That evening, Shiharu sat in his grandparents' traditional Japanese house, playing Go on the low table. The wooden architecture, sliding shoji doors, and the minimalist garden beyond—raked white gravel, moss-covered stones, and carefully placed rocks—framed by blooming cherry blossoms whose soft pink petals drifted gently in the courtyard.
Shunned by his parents and grandfather, he was alone with his grandmother, who simply watched and offered quiet praise. Yet his mind was elsewhere; his focus had long drifted from the board. A sudden chilly gust scattered most of the stones across the tatami when he accidentally knocked the goban over. One black stone rolled to a stop at the feet of someone standing there.
Shiharu slowly looked up. His eyes widened.
Short, messy dark blue hair. Deep black eyes. A wide, bright smile—one he never imagined would ever be directed at him. The stranger bent down, picked up the black stone, and handed it back with that same gentle, approving smile. Then he offered a small box containing packets of tea and coffee, a note taped neatly on top.
Shiharu blinked, collected himself, and accepted the gift with both hands. The boy slipped his hands into the pockets of his slightly oversized ash-gray sweater while Shiharu unfolded the note.
Hajimemashite. Tonari ni hikkoshite kimashita. Douzo yoroshiku onegaishimasu.
"Nice to meet you. I just moved in next door. Please treat me well."
A greeting gift.
His gaze shifted to the older figure beside him. The boy was strikingly beautiful. Korean? Chinese? Shiharu couldn't quite place him.
Half lidded green eyes and long golden-blonde hair tied messily in a half-bun, the rest cascading down his back, catching the soft evening light like spun gold. He looked nothing like the younger one.
The elder brother stepped forward, bowed respectfully to the grandmother, and presented her with his own small gifts. They exchanged polite, warm words while Shiharu watched, transfixed.
"That's my elder brother, Hoshiyuki," the dark blue-haired boy said cheerfully.
"By the way, call me Ren! Nice to meet you! What's your name?"
Shiharu stared at Ren's wide, unguarded smile. So different from his own guarded nature—Ren seemed utterly carefree, completely at ease in the world.
Not the talkative type, huh? You're just like my brother.
Ren laughed and slung an arm around Shiharu's neck without hesitation.
Before Shiharu could respond, another box appeared in front of him—offered quietly by the older brother. Their eyes met and held for a moment longer than necessary. Shiharu accepted it and read the simple note written in English:
You okay?
A raw, aching smile spread across Shiharu's face. He looked up, extended his hand in a tentative handshake.
"Call me Shiharu. Hajimemashite."
Hoshiyuki froze.
That smile.
Yes that smile alone blew his cover.
Calmly he accepted the handshake with a gentle, almost tender smile. The chilly wind played through their dark and golden hair, lifting strands in quiet mischief.
"It seems like you two will get along great," Ren muttered, pouting dramatically. "Don't leave me out. I'll be sad."
Shiharu let out a soft, surprised laugh—the first real one in what felt like a very long time.
____
Two weeks had passed, and the three boys had grown noticeably closer—especially Ren and Shiharu. Hoshiyuki, however, remained apart. He preferred solitude: gazing at nature in silence or losing himself in the pages of a book.
That early morning, the large, elegant compound shared by the two neighboring families was bathed in soft light. At its heart stood a majestic Japanese black pine—kuromatsu—its thick, gnarled trunk twisting upward in dramatic, windswept layers. Dense clusters of vibrant green needles formed wide, tiered pads that spread into a broad, cloud-like canopy. The tree rose from a carefully arranged base of large, irregular dark boulders and moss-covered rocks, accented by neatly clipped spherical evergreens of varying sizes. A traditional stone lantern (tōrō) with its softly glowing square opening stood among the stones, its timeless form harmonizing with the rugged natural elements. Behind it rose a low bamboo fence, while taller trees and forest greenery framed the scene beneath a cloudy sky, evoking an atmosphere of refined, enduring serenity.
Hidden among the pine's upper branches, unseen, sat Hoshiyuki—his usual sanctuary. Up here, he could disappear without drawing eyes. His appearance alone attracted attention wherever he went, even when he tried to vanish. In his family, he was treated almost like a deity. Born strikingly different from generations past, his arrival had coincided with an astonishing reversal of fortune: from poverty to prominence, his parents now led one of Japan's most successful production and technology companies. Endless good luck seemed to follow him. His family worshipped him; others revered him. Yet Hoshiyuki remained humble, quiet, respectful—treating everyone equally despite the pedestal they placed him on. More than anything, he craved solitude and recoiled from the spotlight.
After breakfast, with the morning dew still clinging to the air and a peaceful calm settling over his mind, he had climbed the pine to read.
Then came the sound—a sharp, merciless crack of flesh against flesh, followed by the unmistakable promise of pain.
He didn't want to care who it involved. There were only two houses in the compound, and only three children: Ren, himself, and…
He glanced toward the source.
Shiharu.
The boy was being struck repeatedly by his mother. His crime: accidentally spilling green tea on her expensive kimono, the kind reserved for older women. Hoshiyuki watched in silence as the woman unleashed all her fury on the child.
Not every family is kind. Some are simply collections of poison.
Hoshiyuki had long accepted that he no longer wanted to be part of his own household in any real sense. Yet Shiharu, battered and desperate, still chased after the approval of people who hurt him. Why seek love from those who treat you like an enemy? There is no "but they're still family" that excuses cruelty. Wrong is wrong. Toxic is toxic. Blood does not grant anyone permission to poison your life. Family should feel like home—not a battlefield, not a cage.
This house no longer felt like home to Shiharu either.
I can't stop them.
What power did he truly have to intervene between a mother and her child? Call someone? His own family was still inside; the morning was young.
He sighed, heavy with sadness, and began to descend.
Before he could move far, The grandmother appeared.
"How utterly disgusting," Shiharu's mother spat. "I wish you were never born. Can't you see? Look at Mr. Kazumi's first son."
Hoshiyuki paused. Why drag me into this?
"He's perfect. He brings good fortune wherever he goes. The very definition of a good son. Why can't you be like him? Why must you be such a curse? Dear gods, get this thing out of my sight."
The mother cursed once more, not sparing another glance at the bruised, trembling boy crumpled before her.
A thousand thoughts crashed through Shiharu's mind.
Why was he born this way?
If someone as flawless as Hoshiyuki existed, what made him so irredeemably different? He had tried—tried so hard—yet that boy did nothing and was still adored like a divine being.
Argh… Komatte shimatta. Mou wakaranai. Dare ka tasukete.
(I'm confused. I don't know anymore. Someone save me.)
A quiet resentment toward Hoshiyuki began to take root in his chest. He hated him—not for anything he had done, but for being the living embodiment of everything Shiharu could never be.
Then a gentle voice broke through.
"Here. Ointment."
Shiharu looked up.
Ren stood there, offering the small tube with the same wide, warm smile he always carried.