Morning light crept through the thin curtains of the Sendo apartment, pale and gray like it hadn't fully decided to wake up yet.
Akira Sendo stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at his reflection without really seeing it.
He was short for his age, thin in a way that made his school uniform hang a little too loose on his frame. His black hair refused to behave—messy, curly, sticking out in uneven directions no matter how many times he tried to flatten it down with water. Dark circles sat heavily beneath his eyes, permanent shadows carved there by sleepless nights and constant stress. Just above his collarbone, on the side of his neck, rested a small mole, something he'd been told made him easy to recognize—if anyone was really paying attention.
He looked tired.
He always did.
"Akira."
The voice came from behind him, small and hopeful.
Akira turned to see his little brother Yuno, already dressed for school. Yuno was seven—too young to be walking alone in a city like Tokyo, even if their neighborhood wasn't far from the elementary school. He had the same dark hair as Akira and their mother, though his was cut shorter and neater. Round glasses slid slightly down his nose as he looked up, clutching his backpack straps with both hands.
"Can you walk me to school today?" Yuno asked. "Just today."
Akira sighed.
He checked the time. He was already running late.
"Take the bus," Akira said, sharper than he meant to. "It's what it's there for."
Yuno hesitated. "But Mom usually—"
"I said take the bus," Akira snapped, turning back to the sink.
The words landed heavier than he expected.
Behind them, their mother stepped out from the kitchen. She looked just like Akira—same tired eyes, same thin frame, same hair pulled back loosely as if she hadn't had time to fix it properly.
"Akira," she said, her voice tense. "He's seven."
"I know," Akira shot back. "I'm late. I can't do everything."
Yuno's eyes filled with tears.
"I just wanted to walk with you," he whispered.
The room felt too small.
Their mother raised her voice, frustration spilling out. Akira raised his in response. Words piled on top of each other—stress, exhaustion, things neither of them truly meant.
Then Yuno suddenly turned and ran for the door.
"I'll take the bus by myself!" he cried.
The door slammed.
Silence followed.
Akira froze.
For half a second, he considered chasing after him.
Then he didn't.
School passed in a blur.
Akira met his friends halfway, laughed when he was supposed to, walked through the gates like it was any other day. He sat down in class, staring at the board, his mind drifting back to Yuno's crying face.
Halfway through first period, his phone vibrated.
The teacher frowned as Akira glanced at the screen.
Mom.
His chest tightened.
He stepped into the hallway to answer.
"Akira," his mother said, her voice breaking instantly.
The world tilted.
There had been an accident.
Yuno had been on his way to school.
He didn't survive.
Akira slid down the wall, his phone slipping from his hand as the hallway noise faded into nothing.
That night, the apartment felt hollow.
Yuno's shoes were still by the door. His backpack rested against the wall, exactly where he'd dropped it yesterday. Their mother sat silently at the table, staring at nothing, her face empty in a way Akira had never seen before.
Akira locked himself in his room.
He sat on his bed, hands shaking, replaying the morning over and over again.
If I had just walked him.
If I hadn't yelled.
If I had stopped him.
Tears blurred his vision.
Eventually, unable to breathe through the weight in his chest, Akira pulled on a jacket and slipped outside.
The streets were quiet, neon lights reflecting faintly off the pavement. He walked without direction, tears streaking down his face, his thoughts spiraling.
Then—
A sudden flash of headlights.
A shout.
Impact.
The world went dark.
Akira gasped.
He shot upright in bed, heart pounding.
Sunlight streamed through the curtains.
His alarm clock blinked.
Yesterday's date.
From the other room, a familiar voice called out:
"Akira? I'm ready for school!"
Akira stared at his hands, trembling.
Alive.
Yesterday.
And somehow… he knew.