What Lies Ahead V

Steam curled against the bathroom wall until the world outside vanished. Kurobane stood with his head bowed beneath the spray, letting the water drum his scalp until his thoughts blurred. Faint streaks of red rinsed from his knuckles, pooling at his feet before spiraling down the drain.

He saw Haruka’s hand slide into Midori’s like it had always belonged there—the way they broke apart when he neared. Somehow it hurt more than the cuts. His stomach knotted. He pressed the heel of his palm to the tile until his arm trembled.

You knew, idiot.

He’d just been pretending not to notice.

The hot water traced his body. He tried to follow its warmth back to something softer: his mother folding a shirt against his chest after he’d forgotten his gym uniform again. “Eat before you go, you’ll just get dizzy later.”

Mom… I try to remember you said it’s not good for me, but it’s hard not to be angry. Everything feels like it’s falling apart. I’m losing my mind. I’m losing her…

Then his father’s voice crashed in. “Coward. Stand up straight… If you want a thing, take it. If you can’t, you never wanted it.” Old anger unbarred itself, then curled into something smaller and meaner inside him.

Kurobane ducked under the spray, gulped a mouthful, spat it out hard, and let the sound kill the chatter in his head. When the water turned cold, he dried off and dressed. The hallway air bit at his damp skin. The boards groaned beneath him, the old wood sighing with him.

This place is a dump…

He turned the corner and nearly collided with Satsuki Mizushima. She leaned against the wall, arms clasped at the small of her back, one foot propped behind her. A rebellious strand of blue hair fell from her messy ponytail; she kept tucking it back only for it to fall again. Her oversized white T-shirt—Jello printed in faded pink—hung loose over mid-thigh cargo shorts.

Her expression wasn’t surprise—more like satisfaction, as though she’d been timing the shower’s running water, waiting for the precise moment he’d appear. “Still take forever in there, huh?” she said, the corner of her mouth lifting.

He scrubbed a towel over his head to stall. “Had to make sure the roof didn’t cave in.” He tipped his chin at the ceiling where water stains bruised the rafters.

“Mm.” Her gaze flicked past him, then back. “You used to call me the night before every exam. Panic at nine, pretend to be fine at ten, beg me to quiz you at eleven. For weeks. We were pretty close—or at least, I thought so.”

Kurobane winced. “Yeah.”

“Then you just… stopped.”

It wasn’t an accusation—worse, because it was only the truth. He let the towel hang at his shoulders like a scarf. The hallway felt too narrow. He almost laughed it off, but the words stuck. Running wouldn’t work anymore. After everything he’d seen, the truth wasn’t half as frightening as silence.

“I got scared,” he said before he could stop himself. It slipped out like feet on wet tile. “Not of you. Of—everything. Of wanting anything with you when everything else was—” He faltered. “It was easier to be busy. Easier to pretend I didn’t care.”

She didn’t answer right away. Down the hall, the wind rattled the window, and he had the stupid thought the house itself was waiting to hear if he’d go on.

“I should’ve said something,” he added, quieter. “I should’ve tried.”

Her silence weighed until he almost broke just to fill it. When she finally spoke, the tease was gone. “I waited,” she said. “And then I stopped waiting. I figured you’d decided I was… inconvenient. But I never thought you used me.”

“I never—” He swallowed. “You weren’t…”

Her face softened by degrees. Her arms loosened. She pushed back from the wall and stepped closer. The faint scent of vanilla soap came with her. “Well,” she said, this time with a small smile, “you did save my life. I guess I can forgive you this one time.”

His chest eased with a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

“Just the one?”

“Don’t get greedy.”

They stood too close for it to be nothing, not close enough for it to be anything. Somehow that was steadier ground than Kurobane had known in days. He realized he was standing straighter.

“You should rest,” Satsuki said.

“Yeah.” He thumbed the towel’s frayed edge. “I think I’ll do that.”

━━━━━━━━━━𝑾𝑪𝑨━━━━━━━━━━

Ren lingered beneath the oak after Genzo dismissed him. His palms were a map of fresh cracks and flaking skin, yet the rough grain of the split logs beneath them felt like home. The scent of woodchips and grass pulled him back to mornings in his village—the weight of the axe in his hand, his father’s silhouette etched against sunrise.

Morning light caught the farmhouse's weathered timber, giving the old structure a dignified air. A thin curl of smoke rose from the chimney, and through the walls, paper screens captured the sun's glow like lanterns.

In the yard, a boy wrestled the iron crank of the well, arms trembling as if the handle were fused to stone. A woman in a faded skirt brushed straw from her hem, cheeks pale with leftover fear. At the wood’s edge, a man in a threadbare jacket leaned against a trunk, eyes darting as though the forest itself might step forward.

Genzo hadn’t given names, but Ren knew these were the others—strangers on the same sinking raft. It should have been a comfort, but it only sharpened the unease in his chest.

I’m being paranoid. I’d know by now if it were true. She’d find me… The thought gnawed deeper, whispering of that night three years ago. His heart stuttered—until a familiar voice cut through.

“Ren.”

Haruka waited in the barn's shadow, arms crossed over her chest. The bloodied uniform was gone, replaced with borrowed clothes—red track jacket and blue jeans stuffed into work boots. A ray of sunlight caught her face, illuminating the flush on her cheeks and the rawness around her eyes that betrayed a sleepless night. When she looked at him, her gaze pinned him in place.

He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. The quiet between them pressed in, dust motes drifting through the barn light, until her voice cut through it.

“Come with me.”

It wasn’t an invitation.

They moved around the barn’s corner where the fence dipped low. Ren leaned on a post, studying her. “Well?” he asked. “What is it?”

“Did anyone call you? My dad? My mom? Grandpa?”

“Hayate called me,” he said evenly. He left the rest unspoken—that Hayate’s words had been a plea: Protect her.

Her eyes darkened. "When Kuro and I were trapped on that rooftop, my mom called." She paused, thumb tracing the edge of her sleeve. "She told me to tell you something. Her exact words were 'Tell him not to do anything drastic.'" She took a step closer, voice dropping. "What exactly was she afraid you might do, Ren?"

Ren didn’t look away. “I don’t know,” he said. “You tell me. She’s your mother.”

“I’ve always thought it strange, how you appeared out of nowhere.”

He exhaled slowly. “And?”

Scarlet eyes searched him for secrets. Her gaze raked over him like talons, hunting for what he might be hiding. The weight of unspoken questions hung between them, and he felt suddenly cornered. What if she had pieced it together? What if she already knew the truth? And if she did—would it mean anything?

Ren braced for the accusation, but Haruka's rigid posture softened slightly. “I’m… worried.”

“Me too,” he admitted.

A bitter smile crossed her face. "I bet my parents and Grandpa are organizing survivors somewhere, taking charge like they always do. Meanwhile, I'm out here, hiding in the woods."

“We’ll find them.”

The words tasted like hope. Unlike him.

The smile slipped. She glanced toward the trees. “This place. It isn’t safe. Whatever you do, don’t trust Shigure.”

Ren considered the warning, sensing the undercurrent of rage beneath her words. His response died in his throat at the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Hey!” Midori bounded down the dirt path, cheeks pink from the chill, breath puffing white. He skidded to a stop, relief softening his face. “You’re both here,” he said. “Takemori-san made breakfast. She told me to round everyone up.”

Haruka's eyes widened slightly before her expression smoothed over. She took a half-step away from him. "Fine. Breakfast it is," she said, already turning.

Midori watched them, questions written across his face, but thankfully he kept them to himself as they fell into step toward the farmhouse.