What Lies Ahead VII

Kurobane folded his legs beneath him on the tatami, 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 like a splinter. After a while, he got up and left.

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 tightened. 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.

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

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?” Kurobane smirked. “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.”

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

“It’s awful.”

“Effective, though.”

They passed it back and forth.

“Midori. About the clearing. And back at the school. 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…”

“You know I’m right. 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?”

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

Midori chuckled. “Listen to yourself. And I’m the one with the hero complex.”

The jar circled again as they traded old memories—summer nights, basketball under bad lights, scraps of a childhood impossibly far from their current reality. Leaning back, Kurobane 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 flicked to her, then away.

“We need to talk.”

Midori stiffened, then 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, the whole house trembling. At first he blamed the liquor. Then the hum deepened, rattling the walls as it drew nearer. 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 Kurobane’s jaw tighten. People gravitated to men like Shigure, like Midori. Trusted them. Needed them.

That old restlessness hummed beneath his skin like a tuning fork struck against bone. He tipped the jar back, letting the burn wash it downstream.

━━━━━━━━━━𝑾𝑪𝑨━━━━━━━━━━

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

Two days without rest dragged at him, heavier than the nights at Seiryo. 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. He froze. 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 talking about you. Drove me crazy. Until I actually saw you.” Her gaze lingered on his face and the empty sleeve. “You’re handsome, in the right light. Those scars. That arm. Makes a girl wonder.”

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

“What’s wrong? Do girls make you nervous?” Her grin widened. “Are you still a virgin? It’d be sad to die like that, 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…” Her grin thinned. “What is it you want? Some people act like they’re above it all, but in the end, everyone wants something.”

He was about to answer when another voice cut through. Soft. Hesitant. “R-Ren?”

Reina stood behind him, hand clutching her sleeve.

Amira’s grin faltered, 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 in the way.” She stepped back, giving Ren a long glance before drifting down the hall. “Goodnight, you two.”

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

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

Ren nodded once. She turned toward the door. 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.”

The air outside was cool, sharp with the scent of grass and damp earth. 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 like black veins.

Reina slowed at its base. She brushed her hair back and lowered herself onto the grass. “Sit.” She patted the ground. The cardigan she wore—too big for her frame—slipped at the sleeves. Ren’s gaze caught the bruises on her arm. He eased down. They sat together, shoulders brushing, the night alive with small sounds. The sight of her—the cardigan loose, the skirt pooling in the grass—stirred something he didn’t have words for.

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

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

Starlight flickered in her eyes. “It’s beautiful tonight. Feels like a dream… almost like we’re on a date.”

He snorted faintly. “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.”

“And your sister?”

“Lilly 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…” He hesitated. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

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

“You know… everyone loves me.” A quiet 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, warmth stirred in his chest. Her smile wasn’t for anyone else—just for him.

Reina 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, Ren remained still. Exhaustion crept over him like a shadow. 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. Too quiet. Even the cicadas had gone still. 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, blank 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… I’ve been drinking. I’ve always had a problem. The stress—I wasn’t thinking—” His words broke into sobs. He staggered closer, tears streaking through dirt. “I didn’t mean it. Please. I’m not a bad man.”

“Stay back.” Genzo’s grip tightened. “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.” Genzo’s voice cracked. 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. Genzo’s 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, the weapon 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 still.

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

Sayaka…

Shigure 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 racing through the grass. And somewhere in the distance, the woods answered.