The One Who Walks Beside Me

Haruto kept running.

His breath broke in his chest, the night air burning his lungs as streetlights passed above him.

"I'm sorry…" he whispered.
"I'm sorry for lying to you, Big Brother."

His voice cracked.

"I was crying," he said quietly. "I really was."

He slowed when the familiar wooden sign came into view.

Warm light spilled onto the street as he pushed the door open.

A small chime rang.

Behind the counter, Yuji looked up.

Haruto lowered his head slightly.

"…Yuji-san."

Yuji paused, eyes settling on him for a second longer than usual.
"You're out late," Yuji said.

"I was hungry," Haruto replied.

Yuji didn't question it.
"Sit."

Haruto took a seat near the wall.

From the back of the restaurant, footsteps approached.

"…Haruto?"

Miri stopped when she saw him.

"You look awful," she said honestly, then softened her tone. "Did something happen?"

Haruto stared at the table.
"…Nothing."

Miri didn't push. She leaned against the counter instead, watching him quietly.

Yuji set a bowl down in front of him.
"Eat first," he said.

Haruto picked up the spoon.

The warmth seeped slowly into his hands.

For the first time since leaving home, his shoulders dropped—just a little.

This place was the same.

And for now… that was enough.

Yuji watched Haruto eat in silence for a while.

Then he spoke, voice low and steady.

"This morning," Yuji said, "I saw Ayame."

Haruto's spoon paused.

"She was carrying you on her back," Yuji continued. "You were bleeding."

Haruto didn't look up.

Yuji turned fully toward him now.
"What happened?"

Haruto stared at the bowl, appetite suddenly gone.

"…I don't know," he said after a moment.

Miri straightened slightly.

"You don't know?" she asked.

Haruto shook his head slowly.
"My head hurts. Things feel mixed up."

Yuji didn't interrupt.

"All I remember," Haruto went on, voice quiet, "is running… then falling. Ayame was there. She kept telling me to hold on."

His grip tightened around the spoon.

"She shouldn't have carried me," he muttered. "She got hurt because of me."

Yuji exhaled slowly.

"That girl," he said, "has always been stubborn."

Miri crossed her arms.
"She wouldn't leave you. Not ever."

Haruto swallowed.

"…I know."

Yuji leaned his elbows on the counter.
"Hunters were seen nearby today," he said carefully. "More than usual."

Haruto's eyes flickered.

"You sensed something, didn't you?" Yuji asked.

Haruto didn't answer right away.

"…It felt like before," he said finally. "Four years ago."

The room went still.

Miri glanced at her father.
"That's not good," she murmured.

Yuji's gaze hardened—not with anger, but with concern.

"Finish eating," he said. "After that, we'll talk."

Haruto nodded faintly.

But the heaviness in his chest didn't ease.

Whatever followed him from the past…
it hadn't let go yet.

Yuji watched Haruto for a long moment, then spoke.

"Why did you even come here?" Yuji asked.
"You should've stayed home."

Haruto's jaw tightened.

"I didn't want to," he said.

Yuji raised an eyebrow.
"And why is that?"

Haruto finally looked up.

"…You know I'm not the only one who got hurt," he said quietly.
"Ayame was hurt too."

Yuji didn't interrupt.

"And you already know Kaito," Haruto went on.
"He'll stay by her side. He always does."

Miri shifted uncomfortably.

Yuji frowned slightly.
"That doesn't mean you don't matter."

Haruto let out a short, bitter laugh.

"Doesn't it?"

He set the spoon down.

"From the beginning," he said, "it's always been Ayame first. If she cries, everyone moves. If she's hurt, everyone panics."

He glanced away.

"If I'm hurt, they tell me to be quiet."

Miri opened her mouth, then closed it again.

"Kaito doesn't hate me," Haruto said. "That's not it."

Yuji nodded slowly.
"Then what is it?"

Haruto hesitated.

"…He just doesn't see me the same way," he said.
"To him, Ayame is someone to protect."

"And you?" Yuji asked.

Haruto's fingers curled slightly.

"I'm just… there."

The words hung heavy in the air.

"He doesn't mean to," Haruto added quickly, almost defending him.
"But it shows. It always has."

Miri frowned.
"You're wrong," she said softly. "He worries about you too."

Haruto shook his head.

"Not like her," he replied.
"Never like her."

Yuji's voice lowered.
"That kind of thinking will eat you alive."

Haruto looked up, eyes tired but sharp.

"I'm not thinking," he said.
"I'm noticing."

Silence filled the restaurant.

Yuji finally spoke again.
"You ran here because you didn't want to sit in a place where you feel invisible."

Haruto didn't deny it.

"…I just wanted to be somewhere neutral," he said.
"Somewhere I'm not someone's responsibility—or someone's afterthought."

Miri looked at him, eyes softer now.

"You're not invisible here," she said.

Yuji nodded.
"And you never were to your father."

Haruto's throat tightened.

"…I know," he whispered.

For a moment, the noise of the outside world faded.

But the problem wasn't gone.

It was just waiting—
back home,
with a brother who didn't realize how deep the distance had grown.

Haruto's voice dropped.

"It always feels like Kaito chose Ayame," he said quietly.
"And I chose Mom and Dad."

Yuji's expression tightened.

Haruto kept going, words slow, heavy.

"And Mom and Dad… died."

The room felt smaller.

Miri's hands clenched at her sides.

"Sometimes," Haruto continued, staring at the table, "I even thought it was my problem."

Yuji frowned.
"Haruto—"

"Because they loved me," Haruto said, cutting in softly.
"And one by one… they died."

His fingers trembled slightly as he pressed them together.

"I know it sounds stupid," he muttered.
"I know it doesn't make sense."

Yuji stepped closer, voice firm but calm.
"It doesn't make it stupid."

Haruto swallowed.

"There were times," he said, "when I thought… maybe if I wasn't there, they wouldn't have stayed. Maybe they wouldn't have gone."

Miri's eyes widened.
"That's not—"

"I know," Haruto said quickly. "I know it's not true."

He exhaled shakily.

"But when you're the one left behind," he added, "your head doesn't care about logic."

Yuji placed a hand on the counter, grounding himself.

"Listen to me," Yuji said.
"People don't die because they love someone. They die because of the world they live in."

Haruto didn't respond, but his shoulders shook once.

"And your parents," Yuji continued, "chose you. Every single day."

Silence followed.

Haruto wiped his face roughly with his sleeve.

"…That's why I didn't want to go home," he admitted.
"Not today."

Yuji nodded slowly.

"That makes sense," he said.
"But running doesn't mean you don't belong."

Haruto looked up at him.

"…Then why does it feel like I'm always the one left?"

No one answered immediately.

Because sometimes,
the hardest truth
is that being loved
doesn't always feel like being held.

The living room had gone calm, but not peaceful.

Ayame sat quietly, hands folded in her lap.
Kaito stood nearby, still restless.

She looked up at him.

"Kaito…" she said softly.
"Do you remember that day?"

He glanced at her. "Which day?"

"The day Haruto went out with Dad," she continued.
"And we stayed home with Mom."

Kaito's expression shifted slightly.

"You remember what Mom said, right?" Ayame asked.
"That… we're siblings."

Kaito let out a small breath.
"So…?"

Ayame hesitated.

She knew that tone.
She knew where this was going.

Her fingers tightened, then she slowly stood up, reaching for Akari's arm for support.

"Big sister," Ayame said quietly, changing the subject, "I'm hungry."

Akari immediately nodded.
"Come," she said gently.

She guided Ayame to the table, sat her down, and served her food carefully.

Then Akari looked back at Kaito.
"Go change your clothes and come," she said. "Food will get cold."

Kaito hesitated, then turned and walked away without another word.

Raijin picked up his coat near the door.

"I'm heading back," he said calmly.
"If anything serious happens, inform me."

Renjiro nodded.
"I will."

The door closed behind Raijin.

The house felt heavier after that.

Akari sat beside Ayame, watching her eat slowly.

Renjiro leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes distant.

After a while, Ayame spoke again—very quietly.

"…Haruto didn't come back yet, did he?"

No one answered immediately.

Akari forced a gentle smile.
"He will," she said. "Eat properly."

Ayame nodded, but her gaze drifted toward the staircase.

Somewhere far from there, Haruto was sitting under different lights, carrying thoughts no one in this house could hear.

And inside these walls,
everyone felt it—

something had shifted,
and pretending otherwise
was getting harder by the minute.

Footsteps came down the stairs.

Kaito entered the living room, a little slower than usual.

Akari glanced up.
"You came late from academy today," she said. "What took you so long?"

Kaito paused.

"Uh…" he scratched the back of his neck. "I was just roaming around."

His voice sounded normal—but his face didn't.

He looked unsettled. Not tired. Not distracted.
Scared.

No one pointed it out.

Renjiro noticed.
Ayame noticed.
Akari noticed.

But no one spoke.

They all sat down.

Plates clinked softly.
Food was served.

Everyone started eating—quietly, mechanically—like speaking might crack something open they didn't know how to fix.

The house felt full, yet incomplete.

In the restaurant, Haruto sat with his hands wrapped around the warm bowl, no longer eating.

Yuji wiped the counter slowly, his eyes never leaving him.

"You know," Yuji said at last, "your father used to sit like that too."

Haruto looked up slightly.

"When he felt cornered," Yuji continued, "he'd go quiet. Like the world got too loud."

Miri leaned against the doorway, listening.

Haruto let out a breath.
"I don't want to be loud," he said. "I just don't want to feel… wrong."

Yuji nodded.
"You're not wrong."

Haruto's lips pressed together.

"…Kaito's different lately," he added. "Or maybe he always was. I just started noticing."

Miri spoke gently.
"He's scared."

Haruto looked at her.

"People act strange when they're scared," she said. "Sometimes they protect the thing they think they can lose."

Haruto's grip tightened slightly.

"And what about the things they already lost?" he asked.

Yuji answered this time.

"Those are the ones they don't know how to face."

Silence settled again.

Haruto finally stood, pushing the chair back.

"Thanks, Yuji-san," he said. "For the food."

Yuji nodded.
"Anytime. You know that."

Miri watched him closely.
"Don't disappear too long," she said.

Haruto gave a faint, tired smile.
"I'll try."

As he reached the door, Yuji spoke again, voice steady but firm.

"Haruto," he said. "Go home."

Haruto paused.

He didn't turn around—
but he nodded once.

Then he stepped outside.

The night air wrapped around him—cool, quiet.

Somewhere behind him was a house full of people who loved him but didn't know how to reach him.

And somewhere ahead…
something was still waiting.

The night air wrapped around him—cool, quiet.

Somewhere behind him was a house full of people who loved him but didn't know how to reach him.

And somewhere ahead…
something was still waiting.

Haruto walked through the quiet streets. The way he was taking didn't lead home—not really—but Yuji-san's words still lingered in his mind:

"Go home."

He whispered it to himself as tears slipped down his cheeks.
"I… I don't even know where that is anymore…"

His footsteps echoed softly against the empty asphalt. His chest felt tight, and his hands trembled slightly.

Then, up ahead, something moved in the shadows.

A figure stood there.

Blue hair. Red eyes. Injured, bruised, and bleeding in places—just as he had imagined in the back of his mind.

Haruto froze, staring.

It looked at him. Haruto's own silver eyes met the figure's red ones. The world seemed to contract around that gaze.

"…R… r‑you Itachi?" he stammered, voice barely audible. "W‑what… happened?"

The figure stepped closer. There was a calm weight to its presence. Without a word, it lifted a hand.

"Come," it said quietly. "Let's walk a bit… let's see the view, once again properly."

Haruto hesitated, then slowly held out his hand. The figure took it, and they began walking side by side.

After a few steps, the figure spoke again, voice low and even:

"You know… I am you."

Haruto blinked. "W‑what?"

The figure's gaze didn't waver. "Your inner self. Every injury, every bruise… every strain you see on me is what you carry inside. It's the weight of everything you've survived, everything you couldn't save."

Haruto swallowed hard. "I… I don't understand…"

"You will," the figure said gently. "The pain, the guilt… it's all yours. But it's not weakness. It's proof that you've lived, and that you can still act. Still protect."

Haruto looked down at his own hands. The tears hadn't stopped, and his chest felt tight with every step.

"Why… why do you look like this?" he whispered.

The figure smiled faintly, almost sadly. "Because this is what it means to carry the lives of others. This is your truth. Your reflection. And I… I am here to remind you… protect her. Protect Ayame."

Haruto felt a shiver run down his spine. He wanted to speak, to ask more, but the words stuck in his throat.

For the first time in hours, the silence between them was not empty—it was heavy, full of meaning, and for once, Haruto felt like he wasn't entirely alone.

The two continued walking, side by side, through the empty streets, Haruto's hand gripping the figure's, the night pressing around them, quiet and dark.

Haruto and the figure walked in silence, the city fading behind them. Soon, they reached a slanted ground that led down to a small pool of water, reflecting the night sky.

The figure gestured toward the edge. "Let's rest here."

Haruto hesitated, then lowered himself to the slope. The figure lay beside him. Side by side, they stared at the reflection of the stars and the moon shimmering in the water below.

For a long moment, there was only quiet—the gentle ripple of the water, the distant sounds of the city, and the steady weight of the figure beside him.

"You… you really are me," Haruto whispered, voice almost lost in the night.

"I am," the figure replied softly. "The part you don't show anyone. The part that carries every burden, every failure, every fear. I am that. I am you."

Haruto's hands clenched into the fabric of his jacket. "I… I don't know if I can… keep protecting everyone. I keep failing."

The figure's gaze was calm, unwavering. "No. You're not failing. Look at the night. Look at what's still here. You've survived, and because of that, you can act. You can protect Ayame. Don't let your fear weigh you down before you even try."

Haruto exhaled slowly, his tears drying in the cool night air. For the first time, he felt a strange mixture of relief and heaviness—relief that he wasn't completely alone, heaviness because the burden he carried hadn't disappeared.

He looked at the reflection in the water, then back at the figure. "I… I don't want to hurt anyone anymore. I just…"

"Shh," the figure said, almost gently nudging him. "I know. And that's why you're here. That's why I'm here."

The two of them lay there for a long while, side by side, watching the stars and the reflection of the night on the water. No words were needed. The darkness was not empty—it was alive with thought, memory, and quiet understanding.

Eventually, the figure spoke again. "You will face more. You will feel more. But never forget—this part of you, this weight you carry… it's a reminder that you are capable. That you have strength. That you have love. And that you will act when it matters."

Haruto stayed silent, letting the words sink in, feeling both small and large at the same time.

Back at home, the clatter of plates and the warm smell of food lingered in the dining area.

Finally, everyone finished eating.

Kaito stood and stretched. "I'm going to sleep, Ayame you coming," he said quietly.

Ayame nodded, leaning on him for support. "Yeah… I'm tired."

Akari helped her up and followed along, making sure she was steady. The two of them disappeared down the hallway, leaving the others in the living room.

Renjiro leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. "I can't believe he's still out there."

Raizen, sitting across from him, said nothing at first, just stared at the darkened doorway. Finally, he muttered, "He'll come back… eventually. Always does."

Akari sank onto the sofa, hands folded in her lap. "I just hope he's okay."

Renjiro sighed. "We can't do anything but wait. He's not the type to stay home when he thinks someone's in danger. You know that."

Raizen glanced at Akari. "Let's just keep watch, quietly. No sudden noises."

The three sat in tense silence, the only sound the faint ticking of the clock and the occasional creak of the house settling.

Even in the stillness, their thoughts were loud—worry, fear, and the unspoken question of when Haruto would return.

The night stretched on, quiet and heavy, the living room empty of laughter but full of anticipation.

No one spoke again. They simply waited.

Haruto stood at the edge of the slanted ground, staring at the dark water below. The night wind brushed his face, and his hands were trembling slightly, but he forced himself to remain still.

The figure beside him—the bruised, injured version of himself—spoke first.

"We can't do anything on our own," it said quietly, eyes locked on Haruto. "We're not mature yet. We depend on others to keep us alive, to keep the people we care about alive. That's the truth."

Haruto swallowed, the words hitting harder than any blow. "…I know," he whispered. "I've always known. But it… it doesn't feel right."

The figure shifted slightly, moving closer. Its red eyes glimmered, reflecting the starlight on the water. "I'll tell you honestly what I think," it said. "And we'll change it together. We can't keep living like this, waiting for someone else to save us."

Haruto's chest tightened. "…Change it… how?"

The figure's bruised face was calm, almost tender. "Since that day we were hunted together… ever since the war… even now, within this week, we've been attacked twice. Not because of anything we did, just because we were born into this clan."

Haruto's jaw clenched. Hearing it spoken aloud made the weight real in a way he couldn't ignore.

"What we have now doesn't matter to me," the figure continued. "Because the life we lived happily—that's the life I remember, the one I call ours. That life… is the one I want to live again."

Haruto stared at him, unable to speak. He's saying what I've never dared to tell anyone… even myself.

"And that life," the figure said softly, "is not something we can fully protect. Today it's hunters. Tomorrow… it'll be something else. Politics will involve itself, just like before. Even when Mom and Dad were alive, we were bullied, even then. Hunters didn't show, and the world pretended to care. But after they left… nothing changed. The pain stayed. The politics stayed. And still… we couldn't do anything on our own."

Haruto's hands clenched into fists at his sides. "…So what do we do?" he asked quietly, almost to himself.

The figure's gaze sharpened. "We stop waiting. Stop depending on anyone else to fix things for us. Stop thinking patience will save us. Every time we stayed silent, every time we relied on someone else, someone got hurt. Enough."

Haruto's eyes flicked to the reflection in the water, and then back to the figure—himself, broken and honest. "…I see now," he whispered. "I can't keep pretending I'm safe just because someone else is watching over me."

The figure nodded, a faint shadow of a smile on bruised lips. "Exactly. That's why I'm here. To remind you—this is our life. This is our burden. And now… it's ours to carry properly."

Haruto exhaled slowly, letting the weight settle, not as a burden, but as a purpose he could face. "…Then we do it," he said, voice low but firm. "No matter what comes. No matter who attacks or what's in the way. I won't run anymore."

The figure's red eyes softened. "Good. That's the first step. The rest… we'll face together."

Haruto turned away from the water and looked up at the night sky. The stars felt distant, the city lights faint, but for the first time in hours, he felt direction, choice, and resolve—a quiet, steady determination forming inside him.

The figure stood beside Haruto, looking out at the quiet night, the water below reflecting broken pieces of the sky.

"This life isn't fair," the figure said calmly. "It never was. And it never will be."

Haruto didn't answer.

"You keep asking why things happen to you," the figure continued. "Why you lose. Why you're hurt. Why you're forced to grow faster than you should. But listen to me—fairness was never part of the deal."

Haruto's hands tightened at his sides.

"What matters," the figure said, turning to him, "is that even knowing that, you still stand. You still care. You still want to protect. That's not weakness—that's determination."

Haruto looked up, eyes glistening.

"You think you're doing this alone," the figure went on. "But you're not. You never were. You've heard these words before… you just forgot them."

The wind passed between them, cold and quiet.

"There's only one thing I ever wanted to ask Dad," the figure said softly.
"Why."

Haruto's breath caught.

"Why choose us? Why choose you, Haruto? Why not someone else? Someone stronger. Someone older."

The figure's gaze hardened—not in anger, but resolve.

"But it doesn't matter anymore. We were chosen. And we promised. So we do it. Not because it's easy. Not because it's right. But because it's ours."

Haruto felt his chest ache.

"…But don't forget," the figure added quietly, "I want to live again. The same life we lived once. The normal days. The laughter. The warmth. I don't want only pain to be our story."

Silence fell between them.

Then the figure spoke again, voice lower.

"Haruto… I'm sorry."

Haruto turned sharply. "For what?"

"All those sicknesses," the figure said. "Your changes at such a young age. That wasn't you. That was me."

Haruto froze.

"I wanted to stay with Mom and Dad," the figure continued. "At least one either mom or dad. And when you chose to train with Big Brother that day… I got angry."

Haruto's eyes widened.

"Every time you went somewhere without Mom and Dad," the figure said, "I took one strand of your blue hair… and left my red behind. It was childish. It was wrong. But I was scared of losing them."

The words hit Haruto harder than anything that night.

"…I'm sorry," the figure said again.

Haruto's shoulders shook. Slowly, he nodded.

"…It's okay," he whispered. "We were just kids."

The figure smiled faintly.

"That's why I trust you now."

The exhaustion finally caught up to Haruto. His legs gave out, and he slumped forward.

Before he could fall, the figure caught him.

Haruto's eyes closed.

The other Haruto lifted him gently onto his back, standing tall despite his own injuries.

"I'll carry you this time," he said quietly. "You've carried both of us together for long enough."

And with slow, steady steps, the figure began walking—away from the water, away from the night—carrying Haruto toward home.

The house was quiet.

Too quiet.

Ayame woke up thirsty.

Her leg still ached, but she pushed herself up anyway, careful not to wake Kaito. She padded downstairs slowly, the lights dim, the house half-asleep. The kitchen tap clicked softly as she poured herself a glass of water.

That's when she noticed Akari.

She was sitting on the sofa, arms folded, eyes fixed on the dark ceiling like she was counting breaths instead of seconds.

Ayame walked over and sat beside her, the glass held in both hands.

"…Did Haruto come back?" she asked quietly.

Akari didn't look at her.
"No," she said. "Not yet."

Ayame nodded, took a small sip.

"Renjiro and Raizen went out to look for him," Akari added gently. "You should sleep. I'll wake you if he comes."

Ayame hesitated. Then, softly, almost like she didn't want the words to exist—

"He always comes back late when he's hurting."

Akari finally turned to her.

Ayame gave a small smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Tell him… tomorrow I'll sit with him properly. Even if it hurts."

She stood, careful again, and headed back upstairs.

The sound of the door sliding shut echoed faintly.

Minutes later, the front door opened.

Renjiro and Raizen stepped in, jackets heavy, faces darker than when they left.

Akari straightened immediately.
"Did you find him?"

Renjiro shook his head.
"No trace. No scent. Nothing."

Raizen leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
"He knows how to disappear," he said quietly. "Too well for a kid."

They all sat on the sofa—three figures waiting in the same silence.

Akari swallowed.
"Ayame came down earlier," she said. "She asked about him."

Renjiro looked up.
"And?"

"She said… he always comes back late when he's hurting."

No one spoke after that.

Then—

click.

The front door opened.

thud.

It closed again.

Soft footsteps.

Akari's head snapped toward the hallway.

A quiet voice spoke in the hallway.

"I'm home."

Haruto immediately whispered, tired and annoyed,
"Keep it down… someone will hear."

They stepped forward.

The light from the living room reached them—and everything stopped.

Akari's breath caught.

Renjiro rose halfway from the sofa.

Raizen went still.

Because Haruto wasn't standing.

He was being carried.

The one holding him looked exactly like him—same face, same build—but with blue hair and red eyes. He carried Haruto easily, carefully, like he had done it many times before.

Haruto's head rested against his shoulder, eyes half-open, exhausted.

The blue-haired one looked up calmly.

"…Ah," he said softly.

Akari's voice shook.
"Haruto…?"

Renjiro stared, disbelief tightening his jaw.
"…Raizen."

Raizen's eyes never left the other figure.
"So you finally showed yourself," he murmured.

The blue-haired Haruto stepped fully into the living room and gently lowered Haruto onto his feet. Haruto wobbled but stayed upright.

The other Haruto kept one hand lightly on his back.

Haruto glanced around, finally noticing them.

"…Why are you all awake?"

No one answered.

The blue-haired Haruto spoke instead, quiet but firm.

"He kept his promise. He came home."

Then, slowly, he released him.

For a heartbeat, the two stood side by side.

Then the air shifted.

The blue-haired figure began to fade—not like smoke, not like light—just… thinning.

Haruto reached out without thinking.

"…Don't."

The figure smiled faintly.

"I'm not leaving," he said. "I'm going where you can, I will be there when you need me."

And then he was gone.

The room was silent.

Haruto swayed.

Akari rushed forward and caught him.

"I'm home," Haruto said again—this time to them.

And this time, the house finally let him stay.