After the rain

Kumi didn’t have the strength to walk. Her legs shook just from standing at the rail. She willed into being a cloud as big as her that gathered under her feet. She let herself drop onto it, every muscle trembling, and told it to drift. The hill slid away beneath her. The drowned Kaen husk shrank to a dark lump on the slope. Sirens wailed somewhere behind her, but she didn’t turn back. By the time she reached her own street, the sky had calmed to an ordinary grey drizzle. The cloud sagged under her weight. Kumi forced herself upright, then half‑slid, half‑rolled off the misty surface onto the pavement. The cloud unravelled as soon as her feet left it, fading into thin air.

“Kumi!” Yuna and Rin were waiting outside her house, huddled together on the front step. They sprinted toward her the second she appeared. “You’re okay!” they cried together, crashing into her with a hug that nearly knocked her over.

“You guys came all the way here?” Kumi managed, dazed. “I literally sent you home.”

“Yeah, well, we’re bad at listening,” Rin said, voice thick. The front door slammed open.

“Kumi!” Dad stumbled out onto the path, tie loose, slippers half on. His face was whiter than the gravel under the streetlights. “I’ve been so worried.” He pulled her into his arms, squeezing so tight it hurt. Kumi sagged against him, fingers bunching in the back of his shirt, letting his warmth and the solid thump of his heart convince her the world wasn’t about to wash away after all.

“Hello, Mr Amaya,” Yuna and Rin said in unison, edges of their usual politeness frayed with relief.

“Where are your raincoats? You girls are all soaked,” he said, noticing them properly. “Come inside. All of you. You’ll catch your deaths out here.” He ushered them in, one warm hand never leaving Kumi’s shoulder.

The three girls huddled on the couch, wrapped in damp blankets around the hissing gas heater. Steam curled off their sleeves. In the kitchen, a kettle began to whistle. Cupboards thudded and plates clinked as Mr Amaya rummaged for something to serve on a plate. Something smashed – sharp, shattering ceramic.

“That rain was something, wasn’t it, girls?” Mr Amaya called, voice a little too bright. “Sorted out those Kaen proper.” A drawer slammed a little too loud.

“Hey, Kumi.” Yuna whispered, the heater’s glow striping her face. “Does your dad know?”

“No,” Kumi said.

“Are you going to?” Rin asked.

“I don’t know.” She shrugged out of the blanket, leaning forward and propping her head on her arms, eyes fixed on the bars of orange light. Mr Amaya came in with a tray. Three mismatched mugs rattled as he set them down.

“Tea,” he said. “That ought to warm you girls up.” He disappeared for a moment, then returned with a half-open packet, tipping a small avalanche of butter cookies onto the tray to complete the package.

“Mr Amaya, how was your day?” Yuna asked, sitting up.

“Well, you know. Same old.” He sank into the armchair opposite them, rubbing his thumb around the rim of his mug. “It’s been tough without Kumi’s mother, but we’re getting by. Aren’t we, Kumi?” A noncommittal hum slipped out of her. She didn’t look up. He gave a small, tired laugh. “At this point, I’m just grateful to be alive. That boy, Hiro, really is amazing. We owe him our lives.” His gaze settled on Kumi and stayed there before turning to the others. “It must be nice to have him in the same class as you,” he said, beckoning to Yuna and Rin.

“Yeah, he’s cool,” Rin said.

“A little different, maybe,” Yuna added, fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. Kumi didn’t say a word.

“He’s a good boy.” Mr Amaya’s voice warmed on the word. Kumi’s fingers tightened on her mug. The heater ticked. “Oh no, Yuna, dear. What happened to your arm?” Mr Amaya leaned forward, frowning as he finally noticed her bandage.

“Uh… I fell,” Yuna said, tucking her arm in close. He hesitated, then sat back.

“You girls need to be more careful,” he muttered, half to himself.

Later, he stood at the door, slippers just inside the genkan, waving as the girls stepped out into the night. The rain had settled into a fine, steady curtain, beading on their borrowed umbrellas.

“Message Kumi when you get home,” he called. “Both of you. I mean it.”

“We will,” Rin said, giving an exaggerated salute before jogging after Yuna down the street. Their voices faded into the damp air. The door clicked shut behind them with a soft, final sound.

“I don’t think I’m getting by, Dad.” He turned. Kumi still stood in the hallway, shoes off but not moved from the threshold, the dull porch light turning the raindrops in her hair into tiny sparks.

“Kumi?” His hand hovered halfway to her shoulder and stopped. “What do you mean?” She stared past him at the rain-blurred street through the frosted glass.

“Do you like the rain, Dad?” He followed her gaze. Outside, water streaked down the glass in thin, wavering lines.

“It keeps Kaen away, doesn’t it?” he said after a moment. “If it had rained that day, we wouldn’t have lost your mother.”

“I hate the rain.” The sound of it outside surged, drumming harder on pavement and eaves before settling again. Kumi’s hands hung stiff at her sides, fingertips trembling. She called in early for the night, trudging up to her room and collapsing onto the bed. Her bag hit the wall with a thud.

The next thing she knew, a faint scrape jerked her upright. Her eyes snapped to the window. A shape clung to the glass, backlit by the streetlamp’s glow: long arms splayed wide, hunched shoulders taut, head wreathed in low, flickering flames. A Kaen.

It hauled itself over the sill as if the wall weren’t there at all and stepped into her room. Its body was much smaller than the ones from the hill, about her height, but still all fire and shadow, its edges blurring with heat. Kumi scrambled back against the headboard, heart banging in her chest. She flung her hand out, reaching for the nearest pocket of moisture to turn into a weapon. The Kaen flinched, throwing up both arms to shield its face.

“No, Ms Amaya, please!” it blurted. The voice was familiar. “It’s me. Hiro.” The fire didn’t move like the others’. It wrapped around him, clinging close, more like a cloak than a body. Through the gaps, she could just make out the suggestion of a human shape.

“What are you doing here?” Kumi demanded. Her hand stayed raised, fingers tense. “And how long have you been a Kaen?” Hiro edged one step closer. Kumi’s grip on the air tightened; he froze, hands shooting up again. “Stay back!”

“Yes, okay. As you wish,” he said quickly. The flames around his face fluttered, uncertain. “Please, I just came to reclaim the fire token.”

“The what?”

“When you left,” he said, a little breathless, “you must have picked up a small red gem. It’s very important that you give it back to me.” Kumi’s skin crawled.

“How do you know I have it?” she asked. Hiro lifted one arm and pointed carefully, like he was afraid any sudden movement would set her off.

“Please do not play coy with me. It’s been missing since I last saw you,” he said. “It is in your bag. I can hear it calling to me.” Kumi narrowed her eyes but picked herself off the bed and stepped slowly towards her bag. She rummaged through it and pulled out the smooth stone – still warm between her fingers. It pulsed faintly like a heart was trapped inside. That was new.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It’s a great treasure of mine,” he said. The fire around his chest flickered low, like a sigh. “More than that, I cannot say.” He looked small, hunched in the glow, more lost than monstrous. Kumi weighed the stone in her palm for a long second. The image of him on the playground, glowing red like a Kaen, flashed through her mind. So did the drowned husk at the hill’s base. She tossed the gem at him anyway.

Hiro caught it in both hands. The moment his fingers closed around it, the flames snapped inward. They folded into the stone like threads being reeled back onto a spool. Slowly, the stone sank into his palm, dissolving into his skin as firelight bled through his veins. In a blink, he was just a boy again, standing in the middle of her bedroom – hair drying instantly to soft spikes, school shirt pristine despite the heat, shoes leaving no trace on the floorboards. He swayed once, then straightened.

“So,” Kumi started. “You’ve been lying to everyone about being human?” Hiro hesitated. His thumb stroked the surface of the stone, almost unconsciously.

“I didn’t need to lie. No one asked.”

“But you didn’t tell them you were a Kaen.”

“That is correct,” his voice dropped quieter. Kumi’s fingers twitched at her sides. “But I’ve only been protecting you from the others!” he hurried on. “I am the only one keeping them from scorching your surface world.” He jerked his chin toward the window, toward the city. “I do it for everyone’s sake but my own.”

“You think they’d still like you if they knew what you were?” Kumi asked.

“I have no bad intentions. I can only hope the people see that and look past what I am.” He lifted his gaze to hers. There was no ember‑red glow now, just tired brown eyes.

“Was that enough of an answer to your question?” he asked. “Because I have one of my own.” Kumi folded her arms.

“Shoot.”

“Where do you get your powers from?” Hiro said. “Do you have some kind of wind token?”

“No. Some creepy guy on a hill let me wish for it.” Kumi snorted. Hiro blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“I answered your question,” Kumi said. He opened his mouth, closed it again, then shook his head once, as if filing that away for later.

“In any case,” he said, straightening a little, “I thank you for protecting the city in my absence. I believe it would be best for you to keep it raining in order to deter further Kaen attacks.” He turned toward the window. “I know you’re angry with me,” he said, pausing with one foot on the sill. “But please don’t repeat what you’ve seen today to anyone.”

“I’ll talk to Rin and Yuna.” Hiro nodded and prepared to leave in a blaze.

“Wait,” Kumi blurted.

He half‑turned, one hand steadying himself on the frame.

“I’m… sorry I hit you,” she said, face down, staring at the floorboards as if they might swallow her words. Hiro exhaled slowly. “I don't get it. If you’re a Kaen, then why do you do it? And how do you fight those things all on your own?”

“I told you before, Ms Amaya,” he said. “Your safety is my responsibility.” A faint, tired smile tugged at his mouth. “I graciously accept your apology.” Before she could think of anything else to say, he stepped up onto the sill. Sparks flickered around his feet, then climbed, wrapping him in a brief swirl of orange. He leapt up, a streak of light vanishing into the unforgiving rain outside.