What Lies Ahead (5)

Kurobane folded his legs beneath him, steadying the jar against his thigh. Heat from the crowded house seeped into his bones while fragments of conversation floated from the hearth and kitchen.

By the fire, Satsuki threw back her head and laughed at something Haruto fumbled to explain. The sight lodged in Kurobane’s chest. He hated the way it made him feel. Not jealousy, not exactly. More like a prickling whenever people slipped out of his orbit, as if their warmth belonged only to him. When it didn’t, something in him tensed. He tipped the jar, trying to burn the thought away.

“You’re actually drinking?” Midori ducked into the kitchen, broad-shouldered, hair still damp from his bath. He leaned against the counter, studying the jar.

“Want some? Might make you less of a pain.” He nudged it toward him.

Midori laughed—a sound both irritating and comforting. “I’m not sure I should. Think I’d rather stay sober.”

“Come on. You’ve pushed me into worse. Now you’re chicken? Drink with me. Could be the last time.”

Midori’s expression softened. He took the jar and drank deep, coughing hard. “What the hell is this? Tastes like battery acid.”

He laughed. “It’s called moonshine. Takemori-san has a thing for spirits.”

“It’s awful.”

“Effective, though.”

They passed it back and forth.

“Midori… I just wanted to say that. Everything happened too fast. I… I lost control and—”

Midori waved him off.

“Don’t sweat it. I’m just glad we’re alive.”

“Yeah. But for how long?”

“Kuro…”

“It’s only been a day, but the world’s changed forever. We can’t go back. You, me, Haru—we’re different now.”

“Different how?”

He hesitated. “I don’t know. I just know I’ll protect Haru. And you too, Midori.”

“Listen to yourself. Are you drunk already? And I’m the one with the hero complex.”

The jar circled again as they traded memories—summer nights, basketball under bad lights, scraps of a childhood impossibly far from their current reality.

Leaning back, he asked, “Do you remember when you stole that stick I found?”

Midori snorted. “Yeah. I kept it three days. You wouldn’t talk to me until I gave it back. Then you started hitting me with it.”

Kurobane smiled but said nothing more. He almost asked about Haruka, but the words stuck.

Of course, that was when she appeared. No red track jacket this time, only a loose white tank. Kurobane’s gaze lingered on her, then tore away.

“I want to talk to you.”

Midori stiffened and rose without a word. He gave him a fleeting look—a wordless apology—before following her out.

Alone, Kurobane’s thoughts soured. The jar sagged in his hand, his throat raw from drink.

Always the same—people left, and he was left with nothing.

The thought gnawed. He drank again, harder, as if each swallow could drown it. The floor shuddered, and his head started trembling. At first he blamed the liquor. The hum deepened, rattling the walls. He staggered outside with the others. The night air bit at his skin.

Over the mountains, a plane roared across the sky.

Kurobane barely registered the woman collapsing at Shigure’s feet—except for how Shigure materialized beside her, lifting her, rubbing circles on her back. Something in that gesture—the way she leaned into him—made his jaw tighten. People gravitated to men like that. Shigure. Midori. Trusted them. Needed them.

He tipped the jar back, letting the burn wash it downstream.

━━━━━━━━━━𝑾𝑪𝑨━━━━━━━━━━

The night dulled. Voices in the house sank, laughter thinning into snores. Empty bottles and jars lay scattered. Ren hadn’t touched a drop.

His body was still a ruin under the skin, the kind of damage three years on life support had carved too deep to heal. He told himself he’d rest. But the air felt thin, the walls too close. He drifted through the passage, a ghost in his own body.

Genzo was right. The airport might be our only shot.

He’d seen it earlier: a plane cutting low over the mountains.

Our?

His eyes flicked around as if the word itself had slipped out loud. He shook it off, but it lingered. He was nearly at the door when she met his eye.

Amira. She leaned against the frame, hips swaying as she pushed off.

“Well. If it isn’t Seiryo’s own White Rabbit,” she purred. “Funny thing—for how often people avoided you, they couldn’t stop looking at you. Talking about you. Drove me crazy. Until I actually saw you, that is.” Her gaze fell on the empty sleeve. “You’re handsome, in the right light. Those scars. That arm. Makes a girl wonder…”

His stare was flat, unblinking. When he stepped to pass, she slid in front of him again.

“What’s wrong? Do girls make you nervous? Are you still a virgin? It’d be sad to die an adult virgin, wouldn’t it?”

He looked through her, as if she were nothing more than a shadow on the wall. She laughed and tapped his shoulder.

“You’re a funny guy, Hanashiro-san. You’d be surprised how often that works.”

Ren’s lips thinned.

“And the point of that was?”

“Maybe nothing.” She shrugged. “Ever heard of pointless fun? Doesn’t seem up your alley. So I wonder… What is it you want? Some people act like they’re above it all, but in the end, everyone wants something. And they’ll do anything to get it.”

“Ren?”

Reina stood behind him.

Amira’s grin faltered at the look on his face, then returned, thinner now. “Well,” she said, “I’d say you’re interrupting, but judging by our little rabbit’s reaction, maybe I’m the one who’s in the way.” She stepped back, giving him a long glance before drifting down the hall. “Goodnight.”

The silence that followed pressed heavier than the roar of the plane.

“Could… could we talk?” Reina’s voice was quiet, almost swallowed by the wind.

He nodded.

Their footsteps barely disturbed the boards.

“And where are you off to at this hour?”

They stopped short—Shion blocked the exit, arms crossed, eyes catching the faint lantern glow.

Reina faltered, fingers tightening in her sleeve.

“Out,” he said.

Shion’s head tilted.

“Enjoy yourselves. And please, be safe.”

━━━━━━━━━━𝑾𝑪𝑨━━━━━━━━━━

The air outside was cool. The farmhouse light faded behind them, nothing but a warm glow. Crickets stitched the quietness as they walked. Ahead, the great oak loomed, branches cutting against the sky.

Reina slowed at its base. She brushed her hair back and lowered herself onto the grass.

“Sit.” She patted the ground. The new cardigan she wore—too big for her frame—slipped at the sleeves. He caught the bruises on her arm.

Side by side beneath the oak, their shoulders touched whenever either shifted. He watched her from the corner of his eye—the curve of her cheek in the starlight, the faint jasmine scent that clung to her hair, the way her skirt spread across the ground.

“You know, these trees aren’t common in this area.”

He nodded. “Genzo said it was a gift from an American friend. He planted it, made sure it grew strong.”

“It’s beautiful. Feels like a dream… almost like we’re on a date.”

“If you don’t count the other stuff. How are you holding up?”

Reina’s lips parted, then pressed together. She let out a tired sigh. “I’m… not sure. I’m alive. That’s what matters, right?”

“And your sister?”

“Lilly… she isn’t doing well. She hasn’t said much. She hasn’t eaten all day. I’m scared, to be honest. Scared for her. For my family, my friends. For everyone.”

“You’re strong.” He wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to say, but he meant it. “I know you’ll be okay. And I… I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Reina twisted a strand of hair and smiled. For an instant, he swore she wanted to ask something, but she held it back.

“You know, everyone loves me.” A bitter laugh slipped out. “I know it sounds conceited, but it’s true. People are always happy to see me. But… I’m not always happy to see them. Most of the time, deep down, I hate it. With you…” She steadied herself. “You’re one of the only people I ever feel truly happy around.”

His youth had been nothing but revenge. Yet here, beneath the oak with her, some heat stirred in his chest. Her smile wasn’t for anyone else—just for him.

She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. Her breath warmed his collarbone. Her hair brushed his cheek.

“I know I pushed my way into your life,” she whispered. “I never listened when you tried to keep me at a distance. There’s something wrong with me.”

“There’s something wrong with everyone, Reina.”

Time dissolved beneath the oak. When Reina’s breathing slowed against his shoulder, he remained still.

Exhaustion crept over him. Each breath drew him deeper toward oblivion. He surrendered, the world narrowing to her warmth, then to nothing as sleep claimed him.

━━━━━━━━━━𝑾𝑪𝑨━━━━━━━━━━

The woods had grown quiet. Much too quiet. Even the cicadas had gone mute. Genzo’s lantern swung in his hand, glow spilling across the path. His joints ached with every step. Sayaka and the other man had taken the ridge trail, leaving him to loop back alone. Safer that way.

At first he thought he heard someone crying. Soft, muffled. He slowed, squinting into the dark.

There, in the clearing—two figures tangled by the trunk of a tree. His tired eyes mistook it for what he wanted to see—until the lantern light caught them.

Her clothes were torn, dirt ground into her skin. A man loomed over her, shirt hanging open, pants loose around his hips. His hair was wild, his eyes fever-bright. The woman’s hands fluttered weakly against his, her voice cracking into pleas that barely carried.

Genzo’s blood boiled. He raised the rifle, trembling hands leveling it.

“Get off of her!”

The man’s head jerked up. For a second, shock crossed his face—then melted into something pitiful. He pulled back a fraction, hands raised.

Genzo recognized him. Shinji Shigure. The man he’d invited into his home, where his daughter slept.

“Takemori-san, please,” he stammered. “It’s not what it looks like. I’ve been drinking. I’ve always had a problem. The stress—I wasn’t thinking—” He broke into sobs and staggered closer, tears streaking through dirt. “I didn’t mean it. Please. I’m not a bad man.”

“Stay back! Don’t come any closer!”

But Shigure did. Step by step, babbling, pleading.

“I’ll make it right. Please, believe me, Takemori-san.”

“I said stay back!” His finger hovered over the trigger.

In a flash, Shigure lunged. His hand clamped the barrel, wrenching it sideways with desperate strength. Genzo struggled. The lantern swung free, slipped from his grip, and shattered—oil spilling, fire blooming in the grass.

Shigure shoved hard. The rifle tore free. His back hit the ground, breath rushing from his chest. Flames spread in his periphery, sparks leaping higher with the wind.

“Stupid old man!” Shigure stumbled back, shaking. “You should’ve minded your business!”

The shot came fast.

Pain burst white-hot in Genzo’s chest. The woman sobbed, crawling back. Shigure spun on her.

“Shut up! Shut up!”

Another shot split the clearing. Her body fell.

Genzo lay sprawled, vision dimming. His blood seeped into the soil, mingling with the spreading fire. Through the haze, he watched Shigure pace, muttering, clutching the rifle.

Sayaka… My daughter…

The madman bolted into the trees. Gunfire split the night, each shot wilder than the last. His screams ripped between them. “Infected! Infected!” he shouted, the sound tearing through the trees.

The echoes carried, joined by the crackle of flames. And somewhere in the distance, the woods answered.