Hayato Amari knew what it felt like to be different.
His white-blond hair, his piercing blue eyes, and his dark brown skin set him apart in Okinawa, where most of his classmates shared similar features. But it wasn't just his appearance. His Japanese carried a slight American accent, a side effect of speaking both English and Japanese at home. It wasn't much, but it was enough to make him a target.
And kids could be ruthless.
"Your face is weird. It's like Japan and America had an argument... and you lost!"
They didn't care that Hayato's father was a U.S. Air Force colonel working on classified military projects with the Space Force. They didn't care that his mother had passed away when he was too young to understand what it meant to lose someone forever.
All they saw was someone who didn't belong.
At first, Hayato tried to ignore the teasing.
It began as whispers behind his back—soft snickers in the hallways, sideways glances paired with smirks, and the occasional mocking mimics of his voice when he answered a question in class.
He told himself it didn't matter. They're just words. Words can't hurt me.
But the whispers didn't stop.
The insults grew bolder, slipping into everyday conversation.
One afternoon, as Hayato walked across the sunlit schoolyard, the taunts began again.
"White-haired freak!"
Hayato ignored it, gripping the straps of his backpack tighter, his steps steady and unshaken.
"Hey Konketsuji! Make up your mind—are you a rice ball or a cheeseburger?" another voice chimed in, sharper this time, dripping with cruelty. "Too busy playing soldier to talk to us?"
I first heard the word "konketsuji" when I was growing up in Japan. It means "mixed-blood child," but it was never just a simple description—it carried weight, a sting, something that made me feel different in a way that wasn't always kind.
Back then, being mixed in Japan wasn't as common as it is now. Kids like me, with one Japanese parent and one foreign parent, stood out. Sometimes, it was just curiosity—people touching my hair, asking why my eyes weren't "Japanese enough." But other times, it was harsher. "Konketsuji" wasn't a neutral word; it was a label that made me feel like I didn't belong.
I learned that after World War II, kids like me had it even worse. Those born to Japanese mothers and foreign soldiers, especially Black and American G.I. fathers, were often seen as outsiders, impure, different in a way that wasn't accepted. Many faced bullying, job discrimination, and a lifetime of being treated like they weren't fully Japanese.
Even though times have changed and more mixed-race people live in Japan today, the word "konketsuji" is still offensive. It's outdated, tied to a past where people like me weren't welcome. Now, most people use "hāfu" (ハーフ) instead, which, while not perfect, feels a little less heavy.
But I'll never forget how that word made me feel—like I had to prove I belonged. Like I wasn't enough, just as I was.
Something small struck his shoulder—a pebble.
It barely stung, but the message was clear. We can do worse.
Hayato inhaled deeply through his nose but didn't break stride.
"Maybe he doesn't understand us." Another sneered, stretching the words out mockingly slow, causing the other kids to chime in with their own creative cruelties . "Hey, does your daddy only teach you English, half-breed?" "Go back to wherever your other half came from!"
Laughter erupted from the group.
Hayato kept walking.
But his fingers dug into the fabric of his backpack, his nails pressing so hard into the material that they left imprints.
"Look at him." A voice scoffed. "Thinks he's better than us."
"Nah," another boy snickered. "He's just scared. Probably gonna run home to his grandma. Maybe she'll braid his pretty little white hair and tell him he's special."
More laughter, cruelty and ringing in his ears.
Hayato could feel their eyes boring into his back, waiting—begging—for him to react.
But he didn't.
His heart pounded inside his chest, but he remembered his grandmother's words:
"Sometimes, the best thing you can do is walk away."
So he did.
For a while, it worked.
The bullies grew frustrated with his silence, their jeers becoming louder, their insults sharper, their laughter more forced.
They hated that he didn't react.
It took the fun out of it.
But their patience didn't last forever.
And soon, they stopped using words.
It happened behind the school on a humid afternoon, the air thick with the scent of freshly cut grass. The playground was alive with the echoing shouts of children playing soccer, the rhythmic thud of a ball being kicked, and the occasional chirping of cicadas. It was the sound of a normal school day—but not for Hayato.
He sat alone on a worn wooden bench near the edge of the field, his fingers lazily dragging a stick through the dirt. He traced absent-minded shapes, half-listening to the distant game. It was easier to be alone.
Then, a shadow loomed over him.
"Oi, look who it is."
Hayato knew that voice. Tetsuya.
He didn't need to look up. He could hear the smirk in his tone.
Tetsuya, the self-proclaimed leader of his little gang, stood over him with his usual air of arrogance. He was taller than Hayato by at least a head, his wiry frame hidden beneath a slightly oversized school uniform. His narrow, fox-like eyes gleamed with amusement. Behind him stood his usual group of lackeys, already chuckling under their breath.
Hayato tightened his grip on the stick, but he didn't react.
Tetsuya's smirk widened.
"Hey, I'm talking to you!" he snapped, kicking the stick out of Hayato's hand.
The small piece of wood skidded across the ground, disappearing into the grass.
Hayato clenched his fists, but still, he said nothing.
He wasn't going to give them what they wanted.
Tetsuya clicked his tongue in annoyance before crouching down beside him, lowering his voice just enough for the mockery to turn sharp.
"What's wrong? Too scared to say anything?"
The other boys snickered, their voices blending into a mocking chorus.
Hayato still didn't react.
Tetsuya's smirk faltered slightly. He had expected anger, a reaction—anything. But this silent defiance was starting to grate on his nerves.
His expression darkened.
"Fine." His tone turned icy. "If you won't talk, I guess I'll just have to take your bag."
Before Hayato could stop him, Tetsuya yanked his backpack away, the sudden motion spilling its contents onto the dirt.
Books, pencils, and—
A small, worn-out photograph fluttered to the ground.
Hayato's breath hitched.
Tetsuya was already reaching for it.
"Oi, what's this?"
Hayato's stomach twisted as Tetsuya snatched the photo, holding it up between two fingers. The small snapshot, slightly creased from being carried around too much, captured a frozen moment of happiness—Hayato, Hikari, and their father standing beneath a cherry blossom tree.
For a brief second, Hayato was back in that moment. He could hear Hikari's laughter, see their father's rare but warm smile. The scent of sakura petals filled his memory, replacing the bitterness of the present.
Then, reality came crashing back.
Tetsuya's sneer deepened as he examined the photo.
"What's this on his shirt?" he muttered, pointing to their father's military uniform. "Oh, I get it. Looks like your dad's too busy playing soldier to care about you."
The laughter that followed was deafening.
Something inside Hayato snapped.
"Give it back!" he shouted, his voice breaking through the jeers.
He lunged at Tetsuya, his body moving before his mind could catch up.
The impact sent both boys tumbling to the ground. Dirt kicked up around them as Hayato grabbed at the photo, his fingers barely grazing the edge before Tetsuya shoved him off.
Then, the punches started.
Hayato had never been in a real fight before.
Tetsuya's fist struck him square in the jaw, sending pain exploding through his skull. His vision blurred for half a second, but he didn't fall back—he couldn't.
He swung wildly, his fist colliding with Tetsuya's ribs, earning a surprised grunt.
The gang reacted instantly.
Two of them grabbed Hayato's arms, yanking him backward. He struggled, kicking at their legs, but they were bigger, stronger.
A punch landed in his stomach.
Hayato gasped, the air rushing from his lungs. He doubled over, only to be met with a knee to his side.
He hit the ground hard.
A boot pressed against his back, pinning him down.
He gritted his teeth, his fingers curling into the dirt. His body ached, his breaths came out in ragged gasps—but he refused to cry.
Tetsuya crouched down beside him again, still holding the photo.
"You're pathetic," he spat, crumpling the picture in his fist before tossing it onto Hayato's bruised chest.
Hayato didn't move.
Didn't make a sound.
The bullies gave him one last shove before turning away, their laughter fading as they disappeared back toward the school.
For a long moment, Hayato just lay there, his body throbbing. His vision was blurry, whether from pain or the dirt stinging his eyes, he wasn't sure.
Then, slowly, he reached for the photo.
It was creased, dirt-stained, but still whole.
He gripped it tightly, his fingers trembling.
Somewhere deep inside him, something shifted.
A fire ignited.
He wasn't going to let this happen again.
After that awful day in the alley, Hayato sat on the edge of his bed, his small fists gripping the blanket tightly. His cheeks burned with shame, his bright blue eyes stinging with unshed tears. He kept seeing it over and over—Tetsuya's sneer, the jeering laughter, the sting of their punches, the way they shoved him into the dirt like he was nothing.
It replayed in his head like a bad dream he couldn't wake up from.
"I'm not gonna let them win again," he whispered to himself, his voice trembling but firm. "Next time, I'll be ready."
At school, Hayato started paying closer attention to the bullies. His 7-year-old mind didn't think of it as studying or strategizing—to him, it was like figuring out how to beat a tough boss in one of the games he used to play with his friends before everything changed.
He noticed little things—the way Tetsuya always swung too wide, leaving his side open, or how one of the smaller boys hesitated before kicking, like he was scared of getting hit back.
Hayato never said anything. He just watched.
Every time they jeered at him, tried to trip him in the hallway, or shoved him into a desk, he quietly filed it away in his mind. Like a detective in the cartoons he sometimes watched with Hikari, he took mental notes.
One day, when they cornered him near the lockers, he didn't fight back.
He just stared at them.
Silent.
Calculating.
Tetsuya clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Not even gonna talk, huh? Guess we gotta make things more fun."
The bullies shoved him against the lockers, laughing. Hayato let it happen.
Because now, he was learning.
Hayato's training began in secret, tucked away in a secluded cove surrounded by sea stacks where no one could see him.
At first, it was just copying things he'd seen on TV or in movies. He remembered how the heroes stood with their fists up, so he mimicked their stance, his small hands balling into fists as he squared off against imaginary opponents.
"Take that!" he shouted one afternoon, swinging his tiny fists through the air.
But he overbalanced—his foot slipped on top of the wet rocks, and he fell flat on his butt.
"Ow…" he muttered, rubbing his side. His cheeks flushed with frustration, but he scrambled back to his feet, brushing the dirt off his shorts.
"Okay, that didn't work. Let's try again."
He practiced ducking under imaginary punches, twisting his body to avoid attacks only he could see. His kicks were clumsy, his punches sometimes missed the mark, and his arms ached from swinging too much.
But he didn't stop.
He imagined Tetsuya standing in front of him, throwing a wild punch like he always did.
Hayato ducked under it, pretending to counter with a quick jab to the ribs.
"Pow!" he shouted, snapping his fist forward.
His movements were shaky, his timing was off, but he kept going.
Each day after school, he'd rush to the cove as soon as his chores were done at home, his small body brimming with determination.
The more he practiced, the more his movements started to feel right.
His punches got a little faster, his kicks a little stronger, and he started feeling less clumsy with every attempt.
He wasn't strong enough yet.
But one day—
He would be.
It wasn't long before Hayato's body started showing signs of his training.
His knuckles were red and sore, scraped from punching the rough bark of the old oak tree he had chosen as his stand-in for Tetsuya. His knees were scabbed, proof of all the times he had tripped and fallen while trying to perfect his footwork. His arms were speckled with tiny bruises, mostly from accidentally smacking himself while practicing his blocks.
It hurt like crazy—but he didn't care.
Every ache, every scrape, every little sting was proof that he was getting stronger.
But his grandparents weren't blind.
Hayato thought he was being sneaky, but he wasn't as good at hiding things as he believed. The dirt on his clothes, the faint winces when he moved, and the way his appetite had doubled overnight—it was enough for his grandparents to put the pieces together.
That evening, as they sat around the dinner table, his grandmother slid an extra piece of grilled fish onto his plate, her expression unreadable.
"Hayato," she said, watching him closely. "You're eating like a bear lately. What exactly have you been doing to make you this hungry?"
Hayato froze, his chopsticks hovering mid-air.
His mind raced for an answer—one that wouldn't make them worry.
"Uh… just… running around with Hikari!" he said quickly, forcing a smile. "She's fast, Grandma! I have to keep up!"
His Grandpa let out a low chuckle, his sharp eyes twinkling with amusement as he took a slow sip of his tea.
Grandma sooned turned to Hikari, glaring at her chewing down her food with sparkles in her eyes, hoping to probe the truth from her. "Hikari is what Hayato is saying true?"
Hikari, speaking with food in her mouth. "Yeah, we had a race across the entire beach, and I won!"
"A race, huh?" Grandpa mused, arching a knowing brow. "Must be some serious running to wear you out like that."
Hayato ducked his head, hiding his grin as he stuffed a mouthful of rice into his mouth.
They didn't press him any further.
Instead, his grandmother made sure his favorite foods were on the table more often—grilled fish, miso soup, and fresh steamed rice. And his grandfather started leaving snacks on the kitchen counter, always accompanied by a casual note:
"For after-school adventures."
They Knew.
They just weren't stopping him.
And somehow… that made Hayato want to train even harder.
One evening, Hayato stood on top of the rocks, his small figure outlined by the golden glow of the setting sun. The air was cooler now, but his skin was still slick with sweat, his white-blond hair sticking to his forehead from the heat of his training. His bare feet pressed into the dirt, grounding him, steadying him.
His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breathing quick and uneven, but he wasn't done yet.
Not until he got this right.
He rolled his shoulders, shook out his hands, and raised his fists again, his arms aching from the repeated motions. His muscles screamed at him to stop, but his heart told him to keep going.
"Okay," he muttered to himself, shifting his stance. "One more time."
He took a deep breath, his small hands clenched into fists. In his mind, they were there—Tetsuya and his gang. Laughing. Mocking. Waiting for him to fall.
Not this time.
Hayato threw a quick jab, then another, faster, sharper than before. He ducked low, dodging an invisible attack, then countered with a forceful swing. His footwork, once clumsy, now carried purpose. His movements, once hesitant, now felt intentional.
His body ached, but with each strike, he could feel himself getting stronger.
When he finally stopped, his chest heaving, hands stinging, Hayato looked up.
The sky was a deep indigo now, the last streaks of sunlight fading beyond the horizon. The first stars flickered into view, scattered like distant lanterns in an endless sea. Their faint twinkle felt like a quiet reassurance, a small promise that he wasn't alone.
He swallowed, his throat dry, but his voice was steady.
"I'm gonna get stronger."
The words were barely above a whisper, but they carried a weight far beyond his small frame.
"Strong enough to protect Hikari." His grip tightened. "Strong enough to stop them from hurting us ever again."
A cool breeze rolled in from the shore, brushing against his face, carrying with it the familiar scent of salt and home. He closed his eyes for just a moment, letting the wind cool his overheated skin, calming his pounding heart.
And then—he smiled.
For the first time in a long time, he didn't feel powerless.
He felt ready.
The autumn air was crisp, the sky painted in shades of orange and purple as the sun dipped lower on the horizon. Fallen leaves crunched beneath their feet as Hayato and Hikari walked home from school together, the golden light catching in Hikari's flowing white hair.
She skipped ahead, twirling on the tips of her toes before spinning to face her brother with an eager grin.
"Nii-chan, let's stop at the candy shop!" she chirped, practically bouncing on her heels.
Hayato let out a small chuckle, shaking his head as he reached out to ruffle her hair. "Maybe tomorrow," he said. "Grandma's making tempura tonight, and we can't be late."
Hikari puffed out her cheeks, crossing her arms in an exaggerated pout. "Mou~ you always say that!" But despite her playful protest, she didn't argue further, skipping alongside him as they continued down the familiar path home.
Then, as they turned the corner near an empty lot, Hayato's stomach twisted.
A group of boys stood in their path.
Tetsuya. And his gang.
The relaxed, carefree air of their walk home vanished instantly, replaced by a thick, suffocating tension. Hayato's steps slowed, his grip instinctively tightening around Hikari's hand.
"Great," he muttered under his breath.
Tetsuya's smirk widened as he stepped forward, his narrow, fox-like eyes glinting with amusement. "Hey, Konketsuji!" he called out, his tone dripping with mock friendliness.
Hayato clenched his jaw. "Just ignore them," he whispered to Hikari, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze as he attempted to guide her past.
But before they could slip away, Tetsuya moved, stepping in front of them and blocking their path.
"What's the rush? Stay and chat."
Hayato stopped, his blue eyes narrowing. "We don't have time for this." His voice was cold, steady, but inside, his blood was starting to boil.
One of the boys behind Tetsuya snickered, nudging his friend. "Maybe we should ask the little girl to stay instead."
Hikari stiffened beside Hayato, clutching the strap of her bag tightly.
Hayato's patience snapped like a frayed wire.
His gaze darkened, his posture shifting into something dangerously still. "Don't you dare touch her."
Tetsuya grinned, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Relax, Konketsuji. We're just being friendly."
But the moment Hayato turned to walk away, one of the boys grabbed Hikari's arm.
"Hey—Let go of me!" Hikari cried, struggling against the rough grip.
Everything inside Hayato ignited at once.
His entire body tensed as a sharp, white-hot fury exploded in his chest. He whirled around so fast the air practically vibrated—his eyes blazing, his pulse pounding like war drums in his ears.
"Let. Her. Go!"
His voice cut through the air like a blade, ringing with a force that made even the birds in the trees go silent.
Then, he moved.
Hayato launched himself forward, a blur of speed, his small fist colliding hard into the boy's stomach with an elbow strike. The impact sent a shockwave through the thug's body, making him wheeze and crumple as he instantly released Hikari's arm.
She stumbled back, her wide eyes locked onto her brother.
Then the others rushed at Hayato all at once.
The first one swung at him, but Hayato dodged cleanly, dropping low and sweeping the boy's legs out from under him with a sharp kick. Before the thug could even hit the ground, Hayato was already moving—twisting his body, slamming his elbow into another attacker's ribs so hard that he heard the breath leave his lungs.
Tetsuya lunged next, swinging a wild punch aimed at Hayato's face.
Hayato ducked.
Then countered with a powerful jab straight to Tetsuya's ribs.
Tetsuya let out a sharp gasp, staggering back, eyes wide in shock.
Another thug tried to grab Hayato from behind. Big mistake.
Hayato twisted out of the hold, grabbing the attacker's wrist before slamming a knee into his gut and shoving him back.
Hikari stood at a safe distance, watching the fight unfold, her hands clutching her school bag tightly.
"Nii-chan, stop! You're going to get hurt!" she called, worry laced in her voice.
Hayato barely spared her a glance, his breath coming in short bursts. "I'm fine, Hikari! Just stay back!"
The fight was fast, brutal, and chaotic.
But Hayato was faster.
And for the first time—he wasn't losing.
He moved like a storm, his every motion sharp and precise, every strike filled with purpose. He wasn't just swinging blindly. He was fighting with everything he had.
When the dust settled, the only ones left standing were him and Hikari.
Tetsuya and his gang were scattered across the ground, groaning in pain.
Hayato stood over them, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. His knuckles stung, scraped and raw from the fight, but he didn't care. He only cared about one thing.
He stepped closer to Tetsuya, his eyes sharp and unrelenting.
"Stay away from my sister," he said, his voice low, firm—unshakable.
Tetsuya glared up at him, his face twisted with pain and rage.
But he didn't say a word.
He couldn't.
Hayato turned to grab Hikari's hand.
"Let's go Hikari!" he said with a firm voice.
They walked away, leaving the group of boys hurt and beaten on the ground.
The walk home was quiet, save for the distant hum of village life settling into the evening. The scent of the ocean carried on the breeze, blending with the comforting aromas of home-cooked meals drifting from nearby houses. Somewhere in the distance, the faint laughter of children still playing outside echoed through the streets, a stark contrast to the lingering tension in Hayato's chest.
The sky above them was a masterpiece of colors, the deep purples and rich oranges of the setting sun melting into the darkening blue of night. It was beautiful—serene even—but Hayato barely noticed.
Hikari stayed close beside him, her tiny hand gripping his like a lifeline. She hadn't let go since they left the empty lot. Normally, she'd be skipping ahead, chattering excitedly about anything and everything, but now she was quiet.
Too quiet.
Hayato could feel her eyes on him, that small furrow in her brow that only appeared when she was truly worried. He knew she was waiting for him to say something.
But he didn't.
He just kept walking, his knuckles stinging, his body aching, his mind replaying the fight over and over again. The sound of fists hitting flesh. The sharp sting of pain. The way Tetsuya's gang had hit the ground, one by one.
The way he had fought.
The way he had won.
Finally, Hikari broke the silence.
"Nii-chan…?" Her voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, like she was afraid of the answer she was about to receive. "Why do they hate us so much?"
The question hit him harder than any of Tetsuya's punches.
Hayato's steps faltered for just a second. He let out a slow breath, his free hand instinctively brushing against the sore bruises forming along his jaw. His ribs ached with every inhale, his knuckles throbbed from the impact of his own punches, but none of it compared to the heavy weight in his chest.
He hesitated.
How was he supposed to explain this to her?
After a moment, he sighed. "Because we're different."
Hikari frowned up at him, her small brows knitting together. "That's stupid."
A breath of laughter escaped Hayato despite himself, short but real. "Yeah… it is."
But that didn't change anything.
He shook his head, his gaze drifting toward the ocean in the distance, the rolling waves stretching endlessly beneath the last light of day. "Sometimes, people don't like things they don't understand."
Hikari was quiet again, processing his words in that way she always did—serious, thoughtful, like she was trying to solve a puzzle.
Then, without hesitation, she tightened her grip on his hand.
"Well, I don't care if we're different."
Her voice was stronger now, filled with that innocent, unwavering certainty that only she could have.
"You're my Nii-chan, and you're the best one ever."
Hayato blinked, caught off guard by the pure honesty in her words.
Something inside his chest, something tight and tangled, slowly unraveled.
He looked down at her, meeting her determined gaze, and then—he smiled. A real one this time, small but warm. "Thanks, Hikari."
She grinned up at him, as if she had just declared something undeniable, absolute.
Hayato gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, his fingers still raw from the fight. "And as long as I'm here, I won't let them hurt you."
It wasn't just a promise.
It was his truth.
The sky darkened as they neared home, the first stars beginning to flicker in the vast expanse above. Fireflies blinked lazily in the distance, their golden glow dancing like tiny spirits guiding them forward. The rhythmic sound of the waves lapping against the shore filled the night air, steady and endless, a lullaby only the ocean could sing.
Despite the dull ache in his bruised body, despite the exhaustion settling in his bones, Hayato felt something else.
Something quiet.
Something strong.
Pride.
He had protected Hikari.
And that was all that mattered.
Chapter 3: The Sky Falls
Narration: All the world's greatest minds—the physicists, the engineers, the strategists—have run every possible scenario. There is no solution. No escape. No last-minute miracle.
It's coming. And it's going to hit.
The world begins to unravel. Governments scramble to put emergency plans in place—designating shelters, building underground bunkers, and setting up safe zones—but deep down, everyone knows the truth.
There aren't enough bunkers.
There aren't enough resources.
Not everyone is going to survive.
News broadcasts turn grim. Instead of hopeful updates, they now deliver harsh realities—how to prepare for impact, how to say goodbye to loved ones, how to find peace in the face of the inevitable. Scientists hold press conferences with hollow eyes and shaking voices, warning that even if humanity survives, the world will never be the same again.
As the days tick by, people no longer need telescopes to see Genesis.
It glows in the night sky, growing brighter and larger each evening. By the final week, it outshines the moon—a burning, orange-red streak across the heavens.
People gather in the streets, staring upward. Some in silent awe, others in tearful prayers. Children point at it, asking their parents why the sky is on fire.
Some refuse to believe it.
Some cling to religion, saying this is divine judgment.
Others turn to science, desperate for one last explanation.
And many just hold each other, knowing that no amount of preparation, no amount of faith or knowledge, can stop what's coming.
But here's what no one realizes.
Genesis isn't just an asteroid.
It's something more. Something that has existed since the dawn of the universe. And it carries within it a force that defies everything humanity understands about life and existence.
The impact won't just shatter the world—it will awaken something.
Something ancient. Something powerful. Something that will change everything.
This is the final moment of humanity's golden age.
The last few days of the world as it was known.
Because when Genesis finally collides with Earth, the planet's history won't just be rewritten.
It will be reborn.
The late afternoon sun bathed the streets of Okinawa in golden hues, stretching long, lazy shadows across the worn pavement. The air was warm and thick with the lingering scent of the ocean, mingling with the earthy aroma of rain from the passing storm earlier that day.
Hayato walked at a steady pace, his school bag slung over one shoulder, while Hikari skipped beside him, her boundless energy refusing to be tamed. Her white hair bounced with each hop, catching the sunlight like strands of silk. Her bright blue eyes gleamed with the innocent joy of childhood, reflecting a world far less complicated than the one Hayato saw.
A tug on his sleeve broke him from his thoughts.
"Nii-chan, can we stop for snacks?" she asked, peering up at him with an expectant grin.
Her voice was sweet, almost too sweet—like she already knew he wouldn't say no.
Hayato sighed, feigning reluctance as he ruffled her hair. "Alright, but just for a minute. We can't be late for dinner, or Grandma will lecture us."
"Yay!" Hikari cheered, practically dragging him toward the small convenience store ahead.
As the automatic doors slid open with a faint whoosh, a blast of cool air washed over them, starkly contrasting the warmth outside. The store smelled of instant noodles, fried food, and faint traces of cleaning supplies. It was a familiar scent, one that reminded Hayato of all the times they'd stopped here for a treat after school.
"I'm getting the strawberry gummies!" Hikari declared, dashing toward the snack aisle, her long hair trailing behind her like a ribbon.
Hayato shook his head with a small smile and made his way toward the refrigerated section. He grabbed a bottle of water and glanced at the clock hanging above the counter. "Don't take too long, Hikari. We have to—"
"I won't!" she called from the aisle, already clutching a small bag of candy like a hard-earned prize.
As Hayato walked toward the counter, something changed.
The usual soft background music—a light, cheerful jingle that played on repeat—fizzled out, replaced by a jarring burst of static. A large TV mounted above the cashier's counter flickered, and the sound of a news anchor's voice crackled through the store's speakers.
"—continuing our live coverage. Reports have been confirmed—"
The footage on the screen cut to a massive celestial body, glowing ominously against the black backdrop of space. It was an asteroid—huge, its surface crackling with unnatural energy. Hayato's breath caught in his throat as the screen zoomed in, revealing jagged fractures along its body, pulsing with eerie golden light.
His grip on the water bottle tightened.
"Nii-chan, what's wrong?"
Hikari had reappeared at his side, clutching her candy. Her gaze followed him to the screen, her expression shifting from curiosity to confusion.
Hayato barely heard the cashier handing him his change. The news anchor's voice filled his ears, growing sharper, more urgent.
"—scientists say the meteor, designated as Genesis, will soon enter Earth's atmosphere. Its trajectory suggests a catastrophic impact—"
The store suddenly felt too small, the air thick, suffocating. Hayato swallowed hard, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Genesis.
The name alone sent a chill down his spine.
Hikari's small hand tugged at his sleeve again, this time more hesitantly. "Nii-chan…?"
Hayato tore his gaze from the screen and forced himself to breathe. He crouched down, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Hikari, we need to go. Now."
Her brows knitted together. "But my candy—"
"Forget the candy." His voice came out sharper than intended.
Hikari flinched, her expression falling. Regret flickered in his chest, but there wasn't time to explain.
He softened his tone, squeezing her hand. "I'll get you more later. But right now, we have to get home."
She hesitated, then nodded, sensing the urgency in his voice.
Without another word, Hayato grabbed her hand and led her out of the store, the sound of the news broadcast still echoing behind them.
Outside, the golden light of the afternoon felt different—heavier. The wind had picked up slightly, rustling the leaves of a nearby cherry blossom tree. The village around them continued on as usual, people going about their daily routines, unaware that their world had just changed forever.
A loud sound came out of nowhere. It was the sound of missiles and nukes that the government launched into space to destroy Genesis.
Hayato and Hikari covered their ears and closed their eyes because the sound was too loud for them to handle.
When the sound was low enough, they opened their eyes and saw clouds coming from the ground into the sky.
"Nii-chan?" Hikari said with a worried expression.
Hayato, who was still looking at the clouds with a scared look, quickly snapped out of it and looked at Hikari.
"We have to keep moving." Hayato said.
Hayato grabbed Hikari's hand and they dashed home. As they were running home, things began to start changing.
Hikari looked up at him, concern evident in her eyes. "Nii-chan, what's happening?"
Hayato didn't answer right away. He stared up at the sky, at the sun shining brightly in its usual place. Everything looked the same.
But it wasn't.
Nothing was ever going to be the same again.
He tightened his grip on Hikari's hand.
"I'll explain later." His voice was steady, but inside, he wasn't sure he believed his own words. "We just need to get home."
The village was falling apart.
What was once a peaceful place filled with the sound of ocean waves and evening chatter had become a whirlwind of panic and confusion. The scent of grilled fish from dinner stalls had been replaced by the sharp sting of smoke and sweat. People ran wildly through the streets, their voices a tangled mess of fear and desperation.
Shutters slammed. Doors locked. Families clutched one another like the world was already ending.
The air was heavy with tension, thick enough to choke on. The night sky—usually serene and painted with stars—felt suffocating now, as if it was pressing down on them, warning them of what was coming.
Hayato held onto Hikari's hand like his life depended on it, weaving them through the frantic crowd. His pulse was hammering in his ears, drowning out everything else.
A man shoved past them, nearly sending Hikari to the ground.
"Get out of the way!" he shouted. "We have to reach the bunker before it's too late!"
Hikari whimpered, stumbling slightly.
Hayato immediately steadied her, tightening his grip on her tiny fingers. "Careful!" His voice came out harsher than he intended, but the fear thrumming through his body made it impossible to stay calm.
Hikari looked up at him, her small face filled with uncertainty. "Nii-chan… why is everyone so scared?"
Her voice was small, barely louder than a whisper, but Hayato could hear the fear creeping into it.
His jaw clenched. He didn't want to lie to her—but how could he tell his little sister that everything they knew was about to be ripped apart? That the home they had always known might not exist tomorrow?
Another loud crash echoed from further down the street.
A group of men had overturned a stall, desperately grabbing supplies. The shopkeeper shouted at them, but no one listened. People weren't thinking anymore—they were just trying to survive.
"Nii-chan?"
Hikari's grip on his sleeve tightened, her fingers trembling.
Hayato forced himself to swallow his panic. He had to be strong—for her. He squeezed her hand just enough to reassure her.
"It's… complicated," he muttered, dodging past another rushing villager. "Something really bad is going to happen. But it's okay. We're going to be okay."
"But—"
"No buts, Hikari. Just stay close to me."
She nodded hesitantly, but the uncertainty in her eyes didn't fade.
As they turned the final corner, their house finally came into view.
For a brief second, relief washed over Hayato. The warm glow from the windows stood out against the growing darkness, a reminder that they still had a home to return to.
But the second passed.
Because the village wasn't the same anymore.
And Hayato knew—deep down—this was only the beginning.
The warm scent of grilled fish and simmering miso soup drifted through the air as Hayato and Hikari reached the front steps of their home. The familiar glow of the windows spilled onto the sand-covered path, a small beacon of comfort amidst the growing unease that had consumed the village.
But no matter how inviting the house looked, Hayato knew things wouldn't be the same once they stepped inside.
Their grandmother had already been waiting by the door, her sharp gaze scanning the darkening streets beyond their home. The usual calm in her eyes had been replaced with something else—worry.
The moment she saw them, her tense shoulders dropped slightly, but not enough to hide her concern.
"You're back late," she said, relief and unease laced in her tone. Her eyes darted behind them toward the village square, where distant shouts and hurried footsteps echoed through the air. "What's going on? Why is everyone acting like this?"
Before Hayato could answer, their grandfather appeared in the doorway, his brows furrowed as he looked past them. "We heard shouting outside earlier," he said, his voice steady but tight. "Something's happening, isn't it?"
His hands, usually occupied with tools or the shop's ledger, were clenched at his sides. He had been waiting—watching—worried for them.
Hikari, still clutching Hayato's hand, glanced between their grandparents and the village behind them. The panic was growing—more voices, more frantic movements, the sound of a child crying somewhere in the distance.
Hayato stepped forward quickly, pulling Hikari inside as he spoke. "Turn on the TV," he said, his voice urgent but controlled.
Their grandfather's frown deepened. "Hayato, tell me what's going on."
"Just turn it on," Hayato repeated, sharper this time.
His grandmother hesitated only for a moment before exchanging a look with her husband. Without another word, she moved toward the television, her movements stiff and deliberate.
The old TV flickered as she pressed the button. A moment of static—then the image sharpened.
The broadcast had already begun.
A grim-faced news anchor stared back at them, his voice a heavy weight that settled over the room.
"—official reports confirm that the meteor, now classified as Genesis, will impact Earth within a few hours."
The screen shifted to display a computer-generated simulation—Earth, a blue and green jewel floating in the vastness of space. But it was no longer alone. A massive asteroid, dark and jagged, loomed in the distance, its trajectory locked onto the planet with chilling precision.
The words landed like a blow.
The house, once filled with the familiar sounds of a peaceful evening, was now suffocated by silence.
The screen cut back to the anchor, his expression unreadable, though his tightly clasped hands hinted at the weight of the message she was delivering.
"The meteor's size and speed make it catastrophic," he continued, her voice carefully measured. "Despite global efforts, attempts to destroy or divert Genesis have failed. Earlier today, a coordinated nuclear strike was launched into space in a last-ditch effort to eliminate the asteroid before impact."
A momentary pause.
Then, the footage changed again. A series of grainy, high-altitude satellite clips played, showing the Earth's final defense—rockets streaking toward the asteroid, their trails cutting across the darkness like shooting stars. Explosions erupted across Genesis' surface, fiery bursts of energy illuminating the void of space.
But as the dust cleared, the asteroid remained.
And it was falling even faster.
"While the detonation succeeded in reducing the meteor's outer layers," the anchor's voice carried the weight of impending doom, "the core remains intact and is now traveling at an even greater velocity."
The footage faded, replaced by a simple, unchanging text on the screen:
IMPACT: 10 HOURS
His tone didn't waver, but the tension behind his eyes was unmistakable.
"Government evacuation plans are underway. Citizens are urged to prepare for immediate relocation. Further details will be announced—"
The tv suddenly turned off. Hayato barely heard the rest.
His grandmother slowly sank into the nearest chair, her lips parting slightly as if to speak, but no words came. Her hands trembled as she reached for the wooden table, gripping the edge for support.
His grandfather remained standing, his gaze locked onto the screen. His expression didn't waver, but Hayato could see the slight tremor in his fingers, the tightening of his jaw. The man who had always been their pillar—the one who fixed everything, who always knew what to do—was frozen.
Hikari tugged at Hayato's sleeve, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Nii-chan… what's a meteor?"
Hayato turned to her, his heart twisting at the innocence in her face.
He crouched down, forcing his voice to remain steady even as fear coiled in his chest. "It's… a big rock from space," he said carefully. "It's heading toward Earth."
Hikari's brows furrowed. "Is it going to hit us?"
Hayato felt his throat tighten.
He didn't know the answer.
The truth was staring at him through the television screen, the weight of it pressing against his ribs like an invisible force. He could see it in his grandparents' faces. In the panic outside. In the way the news anchor's voice wavered ever so slightly, betraying his own fear.
But none of that mattered.
Not to Hikari.
She was looking at him, trusting him—waiting for the answer that would decide whether she should be scared or not.
So Hayato did the only thing he could.
He tightened his grip on her small hands and said, without hesitation—
"No."
His voice was firm. Steady. Unshakable.
"It's not going to hit us. We'll be okay. I'll make sure of it."
His grandfather exhaled sharply through his nose, finally tearing his gaze from the screen. His grandmother slowly lifted her head, her face unreadable.
Hikari searched his eyes for a moment longer before nodding, her grip tightening around his fingers.
She believed him.
The next hour was a whirlwind of movement, fear, and urgency. Their once-peaceful home—filled with the familiar scent of grilled fish and the soft lull of the ocean breeze—was now tense and chaotic, filled with hurried footsteps and the rustling of bags being stuffed to capacity.
Their grandparents moved with quiet determination, their usually steady hands trembling as they packed everything they could carry—clothes, preserved food, a few valuables, and essential documents. Their grandmother's face, normally lined with warmth, was tight with worry. Their grandfather, always a pillar of strength, now wore an expression Hayato had never seen before.
It was the look of a man preparing for the unknown.
Hayato did his best to help—grabbing supplies, checking their bags—but his mind was spinning. The news reports echoed in his head on an endless loop:
"Impact expected in approximately 10 hours… All citizens must evacuate immediately… Government shelters are at maximum capacity…"
It didn't feel real. It couldn't be real.
Yet, the fear twisting in his gut told him otherwise.
Across the room, Hikari sat on the floor, hugging her stuffed rabbit tightly against her chest. Her wide eyes darted from one person to the next, trying to make sense of the urgency around her. The normalcy of their home—the cozy warmth of their grandparents' house—felt like it was slipping away, piece by piece.
A sharp sigh broke through the tension.
"Kenji… We need to get to Kenji."
Their grandmother muttered the words under her breath, glancing anxiously at the old wooden clock on the wall.
Their grandfather, who had been double-checking their supplies, nodded. "I'll go and retrieve him once I've dropped you all off at the shelter," he said, his voice laced with forced steadiness, as if trying to convince himself that time was still on their side.
"No."
The firmness in my grandmother's voice made everyone pause.
Her eyes locked onto his grandfather's. "We all go together, as a family."
His grandfather frowned. "But Kenji lives on the far side of the island. I need to make sure you three make it into the shelter first!"
"The sooner we leave, the safer we'll be. The longer we wait, the harder it'll be to reach Uncle Kenji." said the grandmother
For a brief moment, the grandfather hesitated. Leaving in the middle of the night, with the village in chaos, was a risk. But the grandmother's expression was unwavering, her determination cutting through these doubts.
They exchanged a look—one of silent understanding.
Then—
The phone rang.
The sharp, shrill sound cut through the room like a knife, freezing everyone in place.
Hayato's grandfather was the first to move. He crossed the room in hurried strides and picked up the receiver, his weathered hands gripping it tightly.
"Hello?"
A crackle of static.
Then—
"Hello, is everyone there?"
The voice was distant but unmistakable.
It's their father.
Hayato's breath caught.
"Elijah, we're here," their grandfather said quickly, his voice thick with emotion. "What's happening?"
Their father exhaled sharply on the other end. "Listen to me. You need to get to the nearest bunker immediately. Don't wait. Don't hesitate. Just go."
Hayato moved closer, straining to hear every word.
"We're almost ready," their grandmother said, her voice filled with both urgency and fear. "Once we're packed, we'll get Kenji and head to shelter."
A heavy silence stretched over the line before she finally asked—
"What about you?"
There was a pause.
Then, their father's voice came back, quieter this time.
"I can't leave my post."
The weight of those words settled like a stone in Hayato's chest.
Of course.
"We're running evacuation operations. I don't know if I'll make it in time."
His voice was steady, but Hayato could hear it—the uncertainty.
Even now, their father was prioritizing his duty. The Air Force, the country—the world.
But not them.
Hikari's small fingers clutched Hayato's sleeve. Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"Daddy…?"
Hayato reached down, placing a hand on her head, gently squeezing.
On the other end of the line, their father took a deep breath.
"When this is over… I will find you. I swear it."
Hayato swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in his throat.
His grandfather spoke, his voice thick. "We'll be waiting. We'll find each other again."
Another long silence.
Then—
"Stay safe."
And the line went dead.
The quiet that followed was deafening.
Their grandmother took a shaky breath and wiped at her eyes before straightening her back. Then, in a voice that allowed no argument—
"We leave. Now."
No one hesitated.
No one argued.
They moved faster, stuffing the last of their belongings into their bags. Every second that passed felt like sand slipping through an hourglass—precious and irreversible.
As Hayato pulled his bag over his shoulder, his father's final words echoed in his mind.
"I will find you."
He wanted to believe them.
He had to.
The house behind them buzzed with movement—hurried footsteps, the rustling of bags, the occasional murmur of worry exchanged between their grandparents. Inside, preparations continued, but out here, on the porch, the world felt strangely still.
Hayato stepped outside, the weight of everything pressing down on his chest like an invisible force. The cool night air wrapped around him, carrying the familiar scent of salt and the distant rustling of palm trees. Normally, this kind of evening would bring a sense of peace, the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore a comforting lullaby.
But tonight was different.
Tonight, the silence felt wrong.
A faint creak broke through the hush as the door behind him opened. Small footsteps padded across the wooden floor, and a moment later, Hikari appeared at his side. Without a word, she reached for his hand, her tiny fingers curling around his.
She was shaking.
"Nii-chan… are we really going to be okay?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper, fragile like glass.
Hayato exhaled softly, crouching down beside her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She was trembling—not from the cold, but from the fear neither of them wanted to acknowledge.
He looked into her wide eyes, searching for reassurance in a place where there was none. She needed him to be strong. She needed to hear certainty in his voice, even if his own heart was hammering with doubt.
So, he forced himself to nod.
"Yes," he said, his voice steady, his grip firm. "We'll be okay. I'll make sure of it."
And for her sake, he willed himself to believe it.
But as he spoke, his gaze drifted upward—toward the vast, endless night sky.
The stars shimmered against the deep indigo expanse, tiny and distant, untouched by the chaos unfolding on Earth. But there, cutting through the darkness like a silent omen, was something far brighter.
Genesis.
The meteor.
It burned through the heavens like a celestial wound, a streak of red, orange, and gold slicing across the sky. Its fiery tail flickered against the blackness, its glow impossibly beautiful despite the destruction it promised.
For a brief moment, Hayato forgot to breathe.
It didn't seem real.
It was mesmerizing, the way it illuminated the night—like something out of a story, a cosmic event meant to be admired from afar. Not something that was coming to end everything.
If only it would keep soaring through the cosmos, never drawing closer, never bringing ruin in its wake.
If only…
"Wow…" Hikari whispered beside him, her voice filled with something he hadn't expected.
Wonder.
Hayato turned his head slightly, watching as her fear momentarily faded, replaced by pure, childlike awe.
Even now, with the world on the brink of disaster, she still found beauty in the unknown.
A faint, bittersweet smile tugged at the corner of Hayato's lips. He reached up, gently tucking a strand of her white hair behind her ear.
She still saw the world through untainted eyes. Even as everything threatened to crumble around them, she could find something to marvel at.
She still believed in something beyond fear.
The stars above seemed dimmer than usual, their light paling in comparison to the blazing streak of Genesis. It was as if the universe itself was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable.
Hayato tightened his hold around Hikari, shielding her from the cold, from the uncertainty, from the storm that was about to crash into their lives.
Whatever happened next—whatever was coming—
He wouldn't let it take her.
The once-familiar warmth of their home had been replaced by an overwhelming sense of urgency. The usual evening calm—the soft clinking of dishes in the sink, the murmur of conversation, the gentle hum of the ocean outside—had vanished, replaced by hurried footsteps and the rustling of fabric as bags were hastily packed.
Hayato moved quickly, grabbing his small backpack and stuffing it with anything he thought he might need: a change of clothes, a flashlight, and, most importantly, the small family photo he always carried. His fingers brushed over the worn edges of the picture before carefully tucking it into the bag. He couldn't leave without it.
Across the room, Hikari darted between her grandparents, clutching her favorite stuffed rabbit—a small, well-loved toy with floppy ears and slightly frayed stitching. She hugged it to her chest like a lifeline.
"Nii-chan, should I bring more toys?" she asked, hesitating near her small pile of belongings.
Hayato paused, glancing at her. The innocence in her voice made his chest tighten.
"Just your favorite one, Hikari," he said gently. "We don't have much space."
Her lips pressed into a small pout, but she nodded, squeezing the rabbit a little tighter before stuffing it into her bag.
Their grandmother, moving with uncharacteristic urgency, scanned the room, eyes darting from corner to corner as if checking for anything they had forgotten. "Do we have everything?" she called, her voice laced with barely concealed worry.
Their grandfather, already gripping the car keys in one hand, gave a firm nod. "Yes. We can't waste any more time."
The air felt heavier with each passing second, the weight of what was happening pressing down on them. There was no telling what would happen once they left—no certainty that they'd even reach the bunker in time.
Hayato swallowed hard, shaking the thought away. No. They would make it. They had to.
He quickly moved to help Hikari into the back seat of their small, old but reliable car, buckling her in tightly before sliding in beside her. She clutched his sleeve as the engine rumbled to life, her wide eyes darting toward him for reassurance.
"Nii-chan… will we be okay?"
Hayato forced himself to smile. "Of course."
The words felt hollow in his throat, but he had to say them. He had to believe them.
Their grandparents took their places in the front seats, their expressions tense but focused. The car jerked forward, pulling away from the house—their home.
As they drove down the narrow dirt road, Hayato turned, staring out the window. The house grew smaller in the distance, framed by the glow of the setting sun and the rolling waves of the ocean beyond.
The familiar sight filled him with a deep, aching sadness.
Would they ever see it again?
Would they ever return to the home where laughter once filled the air, where they sat around the dinner table and listened to their grandfather's stories, where their grandmother scolded them for tracking sand onto the wooden floors?
Or was this goodbye?
Hayato's fingers curled into fists on his lap, his gaze lingering on the silhouette of their home until it finally disappeared from view.
The streets were nothing like they used to be. Where there was once a peaceful hum of daily life, now there was only noise—blaring car horns, hurried footsteps, and frantic voices overlapping in a chaotic symphony of desperation.
Cars clogged the narrow roads, stuffed to the brim with suitcases, food, and anything people could grab before fleeing their homes. Families huddled together on sidewalks, arguing over what to do next. Some people ran, weaving through the congestion, their faces pale with fear. Others stood frozen, their eyes locked onto the sky, as if waiting for something—as if waiting for the end.
Inside the car, the atmosphere was thick with tension. The rhythmic sound of tires rolling over the pavement should have been calming, but instead, it felt suffocating. Hayato sat stiffly, his fingers digging into his knees as he stared out the window. He saw people shouting at soldiers, pleading to be let into already overcrowded transport trucks. He saw children clinging to their parents, their faces streaked with tears.
The world was unraveling.
"Grandpa… is the bunker really safe?" Hayato finally broke the silence, his voice quiet but heavy.
His grandfather glanced at him through the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable. "It's the best chance we have," he said firmly. "Your father mentioned it when he called us. We will see him when this is over."
Hayato nodded slowly, but his chest tightened. His father's words replayed in his mind—"I will find you."
But when?
Would he even make it?
The thought made Hayato grip his backpack a little tighter. His father had made a lot of promises over the years—promises that always came second to duty. And now, when they needed him most, he was still so far away.
A small tug on his sleeve pulled him from his thoughts.
"Nii-chan…" Hikari's voice was barely above a whisper. She had curled up against his shoulder, her tiny fingers clutching his arm. "I'm scared."
Hayato looked down at her, his heart twisting. Her usually bright expression was gone, replaced with worry. Her hands trembled slightly as she clung to him, seeking comfort—seeking something solid in a world that was falling apart.
He forced a smile, though it felt hollow. "It's going to be okay," he said, reaching up to gently ruffle her hair. "I won't let anything happen to you."
Hikari nodded, but she didn't look convinced. She just pressed herself closer, as if being near him could shield her from whatever was coming.
The car sped through the streets, dodging abandoned vehicles and weaving past desperate people waving for a ride. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows over the chaotic city.
Above them, the sky remained eerily calm.
The stars were just beginning to peek through the twilight, twinkling like they always had—uncaring, unchanged.
And in the distance, streaking across the heavens like a silent executioner, Genesis burned brighter.