over?”

He turned his head, watching her silhouette outlined against the sunset’s flare. “This?”

She waved at the campus around them. “University. Classes. This weird halfway life we’re in. Our little bubble.”

“No, not really.”

She laughed, warm and light, like a bell echoing across the water. “Figures.” Her expression lit bright, unguarded for a moment. “You’re the type to say, ‘Why plan ahead?’ Aren’t you even a little scared of the future?”

He shrugged again, more genuinely this time. “I haven’t thought that far.”

“I knew it!” Reina exhaled, watching the water. “I wonder if I’ll still see you after all this... or if you’ll vanish like you were never here.”

“I’m not good at that stuff,” he admitted.

“Yeah,” she murmured, lips curling. “I know.” She exhaled, soft and wistful, and fell silent, studying the ripples chasing the boat’s wake until the light drained from the sky.

Lilly stepped closer to the railing, arms folded. Reina reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her sister’s ear. "Well," she said, her voice pitching slightly higher than normal, "no matter what happens, you better remember us."

"I couldn't forget you even if I tried."

She rolled her eyes and tugged at the sleeve of her coat. "God, listen to yourself." Her fingers drummed once against the railing before she checked her watch. "Come on—the fish guy with the good tuna closes at five."

Ren's hand lingered on cold metal for a moment longer before he pushed himself away. Lilly unwound herself from her spot, trailing three steps behind.

━━━━━━━━━━𝑾𝑪𝑨━━━━━━━━━━

Citrus and toasted mochi hung in the air. Afternoon light sliced through gauzy curtains, turning the white countertops golden. Ren fumbled with his shoes at the entrance, his hand clutching the market bag.

"Look at you, remembering to take them off," Reina called, rustling through groceries. "Good boy."

"I'm not a dog."

Lilly perched on the couch edge, toes curled beneath her thighs, eyes following his movements without blinking.

"Obviously not." Reina's hair swung as she glanced back. "Dogs sit when told. You just hover."

He drifted to the window, his knuckles grazing the sill.

"The bags weren't even heavy," he said. “You didn’t need help with the groceries.”

“No,” she acknowledged. “But you needed an excuse not to be by yourself.”

Their eyes caught in the reflection of the microwave door. She looked away first, closing the fridge with her hip.

"Tea's almost ready."

Her words hung between question and statement, the kettle beginning to whistle.

"I can stay," he said, his stance easing a fraction. "Until six."

The corner of her mouth twitched upward.

From the couch, Lilly uncurled one leg. “You don’t smile much.”

Beyond the glass, skyscrapers blazed copper in the setting sun. “No,” he said. “Not really.”

━━━━━━━━━━𝑾𝑪𝑨━━━━━━━━━━

The bell above the door gave a weary chime. Ren ducked under the frame by instinct and slipped into the narrow corridor between rows of trays and stained cutting boards. The shop smelled of soy and vinegar, old wood, and the lingering stench of countless fish.

“Evening,” a gravelly voice called from the rear.

Hayate was at the counter, a sharp blade in one hand and a shining silver snapper laid out before him. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, the apron tied neatly though splashed with stains, and a hairnet secured his hair. The glass-front display next to him was half-filled, each piece of sushi arranged like medals on a uniform.

Ren gave a slight nod. “Evening.”

Ven the cat was curled beside the rice cooker on the heated prep shelf, one paw draped over his eyes as if to block out the world. At the sound of his voice, the cat’s tail twitched.

“You’re late, by the way.”

“I’m not late,” Ren said, stepping over a mop bucket and loosening the scarf around his neck. “I’m exactly on time.”

“On time is still late by my definition,” Hayate said. “Check the box by the register.”

Ren did as instructed. On it sat a small wooden frame, worn smooth at the edges. Inside was a snapshot—not posed, just a moment: Ren on the shop’s back steps, hair still wet, towel slung over his shoulder, and Ven stretched out in his lap with half-closed eyes. The lighting was off, and the picture sat crooked in the frame. His focus lingered on the photograph.

“I took that the day you found him,” Hayate remarked, wiping fish bits from his blade and examining the cut. “He shadowed you for three days straight after."

“He was hurt,” Ren murmured. “He shouldn’t have been out in the rain.”

“Reminds me of someone else I know.”

Ren replaced the photo gently on the counter. “You gonna do this every year?”

“Only because you keep coming back,” Hayate said, finally meeting his gaze with a raised brow. “I’ll quit once you stop showing up.”

He said nothing. Ven stretched in a long, rumbling yawn, hopped down with a soft thud, and wound around Ren’s ankles before settling at his feet with a contented meow. He crouched beside him, running his palm between Ven’s ears.

“How are you holding up?” Hayate asked, his voice softer.

Ren didn’t lie. Not to him. “Some days are harder than others.”

“It’s been three years.”

“Feels like longer.”

A laugh drifted in from outside—likely one of Hayate’s old friends. The place was a magnet for retired cops and ex-paramedics, men who wore their histories like faded leather jackets and came here for the calm as much as the food.

“You know,” Hayate said after rinsing his hands, “you don’t owe me anything anymore.”

Ren straightened, shoulders tight. “I want to.”

Hayate nodded curtly. “Then I need you here again tomorrow. Sharp.”

“I always am.”

Ven meowed in agreement.

“Not always.” Hayate patted a towel-dried hand on the counter and regarded Ren. Steady, neither harsh nor indulgent. "Three years, and you’re still here..." he said, his calloused thumb tracing a worn spot on the handle where the lacquer had long since given way to bare wood.

“I didn’t plan this far ahead,” Ren admitted.

“No one ever does, son.”