The memory of what happened on the airship still lingered. The investigators who had witnessed it were left shaken, their minds trapped in images of chaos, exploding bodies, blood soaking the seats and walls, and the horrifying moment Kenichi Tanaka lost his life.
His colleagues, especially those who had served with him the longest, found it hard to accept. Kenichi had spent fourteen years in the armed forces. He wasn't just a scientist or a soldier; he was someone they trusted, someone who always stayed calm under pressure. Losing him felt personal.
But now came the part no one wanted to face: delivering the news to his family.
It wasn't just about informing them of his death. Kenichi's wife, Aiko, was suffering from Alzheimer's and was barely holding herself together while raising their children. Everyone knew she was fragile. And then there were the children. Two of them, too young to understand the weight of what had happened. Especially Eris, the eldest, who was only eight years old.
The team hesitated. No one wanted to be the one to make the call.
—
At the Tanaka House
The Tanaka home was quiet. Outside, snow fell gently, dusting the window sills and the rooftop. Inside, the atmosphere was still. The only sound came from the ticking of a wall clock in the hallway.
Suddenly, the telephone rang. The sound echoed through the small living room.
Eris Tanaka, only eight years old, walked over and picked it up. She was always the one to answer. Her mother rarely did anymore.
"Hello, Tanaka residence," she said in a soft voice.
There was a pause, followed by the voice of a man, polite but nervous.
"Good afternoon. Is this Eris?"
"Yes."
"This is Mr. Sakamoto. I work with your father. Is your mother available?"
Eris glanced into the kitchen. Her mother was sitting at the table, staring blankly at a photo album. Her lips moved as if she was speaking, but no words came out.
"No. She's not here," Eris replied.
There was hesitation on the other end.
"Is she out?"
"No. She's just not feeling well today," Eris said, her tone steady but distant.
"I see. Eris, I need to talk to your family about something very important. It's about your father. Is it alright if someone comes over to visit you?"
"Is he okay?" Eris asked, though deep down, she already sensed something was wrong.
Mr. Sakamoto was quiet for a moment.
"Your father was very brave. Something happened during his mission. We'd like to explain it to your family in person."
Eris held the phone tightly. Her chest felt heavy, though she didn't fully understand why.
"Okay. You can come."
She didn't say goodbye. She just placed the phone back on the hook and stood still in the hallway for a while. Her little brother called her from the next room, asking if she wanted to play.
She didn't answer right away.
In her father's old study, the door remained closed. Inside were rows of labeled jars and handwritten notes, left just as he had taught her. They were the last pieces of him she had left.
And now, something told her they would be all she had.
—
It was nearly evening when a black government car parked quietly in front of the Tanaka house. The neighborhood was silent, tucked under a blanket of soft snow. Mr. Sakamoto stepped out, his coat dusted with white flakes. He stood there for a moment, staring at the modest home in front of him, the file folder pressed tightly against his chest. He had done this before, but somehow this time felt heavier.
He rang the doorbell once.
Inside, Eris opened the door without a word. Her face was unreadable, her large eyes staring up at him without fear or welcome. Just stillness.
"Good afternoon. I'm Mr. Sakamoto. We spoke on the phone earlier," he said gently.
She nodded and stepped aside.
"Please come in."
He entered, the warmth of the house clashing with the cold outside. The living room was quiet. A small television flickered faint light in the background, left on with no one watching it. Aiko sat on the couch, humming softly to herself, her hands gently folding and unfolding a piece of fabric that had once been one of Kenichi's jackets.
Mr. Sakamoto paused. His training had prepared him for situations like this, but nothing prepared him for the fragile presence of a mother lost in memory and an eight-year-old girl standing in place of an adult.
"I brought something for your family," he said as he knelt and opened the folder. Inside were neatly arranged documents, death certificates, military honors, and a sealed envelope with financial aid and benefits. He placed them carefully on the coffee table.
Eris looked down at them, then back at him.
"Did he suffer?" she asked.
The question caught him off guard.
Mr. Sakamoto swallowed, then chose his words carefully.
"Your father was very brave. He did everything he could to protect the people around him. He... he didn't run away, even when it was dangerous. He was doing what he believed was right."
"So he did suffer," Eris replied, not as a question but as a quiet conclusion.
Sakamoto didn't argue.
Aiko suddenly looked up.
"Kenichi?" she said softly. Her eyes, for a moment, were focused. Clear.
Eris turned to her mother, unsure how to respond. Aiko stood up and walked toward Mr. Sakamoto, looking at him as if she were trying to recognize a face from long ago.
"Kenichi... is he on the phone?"
Mr. Sakamoto remained still.
Eris walked to her mother and took her hand.
"Not right now, Mama. He's still far away," she whispered.
Aiko slowly nodded, her clarity fading again as she sat back down.
Mr. Sakamoto stood. "If you need anything... anything at all, there's a number here," he said, pointing to the card in the envelope. "Call anytime."
Eris didn't answer. She simply nodded and walked him to the door. As he stepped out, he turned back to look at her one last time.
"You're very brave, Eris. Just like your father."
She closed the door without a word.
—
To be continued.