"Excuse me, kid," Yoshiro, 25-year-old man, said gently, keeping his tone calm so as not to appear suspicious. The boy startled and slowly turned toward him, confusion clouding his eyes.
"Yes?" Yuki replied quietly, his voice barely a whisper. He looked at Yoshiro, unsure of what this stranger wanted.
Yoshiro remained silent for a brief moment, simply staring. The resemblance struck him like a quiet blow. It wasn't perfect — faces could deceive memory — but something in the boy's expression, the delicate shape of his features, the way he stood… it reminded him, so powerfully, of someone he had once loved.
Yuki shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of the man's gaze. "Umm… what can I do for you, sir?" he asked awkwardly, breaking the strange silence.
Yoshiro was about to speak when a sudden voice cut in. "There you are, Master Yoshiro."
Yuki startled again. Someone approached — an older, maybe in mid-fifties, but impeccably dressed man in a formal suit. Probably his chaperone, Yuki thought, a flicker of relief washing over him at the interruption.
"Oh, Matsuka-san. Sorry for leaving you. I was just…" Yoshiro began, his words trailing off.
The older man, Mr. Matsuka, looked at him with quiet disapproval, then cast a fleeting glance at Yuki. Yuki shifted uncomfortably. If he wasn't needed here, it was better to leave. He didn't want to get caught up in whatever this was.
"If you don't need anything from me, I should go," Yuki said, bowing slightly as a polite dismissal. "I apologize for disturbing you." He turned to leave, hoping to disappear into the mall crowd.
"Ah—wait." Yoshiro's voice, a little more insistent this time, stopped him. "May I… know your name?"
Yuki paused. But he didn't hear the question clearly. Or perhaps he chose not to respond. He simply continued walking, eager to put distance between himself and the unusual encounter.
***
Later, in the dimly lit warehouse, Yuki was busy counting the newly received boxes in the inventory room. It was part of his task – simple, routine work that required focus. He reached for his notebook, about to write down the numbers.
Then the memory returned, unbidden. "Excuse me, kid." "Do you have a moment?" "Ah—wait." "May I… know your name?" The words replayed in his mind, persistent whispers.
Yuki paused, his pen hovering over the page. What was wrong with that person? he wondered. Why was he so interested in a simple name? It confused him. No one usually cared about that. Just a name. Nothing special.
He shook his head, clearing it of the distracting thoughts. "There's no time for that," he muttered to himself. "I need to focus." The boxes still needed counting. The inventory still needed recording. Work first. Questions later. He pushed the strange encounter from his mind and continued his work.
"Done with your work?"
Yuki startled, his heart leaping into his throat, and spun around. It was Jiro, a playful grin on his face. "You scared me!" Yuki protested, trying to calm his racing pulse. "Why do I keep getting startled today? What's wrong with me?" he muttered under his breath, half to himself.
"Okay, okay. Sorry," Jiro said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Is something wrong?"
"Nothing. I'm just tired."
"Let's eat," Jiro offered, his tone shifting from teasing to genuine concern.
"Sure. I'm starving," Yuki replied, suddenly realizing the truth in his words.
"Oh, I'm sure you are," Jiro teased, nudging him lightly.
"Shut up!" Yuki shot back, but a small smile tugged at his lips.
They both laughed, the sound a welcome lightness in the heavy warehouse air. Small moments like this mattered, Yuki thought. He was tired—of work, of responsibilities, of the crushing weight he carried—but he was not alone. He had friends. People who checked on him. People who made him smile, even when life felt heavy. That was enough to keep going.
***
Class was dismissed, and Yuki, Naru, and Fumiko walked down the school hallway together, their chatter a familiar backdrop.
"Oh, I really loved the cake we ate yesterday," Naru said, still thinking about the previous day's treat.
"The tiramisu cake?" Fumiko asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yes! Can we go there again?" Naru requested eagerly.
"You always order cake when we eat out," Fumiko replied, a hint of amusement in her voice.
"No way. It was my first time!" Naru protested.
"Your fifth time," Fumiko corrected with a small smirk.
"Wait—are you counting? Oh my god, are you stalking me?" Naru teased playfully.
"Seriously? We eat out all the time. Of course I remember," Fumiko shot back, feigning offense.
Naru laughed. "I'm just messing with you."
Yuki laughed along, a quiet sound, but his mind was somewhere else, the strange man from yesterday still a lingering thought.
"Is something wrong, Yuki?" Fumiko asked, noticing his distant gaze as they reached the locker area to change shoes.
"No, I'm good," Yuki answered quickly, perhaps a little too quickly.
They headed toward the school gate. That was when Yuki stopped dead in his tracks. A familiar figure stood near the entrance. The man from yesterday. The one who had asked to speak with him. Yoshiro. He was looking at his phone, seemingly unaware of the students bustling around him. Some of the girls nearby whispered and giggled. "My god, he's handsome," one student sighed.
"Do you know him, Yuki?" Fumiko asked, her voice hushed with curiosity.
Yuki froze, a cold dread washing over him. "Uh… I need to go. See you tomorrow," he said hurriedly, turning to flee.
"Wait, how abou—" Naru began, but Yuki didn't wait. He turned and walked toward the gate, hoping to blend into the stream of students. But Yoshiro noticed him.
"Wait," Yoshiro called out, his voice carrying clearly over the schoolyard noise.
Yuki stopped, his shoulders tensing.
"How do you know my school?" he asked, a defensive edge to his voice.
"Before I explain everything… can you come with me? We need to talk," Yoshiro said quietly, his tone laced with an urgency that pierced through Yuki's unease.
Yuki hesitated. This felt wrong. Strange man. School gate. A private conversation. Every warning sign in his head was flashing red. But curiosity, a dangerous, magnetic force, tugged at him.
"…Okay," Yuki said cautiously, the single word feeling heavy on his tongue.
***
Inside Yoshiro's car, the door closed with a heavy, final sound. The engine started, a quiet hum that felt strangely loud in the enclosed space. Yuki kept his hand near the door handle, a small comfort.
"What do you want from me?" he demanded, his voice tight with apprehension. "I'm a minor. And I'm a guy. If you're planning something weird, I'm calling the police."
"No, no. That's not what you think," Yoshiro replied quickly, keeping his eyes on the road.
"Then where are you taking me?" Yuki's voice tightened further, verging on panic. He didn't like this. The tinted windows. The quiet engine. The way Yoshiro wouldn't explain, wouldn't reassure him. Something felt profoundly off. Yuki swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. Yoshiro said nothing, just kept driving.
They arrived at their destination. It was a beautiful garden – quiet and secluded. A pond shimmered under the late afternoon light, wooden bridges arching gracefully over the water. Carefully trimmed trees surrounded the area, almost protecting it from the outside world. What is this place? Yuki wondered, confusion momentarily overriding his fear.
Yoshiro stepped out of the car. After a brief hesitation, Yuki followed, his curiosity piqued despite himself.
Yoshiro began walking deeper into the garden. Yuki followed, unease slowly mixing with the new, burgeoning sense of wonder.
"What is this place?" Yuki finally asked, breaking the silence that had stretched between them.
Yoshiro stopped near the bridge, gazing out at the serene water. "This was his favorite place," he said softly, his voice tinged with a deep melancholy. "We used to spend entire days here." His voice grew quieter, filled with distant echoes. "His laughter… his voice… I still remember them clearly."
Yuki felt his heart pounding, a frantic drum against his ribs. Who was he talking about?
"…He died in a car accident three years ago," Yoshiro continued, his gaze still fixed on the pond. "And I regret it every day. I should have protected him." The air suddenly felt heavier, thick with unspoken grief and guilt.
"…But then I saw you," Yoshiro said, finally turning to face Yuki, his eyes holding a profound, almost desperate intensity. "And suddenly… I felt hope again."
Yuki's stomach tightened, a knot of pure dread. "What do you mean by that?" he asked, his voice strained, barely a whisper. He couldn't fully process what he was hearing, the implications swirling around him like a dark mist.
Yoshiro looked at him – not as a stranger now, but as something else, something terrifyingly familiar, something utterly desperate.
"Please," he said quietly, his voice an aching plea. "Pretend to be Toshiro. My beloved younger brother."
Yuki froze, every nerve ending screaming.