The Wound That Would Not Close
Rumane Yasahute had long since grown used to silence.
It was not peace. It was not rest. It was the silence of ash after a fire, the silence of a door slammed shut forever. She wore it like armor, convincing herself that it kept her safe from the stares of others, from questions, from the danger of remembering.
But Akio Hukitaske kept breaking into it.
Every word he spoke carried weight—about medicine, about pharmacy, about things her brother once whispered in the dim glow of a desk lamp while studying late into the night. Every glance he gave her was another reminder that people still reached out sometimes, that she had no excuse to stay buried forever.
And every time she looked at him, her brother's shadow flickered at the edges of her vision, as though Renji himself were crouched in the corners of the classroom, waiting to be called back into the world.
She couldn't take it. Not anymore.
The Library
The storm had broken the night before, but the sky still hung heavy, swollen with unspent rain. The smell of damp wood lingered in the school corridors. Rumane drifted through them, clutching her books tight to herself.
The library had always been her sanctuary. Tall shelves, stale paper, dust—safe shadows where no one bothered her. She slipped inside, hoping to disappear.
But he was there.
Akio sat at a table with his two friends, Hikata and Riki, their voices low, heads bent over notebooks. Rumane froze when Akio's head turned, his gaze finding her instantly as though he had been waiting. His eyes didn't pry, didn't demand—but they refused to look away.
Something inside her cracked. She walked briskly to the farthest corner, pulling a heavy book from the shelf without looking at its title, and dropped onto the carpeted floor. She opened the book but didn't see the words. Her ears strained against the silence, waiting for footsteps.
They came.
"Why are you always hiding here?"
She snapped the book shut, glaring up at him. His figure loomed against the dim yellow light, tall and calm and infuriatingly steady.
"Leave me alone," she hissed.
"I can't."
Her teeth clenched. "I said leave me alone."
His reply came soft but stubborn. "Why?"
The word detonated inside her heart.
"Because you won't stop making me remember him!" she burst out, her voice echoing off the shelves, startling a teacher at the far end of the room. "My brother—everything I lost—you keep dragging it back! Every time you speak, it's like you're ripping him out of the grave and holding him in front of me! Do you understand that? I don't want it! I don't want you! I don't want any of this!"
Her vision blurred with tears, hot and merciless. Rage burned through the helplessness, and she stood, fists trembling.
"If you don't leave me alone," she spat, "I'll punch you. I'll make you regret it."
The library froze. Even Hikata and Riki fell silent, their eyes wide.
But Akio didn't move. Didn't flinch. His voice stayed calm, low.
"Then hit me. If that's what you need to breathe again—hit me."
Her fists quivered. For one heartbeat she wanted to strike him, to feel the release. But the rage melted into despair. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed back onto the carpet, shoulders shaking, forehead pressed to her knees.
"I can't take it anymore," she whispered, voice breaking. "Every time I think I'm okay, you remind me. You drag him back. You don't understand... you don't understand what it's like to still be alive when he isn't."
Akio lowered himself beside her. He didn't touch, only hovered close, his shadow brushing hers. Slowly, carefully, his hand extended.
The gesture shattered her.
She slapped it away, the sound sharp and final.
"Don't you dare!" Her tears fell freely now, her voice ragged. "Don't you dare pretend you can fix this. Just leave people alone! You think you're helping, but you're not. You're going to get yourself killed, dragging yourself into other people's darkness. Don't you get it? This world isn't safe. People like me aren't safe."
The words tumbled out like a curse, heavy and bitter. Her voice dropped, lower, almost a growl.
"Take it as a warning. Stay away from me. Before you regret it."
And then she ran.
The Hallway of Shadows
The door slammed behind her, and she tore down the corridor, breath ragged, heart aching. Outside the windows, the world had turned a sickly orange. The autumn leaves whirled violently in the wind, scraping against the panes like claws.
Her brother's voice echoed in her head.
"Rumane, watch me... one day I'll change the world. You'll see."
She stumbled, clutching the lockers for balance. But the echo didn't stop. His laughter twisted into screams, the crash of falling shelves, the shatter of glass. She heard the lab accident again, not as memory but as sound, raw and fresh.
He's calling me. He's calling me back.
Her vision warped. The hallway stretched long and endless, the light flickering. Shadows crawled along the floor like spilled ink, writhing toward her.
She gasped, clutching her stomach. "Stop... stop it, Renji..."
But the footsteps came again. Akio's. Steady, unrelenting, like a heartbeat she couldn't silence.
"Stop following me!" she cried, her voice breaking.
Still he came.
She spun, her eyes wide, her hair sticking to her wet cheeks. He stood just a few paces behind, his figure haloed by the pale gray light through the windows. His face was calm, but his eyes carried something heavy, unshakable.
"Why won't you listen?" she shouted, her voice nearly breaking into a scream.
Akio stopped, but only to breathe. Then, quietly, firmly:
"Because I know what silence feels like. And I can't leave you in it."
The words drove into her like knives. Her knees gave way, and she slid down against the lockers, curling into herself. Her sobs ripped from her throat, raw and uneven.
"You're a fool," she choked, voice muffled by her arms. "And fools get hurt. You don't know the danger you're walking into. You don't know what it does to people... it kills them. It killed him. And if you stay near me—it'll kill you too."
Her voice dropped to a whisper, hollow and trembling.
"I'm cursed. And if you don't leave me alone—you'll see it for yourself."
Akio didn't answer. He only stood there, rooted, as the orange leaves outside clawed violently at the glass, and the wind howled like a chorus of the dead.
The camera would linger on her—small, broken, sobbing against the lockers—as the hallway warped around her, shadows flickering like ghosts of her brother. And Akio, still and stubborn, refusing to move.
TO BE CONTINUED...