Yotsuba practically sprinted up the floating glass staircase, her green ribbon bouncing with each step. She turned back every few seconds to make sure Yoichi was following, her face alight with an enthusiasm that seemed physically impossible to contain.
"Come on, come on! You walk so sloooow!" She grabbed his wrist and tugged, surprisingly strong for someone her size.
Yoichi allowed himself to be pulled along, his face a practiced mask of indifference. His eyes, however, scanned every detail of his surroundings, logging exit routes and potential security weaknesses out of habit.
"This is the upstairs hallway!" Yotsuba flung her arms wide, nearly smacking him in the process. "All our rooms are here! Mine's that one!" She pointed to a door with a small wooden plaque painted with a clover. "You can see all my plants on the balcony from the outside! I've got seventeen different kinds now! My snake plant just had babies!"
She continued without pausing for breath, bouncing on her toes as she pointed down the corridor.
"Nino's room always smells like fancy perfume! Miku keeps her curtains closed because she says the sunlight hurts her eyes, but I think she's actually a vampire! Don't tell her I said that! Itsuki's room is super neat because she's super neat! And Ichika's room is... well..." She scratched her cheek. "You'll see! Ichika says creative minds are messy, but I think she just hates cleaning!"
Yoichi gave a noncommittal grunt, which Yotsuba somehow interpreted as enthusiastic interest.
"I know, right?! It's so cool how we're all different even though we look alike!" Her smile grew even brighter. "And THIS—" she stopped at the end of the hall and gestured to the final door with both hands, "—is yours! The guest room!"
She pushed it open with a grand flourish, presenting it like a game show host revealing a prize. "Ta-da! Welcome to your new home!"
Before Yoichi could respond, Yotsuba gave him a final, blindingly bright smile and bounded back down the hallway, her footsteps fading like distant thunder.
The sudden silence rang in his ears.
Yoichi stepped into the room and surveyed his new territory. It was immense, easily three times the size of his bedroom in Osaka. And empty. Sterile. A king-sized bed dominated the space, covered in a plain gray duvet that matched the pale walls. A sleek, modern desk sat by the window. A single nightstand. That was it.
Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased a breathtaking panorama of the Tokyo skyline. It looked like something from a luxury hotel brochure.
He walked to what he assumed was a closet, expecting a standard-sized space. When he pulled the door open, he discovered a walk-in closet larger than his entire bedroom back home. The emptiness was jarring.
Except for one corner.
Hanging perfectly on a rack were five brand-new, identical Kosei Academy uniforms, still wrapped in plastic. Dark blue blazers with the silver school crest. Crisp white shirts. Gray slacks. Each set pristine, waiting.
Yoichi ran his fingers along the sleeve of one blazer.
He looked around the barren room again, calculation replacing the momentary flicker of discomfort.
This won't do. That half-a-million-yen allowance should be enough to add some personality to this morgue. Something to make it mine.
He dropped his duffel bag on the bed and unzipped it. His possessions looked pathetic as he placed them in the cavernous closet—three worn t-shirts, two pairs of jeans, a handful of books with creased spines. A lifetime reduced to a single bag.
Then he reached into an inner pocket and removed two items. These were the only things that mattered.
The first was a simple silver chain holding a plain, unadorned wedding band. A woman's ring. Small, with a slight curve where it had been worn for years. He held it in his palm for a moment, his fingers closing around it briefly before he placed it gently on the nightstand.
The second was a framed 5×7 photograph. It showed a younger Yoichi, maybe fourteen or fifteen, grinning widely. He was holding a small, shiny trophy, his arm around his mother.
She was beautiful, with an artist's free-spirited smile and the same storm-gray eyes as her son. But there were faint lines of exhaustion around those eyes, a pallor to her skin that hinted at the illness that would eventually claim her.
They stood in front of what looked like a community theater entrance, a faded banner visible in the background: "Osaka Youth Talent Competition."
Yoichi traced his thumb over his mother's face, feeling the cool glass of the frame.
The pride in her eyes when they called his name. The way she'd cheered louder than anyone. The cheap, delicious takoyaki they ate afterward to celebrate.
The promise he'd made that someday, he'd become a famous entertainer and buy her a massive house with enough room to make her botanical garden dream a reality.
He could feel the hot sting of tears welling up.
Stop it. She's not in pain anymore. She's free from all of it. From the bills, from the sickness, from him.
She was free.
He was not.
He set the photo down next to the necklace, creating a small, sacred shrine on the nightstand. His eyes moved from his precious relics to the sprawling cityscape outside his window, his new life laid out before him in gleaming glass and steel.
Imagine if the guys back home could see this. They'd never let me live it down.
His unpacking finished, Yoichi lay down on the bed, still fully clothed. The silence pressed in on him from all sides. He pulled his earbuds and his dead phone from his pocket, plugging the earbuds into the phone and then the phone into a charger on the wall.
As the device powered on, he navigated to his music app and selected a playlist titled simply "Mom." The soft, gentle, and slightly melancholic voice of Laufey filled his ears.
Mom's favorite. Said it sounded like falling in love on a rainy day.
He closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him, a temporary shield against the sterile room and the five strangers downstairs.
The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as the familiar melody carried him away from the present.
He drifted.
Time slipped by unnoticed.
A strange sensation slowly pulled him back to consciousness. Gentle pressure. Soft hands cupping his cheeks. It was a tender, almost maternal gesture that his sleep-addled brain registered as deeply wrong.
…Mom?
His eyes flew open.
A girl's face hovered inches from his own, peering down with a curious, playful smile. Short pink hair.
He jolted upright.
CRACK.
His forehead connected squarely with hers.
"OWWW!" They cried in unison.
Yoichi scrambled backward on the bed, clutching his head. The girl stumbled away, holding her own forehead. Tears of pain welled in her eyes, but a strange, amused smile still played on her lips.
"Wow," she said, her voice a little shaky. "That's one way to say 'good evening.'"
"...Nino?" he asked warily. "What are you doing in my room?"
The girl let out a small, musical laugh, wincing as it jostled her injured head. "Strike one, sleepyhead." She rubbed the red mark blooming on her forehead. "And for the record, Nino would have probably slapped you awake, not... this." She gestured vaguely to her face.
Not Nino. Right. Who else?
"...Yotsuba?" he tried again.
Her smile widened, becoming predatory and teasing. She wagged a finger at him. "Strike two~" she sang. "Yotsuba would have just shouted your name from the hallway. You're not very good at this, are you?"
She leaned against his doorframe, blocking the exit.
"They sent me to come get you for dinner," she explained. "But..." She tapped her chin thoughtfully, tilting her head. "I'm thinking I won't let you leave this room until you can tell me my name."
Yoichi stared at her. The smart-ass with the sly smile.
He racked his brain, trying to remember Yotsuba's lightning-fast introductions.
Nothing came to mind.
...Fuck.
"I'll give you a hint," she offered, her voice dropping to a stage whisper. "I'm the oldest." She winked, then grimaced in pain. "Ow. Maybe the headbutting game wasn't my best idea."
Yoichi's eyes narrowed. "Ichika."
"Ding ding ding!" She clapped her hands together. "We have a winner! Though I'm a little hurt you didn't recognize me right away."
She pouted dramatically. "Am I that forgettable?"
"You all have the same face," Yoichi pointed out flatly.
"Ouch." Ichika clutched her chest in mock injury. "And here I thought I was the pretty one." Her gaze wandered to his nightstand, lingering on the photo and the necklace. Her playful expression softened momentarily.
Yoichi shifted, subtly positioning himself to block her view. The movement wasn't lost on Ichika, whose eyes flickered back to his face with renewed interest.
"Dinner's ready," she said, her tone slightly gentler. "Nino made curry. Fair warning—she might have poisoned your portion."
"Noted."
"That was a joke." She paused, studying his impassive face. "Sort of. Maybe I'll taste test it first, just to be safe."
Yoichi stood, towering over her. Ichika didn't back away, merely tilted her head further up to maintain eye contact.
"You're tall," she observed. "That'll make the 'which one is which' game even harder for you. We're all exactly the same height."
"I'll manage."
"Will you? You're oh-for-two so far." Her smile returned, mischievous and challenging. "Tell you what. I'll make you a deal. If you can correctly identify all five of us by the end of dinner, I'll tell you one of their secrets."
Yoichi's eyebrow arched slightly. "And if I can't?"
Ichika's smile widened. "Then you have to do whatever I say for a day."
"Pass."
"Too late!" She grabbed his wrist, her grip surprisingly firm.
"Come on, the curry's getting cold, and Nino gets cranky when people don't appreciate her cooking while it's hot."