What You Carry IV

Not a sound disturbed the abandoned theater. In the darkness, row after row of vacant seats faded into shadow like church pews long forsaken by their congregation. Dust hung suspended, drifting through the pale beams that cut down from the dim lights above.

Halfway down the center aisle, Kurobane hunched forward, elbows digging into his thighs as he stared at the empty screen. His mother—probably crushed beneath concrete somewhere in the ruins of what used to be home. His eyes burned dry; there were no tears left to give.

The moment replayed in his mind: Midori’s fingers sliding between Haruka’s, her palm turning to meet his without hesitation. The way she’d leaned into him, their shoulders touching with a familiarity that spoke of countless moments he’d never witnessed.

Something should have ignited inside him—some primal fury to burn against the unfairness of it all. Instead, each spark of anger only circled back, illuminating the one truth he couldn’t escape.

He couldn’t forget how the knife had felt—heavy at first, then suddenly weightless as it broke through. The sound still echoed in his ears, wet and final. Worst of all was her gaze finding his one last time, the corners of her mouth almost lifting—as if he’d given her exactly what she wanted.

Footsteps broke the silence. Kurobane wiped his face with his palm.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Midori’s voice carried across the theater. “This is the fourth place I checked. I almost gave up.”

He said nothing, tracking Midori’s approach down the center aisle. The vacant seat beside Kurobane groaned as Midori settled into it.

“Kind of peaceful,” Midori murmured. “Good place to think.”

Kurobane kept his eyes on the screen, refusing to meet his gaze. A long pause stretched between heartbeats.

“Talk to me, man,” Midori said, voice barely carrying. “Like you used to. What’s going on in there?”

He finally turned his head. “Someone died by my hand today. You figure out the rest.”

Midori’s lips parted, then pressed together in a bloodless line. The emergency light above pulsed red at steady intervals, marking seconds neither wanted to count.

Kurobane’s next words dropped to a whisper. “Tell me—how long?”

Midori frowned. “How long what?”

“You know exactly what I’m asking. You and Haruka. Since when?”

Midori worried his bottom lip. “Just this week… if you’re asking about us being together.” A pause. “But we’d been seeing each other a while before that—”

A muscle twitched beneath Kurobane’s eye.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Midori snapped, voice low but sharp. “We’re not children anymore, Kurobane. That promise—it was made by kids playing at forever. And you—” He leaned forward. “You could’ve had her. It’s too late now.”

Something flared behind Kurobane’s eyes, a heat spreading across his face.

“That look won’t work on me,” Midori said, his tone hardening. “I looked for you so we could talk. And here you are, same as always. Drowning in your own misery.”

The rage erupted before he could stop it. His hand shot out, twisting into Midori’s shirt and dragging him forward until their foreheads nearly touched. His breath came in ragged bursts, lips drawn back from his teeth.

Midori didn’t flinch. “Go ahead. What’s one more act of violence at the end of everything?”

Something flickered in Kurobane’s vision—not the man before him, but a gap-toothed boy with sun-browned skin, brandishing a stick, laughing as he declared himself the hero of their made-up world.

The fury drained out of him like blood from a wound. His grip slackened, and he collapsed back into the seat, chest heaving.

“That stick…”

Midori’s brow furrowed.

“You always got to be the hero,” he whispered, eyes fixed on the blank screen. “I always hated that.”

Above them, the emergency light flickered once, then died, plunging the theater into deeper shadow.

━━━━━━━━━━𝑾𝑪𝑨━━━━━━━━━━

Mizuhana Mall stood silent beneath the weight of night. Moonlight filtered through the fractured glass dome overhead, casting spiderweb shadows across the atrium floor.

The third-floor balcony offered a panoramic view of the plaza below, where survivors gathered in huddled clusters like islands in a dark sea. At the focal point stood Aki—sleeves rolled, forearms tensed with purpose—as she conferred in hushed tones with Haruka, Midori, and several others.

Off to the side, Reina sat with Lilly and Haruto, the boy trembling even from this distance. A single floodlamp cast their figures in soft relief against the darkness.

Ren gripped the railing, stomach tight with anticipation for whatever news was coming.

Movement near the stairwell caught his eye. From the shadows emerged a woman—tall and elegant, moving with measured precision. The generator’s weak yellow glow traced the edge of her long skirt and dark hair. A knife glinted once at her hip before vanishing back into shadow.

She spoke his name like a spell. “Hanashiro-san.”

“Just Ren is fine,” he said, shoulders loosening slightly. “All those formalities—I never quite got the hang of them.”

Her smile widened, eyes glinting. “May I?” She nodded to the space beside him overlooking the atrium.

Ren gestured. “Go ahead.”

Shion joined him at the railing, surveying the gathering below with careful attention. Her height surprised him—nearly eye-level, rare for most women he’d met. A faint sweetness hung between them that reminded him of cotton candy.

“There’s something admirable about you, Ren.”

His name lingered on her lips a moment too long, as if she were tasting it after years of silence.

He turned, brow creasing. “What exactly are you getting at?”

“You have the most beautiful eyes,” she said simply. “As for what makes me say that…” She tilted her head. “I wouldn’t know where to begin. If you’ll indulge me, I’d like to share something.”

He said nothing, and she took that as his consent.

“I’ve been observing you. That probably sounds unsettling,” she said, almost amused. “I notice things other people miss. My father made sure of that.”

Voices from below rose and fell like distant waves.

“My family wasn’t what you’d call normal. But I’m grateful for what I learned—how to see beneath the surface, how to endure.” Her face tilted upward toward the shattered dome, moonlight turning her features to silver. “Most people believe in order. It’s a farce. Wear the right face and nothing is forbidden. People lie. They wear masks. Except you. You’re authentic.”

Ren’s grip tightened on the railing.

“That’s what draws me to you,” Shion murmured. “You remind me what it means to be awake in a world still asleep.”

“You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “Why hide it? We’re the same, Ren. Like calls to like.” Her lips curved upward. “The world ended,” she said softly, “and yet here we are. Together. Exactly as we should be.”

Ren opened his mouth, uncertain what would come out.

Then Aki’s voice cut through.

“Everyone, gather around! Important announcement!”

His attention snapped downward. Aki stood beneath the shattered dome, moonlight spilling around her. Shion’s eyes lingered on his profile for one heartbeat more before sliding away.

Aki cleared her throat, her voice carrying just above the hum of the generators.

“Look at you all. Still here. You fought. You refused to lie down and die.”

She scanned the faces before her, shoulders squared beneath the weight of what she had to say next.

“A few days ago, someone came to us from outside the city. He brought news from the airport base. He’s agreed to speak with you now.”

A man emerged beside her, his military jacket hanging loose on his frame. Light caught one side of his face, leaving the other in darkness, the insignia on his shoulder almost gone. He swallowed before addressing them.

“Sergeant Tatsuo Narasaki,” he said. “Former evacuation coordinator at Hanamizu Airfield. I’ll be direct. There’s been no communication from any outposts beyond city limits. Japan Self-Defense Forces have abandoned inland positions and retreated to coastal strongholds.”

The crowd erupted in a wave of whispers.

“The evacuation plans have been terminated,” Narasaki continued, each word measured and heavy. “All military support has been withdrawn. Hanamizu has been designated for complete aerial incineration. Scheduled for execution in under forty-eight hours. The blast radius will encompass the entire quarantine zone. Survival within the boundary is… unlikely.”