What You Carry III

Sakura found her pacing outside the makeshift infirmary.

“She’s resting now,” she told her, glancing back at the curtained doorway, something unspoken shadowing her tired features. With a subtle roll of her shoulders, she shifted the rifle’s weight. “You should too.”

Her boots whispered across cracked tile as she walked away. Light glanced off the weapon slung across her back, drawing Haruka’s attention until her fingers brushed the pistol at her thigh.

“Keep your grip firm, Haru.” Her father’s voice slid through memory. “A gun isn’t for scaring. It’s for finishing.”

Her grandfather’s lessons had been the same—weekends at the range by the river, the sharp report of gunfire ricocheting off water. Her mother would tag along sometimes, arms crossed, hiding her smile when she hit the center of a target.

Haruka exhaled slowly, watching ghosts of her past dissolve into the mall’s stagnant air. Distant voices carried from the atrium—survivors murmuring too softly to make out.

Mizuhana Mall had become unrecognizable. The banners, the music, the perfume counters—all gone. Tarps hung from railings, tents clustered around the decorative globe, and the same sour stench she was slowly growing numb to lingered in the air.

She wandered through the ruins, each step stirring dust and glass. Stories clung to every shadow—stories she had no wish to know. Her thoughts leapt between fragments: her father and grandfather, Kuro’s face when he killed Yuka, Shigure’s vile smirk, and Ren—the bridge.

Concrete twisting like heated metal, the absurdity of it. Him standing there as it collapsed, as if the world itself had obeyed him. It was ridiculous. She’d been running on fear and adrenaline, her mind inventing monsters.

Yet the image wouldn’t fade.

It had always unsettled her—the way Ren had simply appeared in their lives. One day her mother was saying his name like an old family friend; the next, he was in their kitchen—quiet, polite, perfectly at ease.

At the time, she hadn’t thought much of it. Despite his unusual looks he never caused trouble. He helped when asked, listened more than he spoke, and smiled in that distant way that hid more than it revealed.

When he enrolled at Seiryo, she’d brushed it off as her family helping him get a new start. She treated him like anyone else and eventually stopped wondering where he came from.

But now, in this hollowed-out mall with death stalking every corridor, her mind circled back to those questions. The way he’d appeared from nowhere. The way her family had accepted him without hesitation. That eerie glow behind his eyes. Thoughts she’d once dismissed crept back.

Runaway? Test subject? A bitter smile tugged at her mouth. Pure manga nonsense. What am I even thinking? Some experiment? An alien? She nearly laughed. Maybe next she’d start believing he was cursed.

Shaking her head, she moved into a corridor where half the fluorescent lights had surrendered. Her fingertips ghosted along the pistol’s grip, tracing its familiar shape for comfort.

A voice ripped through the quiet. “I’ve had enough of you digging around! Remember your place before someone has to remind you of it!”

The words cracked like a whip, echoing from a storefront ahead. A moment later, Shigure emerged—shoulders tight, rage flickering before vanishing behind a polished mask. A slow, practiced grin unfurled. “Well,” he said, tone dripping contempt. “Enjoying the show? Sorry, but the theater’s closed.”

He slammed a shoulder into hers as he passed, knocking her off balance. The faint trace of cologne clung to him. Heat surged through her chest, fingers on her weapon before she realized it—then a hand on her arm stopped her.

Amira. Her expression was taut with anger, but her eyes pleaded. “Let it go,” she said quietly. “He’s baiting you.”

Haruka’s teeth ground together until something tore in her mouth. Copper filled her tongue. “Scum,” she hissed. “Why are you even talking to him? What was that about?”

Amira exhaled—a sound that carried more fatigue than air. “Come with me.”

The abandoned clothing store swallowed them whole. Mannequins sprawled across the floor, limbs twisted at grotesque angles. Behind a jewelry counter, where sunlight fractured through a spiderwebbed pane, she stopped.

“Haruka Sumire,” she said, leaning against stained wallpaper. “This was never really about you.”

“Tell me what you know.”

“More than I’d like to,” Amira replied. “You’re just one thread in his web. There were others—classmates, teachers, even the dean with his gambling problem.” Her voice dropped. “Most of them are probably corpses by now.”

“He never controlled me,” Haruka remarked. “He’s poison in a designer jacket. And I was this close to exposing him.”

Amira’s mouth curved in a humorless smile. “You were close. But have you ever asked yourself why you’re his favorite target?”

“It’s my dad, isn’t it?”

“Shigure and I share a father,” Amira said, each word measured, as if she were pouring acid. “Half-siblings. His mother got the wedding. My mother got the affair. Our father ran with dangerous men—yakuza ties, bribes, money laundering. When one of those bosses finally faced charges, your father—the police chief—made sure the evidence stuck. The boss went to prison. Your dad became a hero.”

“His sudden resignation…”

Amira nodded. “Our father lost everything. He blamed yours until the day he died. That grudge—he passed it on to Shigure.”

Haruka’s nails bit into her palms. “Months of threats and mind games—all because my dad upheld the law?”

“What can I say? We share blood, not loyalty. To him, we were just a stain he couldn’t wash away.”

“And yet you wore his money like a second skin. What were you two arguing about?”

“I won’t pretend I didn’t take what I could,” Amira said softly. “But there are lines even I won’t cross.”

Her hands trembled—Haruka caught it.

“What line?”

Amira’s gaze flicked toward the door. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely there. “I knew he was a bastard. But he’s gone too far…”

Haruka stepped closer. “What did he do?”

“The fire. Everything falling apart.” Her throat worked visibly. Her next breath came ragged, as if even saying it out loud cost her something she couldn’t spare. “It was because of him.”

━━━━━━━━━━𝑾𝑪𝑨━━━━━━━━━━

Leaves rustled overhead, stirring beneath the fractured skylight where the mall’s trees still clung to life. On a blanket worn thin with age, Reina sat cross-legged while Lilly’s head rested in her lap. She threaded her fingers gently through her sister’s hair.

“Try to sleep,” Reina murmured.

“I will,” Lilly said, voice faint. “It’s easier now. Knowing you’re here.”

Reina’s mouth curved slightly.

Deeper in the mall, pipes moaned and footsteps faded away. The air smelled faintly of potting soil—the stubborn plants still alive, refusing to die. It almost smelled like home.

Home. The dinners. The clinking glasses. Her parents’ smiles—so sharp they could cut. She’d spent years perfecting the act: polished, pleasant, untouchable. The perfect daughter who said the right thing, laughed on cue, and buried her real thoughts beneath careful charm. Kindness had become her disguise—and her penance.

She’d told Ren that. Told him more than she’d ever told anyone.

Ren.

The memory hit hard: his expression wild, voice trembling—“I’m from another world!”

It sounded insane, the kind of thing she’d teased Lilly for believing in her fantasy novels. And yet… she couldn’t unsee it: Tomoe’s headless body. Genji’s remains smeared across the doorframe. And Ren—drenched in red, eyes molten and calm, detached. Like he’d only returned to what he truly was.

Reina’s chest tightened. She didn’t realize she’d stopped breathing until Lilly stirred.

“Are you alright?” her sister’s voice floated up, drowsy but concerned.

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About?”

Lilly’s eyes searched her face.

“Everything,” Reina whispered, resuming the slow rhythm of her hand through her sister’s hair. “We got lucky. Again.”

Lilly shook her head lightly against her lap. “Not just luck. Makabe-san saved me. We’re with good people.”

Reina’s gaze drifted toward the cracked skylight. “You’re right,” she said softly. “It wasn’t just luck.”

Ren walking beside her through crowded halls; his quiet patience during late nights, his low laugh when he teased her. That same face, later, splattered with blood.

“Reina?”

“Hm?”

“You stopped.”

She smiled faintly and combed another lock through her fingers. The repetition soothed them both. Soon, Lilly’s breathing deepened, her hand sliding from Reina’s arm to the blanket below, fingers uncurling like petals at dusk.

Reina stayed still, eyes lifted to the trembling canopy. Every so often, the leaves caught a stray breeze. A single leaf caught the light, spinning lazily before settling near her.

Another world…

She tucked a loose strand behind Lilly’s ear. “No more half-truths,” she whispered.