The rusted car creaked into the quiet seaside town. Waves crashed somewhere beyond the empty streets, and the wind carried the sharp scent of salt and seaweed.
It was an old car—cheap, weather-worn, the kind you only keep running because you have no other choice. The driver, a man in his twenties, sat behind the wheel for a few seconds, unmoving. His gaze stayed fixed ahead, heavy with something between anxiety and fatigue. He stepped out, and popped open the trunk.
He pulled out a heavy cardboard box and closed the trunk with a muted thud.
As he turned toward the building. A tall man leaned against the apartment wall nearby, finishing a cigarette. He flicked it to the ground and crushed it under his boot.
"Hey, Koji," he said, voice low but familiar.
Koji froze, then allowed a faint smile.
"Kenji…"
He set the box down and walked over. The two embraced like brothers who hadn't seen each other in years.
"It's been a while," Koji said.
Kenji chuckled. "Yeah. Still alive though. Barely. What about you?"
"Still breathing," Koji replied, though a sigh seemed to linger beneath the words.
Before they could speak further, a woman stepped out across the hall. She glanced their way, then quickly slipped back inside, shutting the door.
Kenji raised a brow. "Real friendly neighborhood you've got here."
"Who is she?" Koji asked.
"Your neighbor, I guess."
"Never seen her before."
"Doesn't look like she gets many visitors out here," Kenji muttered. "Anyway, we'll do introductions later. Let's get your stuff inside before someone calls the cops on two suspicious guys carrying boxes."
Koji smirked. "You talked to the owner?"
"Yeah. Got you this place cheap."
The apartment wasn't much—small, dusty, probably untouched in months—but it was still a roof and four walls.
"You sure you don't want to stay at my place?" Kenji asked, setting a box down.
"It's fine. Just three weeks. They'll finish the repairs by then."
Kenji hesitated. "I'm… sorry. About your mom. I should've visited her more."
Koji's gaze fell. "It's not your fault. Heart attack. Quick. I just… wish I'd been there for her more."
They unpacked in silence until Kenji finally asked, "You had a decent job in the city. Why come back here? There's nothing left in this town."
Koji shrugged. "The city's too loud. Too fast. I can work remotely. And here… it's quiet. Plus, rent in the city's a joke."
Kenji nodded slowly. "Sure, man. But hey—my dad's getting out in three weeks."
"That's great," Koji said. "I'm sorry about… her."
Kenji snorted. "Don't be. She was a nightmare." He shook his head. "I'm almost glad she's gone."
Koji didn't respond. They kept moving boxes until something slid out from one and hit the floor.
A photograph.
Kenji bent down and picked it up. It was old and faded—three kids stood together in the picture, two boys and a girl between them. Koji and Kenji were easy to recognize, maybe fifteen at the time. But the girl's face had been scratched out, as if someone had wanted her erased.
Kenji frowned. "You still remember her? That day?"
Koji's breath caught.
He lunged forward, snatching the photo from Kenji's hand and shoving it back in the box. His voice came out sharp.
"Leave it."
Kenji raised his hands. "Alright. Sorry. I didn't mean to—"
"It's not your fault," Koji muttered, his skin suddenly pale. "I just need some rest."
He walked into the bedroom and shut the door. His fingers trembled. Sweat beaded across his forehead.
Then—
A voice. Soft. Whispering from nowhere.
"You promised…"
Koji gasped. The walls seemed to press inward.
He stumbled to a drawer, grabbed a bottle of pills, and swallowed two without water. Then he slid down into the corner, hiding from the sunlight as if it might burn him.
His breathing slowed.
The voice faded.
But his eyes didn't ease. A shadow pooled in them, restless and deep.
Kenji's question hung in the air. Koji didn't answer- not here, not with that shadow in his eyes.
**YEARS AGO**
It was the same shadow he'd carried on a summer morning long ago when the sun spilled through the leaves, painting gold across the path. Fifteen, barefoot, hair tousled by wind, he had been running across the park's edge with a drink in his hand and worry pressing at his ribs.
He reached the front steps of a modest home, the kind with wind chimes at the door and shoes neatly lined outside.
"Mom, I'm home!" he called.
From the kitchen came her voice, calm and warm. "Where were you running off to? Change your clothes first. Breakfast is ready."
Koji nodded and dashed inside.
His mother was moving around the small kitchen, placing plates on the table—grilled fish, rice, miso soup. Before sitting, she stepped into a quiet room bathed in morning light, knelt, and lit a stick of incense.
On a small wooden altar stood a framed photograph of a man in a suit, smiling faintly—Koji's father.
She closed her eyes, murmuring a soft prayer.
They ate in silence for a while, the clink of chopsticks echoing gently in the room.
"Your summer break starts soon, doesn't it?" she asked.
Koji, mouth full, nodded. "Mm-hmm."
"Do you have any plans? Meeting your friends?"
Koji hesitated. He looked down at his bowl.
"Yeah… I do," he lied softly.
She smiled, letting it pass without pressing further.
Outside, Koji walked toward school, his bag heavy on his back. Nearing the building, his pace slowed, his expression tightening.
He slipped behind the gym wall just in time.
Kenji—already tall and intimidating at fifteen—walked past with two boys trailing behind him. Their laughter rang out, careless and dangerous.
Koji waited until they were gone, then stepped out, keeping his head low.
He didn't go to class.
Instead, he slipped quietly into the back of the empty auditorium and sat near the stage in the dark.
From the far hallway, a girl stood just out of sight, watching him. She didn't speak. She never did.
The next morning, the sun burned down on the school rooftop as students gathered in lines, their white uniforms wrinkled under the summer heat.
Koji stood quietly, head lowered, hands behind his back.
The principal's dry voice droned through the microphone.
"Tomorrow begins your summer holiday. I expect you all to behave. Don't go wandering where you shouldn't. Enjoy the fire festival."
A few kids chuckled. Some whispered. Then the assembly ended.
Koji turned to leave.
Across the courtyard, the same girl watched him again—dark-eyed, like quiet rain.
He entered the classroom, packed his bag. Most students were already gone.
In the hall, Kenji appeared, flanked by his two shadows. His smile was crooked, his eyes sharp.
"Yo, Koji. How's it going?"
"Fine."
"We're hanging out this summer, yeah?"
"…Sure," Koji muttered, staring at the floor.
Kenji stepped closer. "Cool. I need some money for today. You got any?"
Koji shook his head. "No."
Kenji's smile faded. He glanced at his friends.
"That so? We hang out with you, and you don't even share?"
One boy grabbed Koji's left arm, the other his right.
"Let go."
Kenji didn't. He punched Koji hard in the stomach. Koji doubled over as Kenji yanked his bag away, rifled through it, and pulled out a few crumpled bills.
He tossed the bag back. "Don't be stingy next time."
They walked off, laughing.
Koji stayed curled on the floor, gasping. His chest ached. His eyes stayed dry, but something deep inside cracked.
Far below, in the ocean where sunlight never reached, a lone whale swam through dark water. It let out a long, mournful call—and waited.
No reply came.
Back at the school, the girl still stood at a distance, silent as ever. She watched Koji struggle to sit up, blood at his lip, his knees scraped raw.
She took a step away.
Far below, another call rose from the depths—faint, but real.
Back on land, the girl turned, taking a quiet step toward him.