Shizuoka – Spring, 2014
The scent of damp earth lingered in the air.
Inside the Akihara household, the quiet ticking of the wall clock filled the space between breaths. Ren sat cross-legged on the tatami mat, stacking small wooden blocks—not for play, but calculating angles, pressure, and balance with surgical precision.
Across from him, Haruto flipped through his Japanese workbook. Normally, they would've been talking.
But today, not a single word had been exchanged.
The silence between them felt like an invisible wall.
In the kitchen, Ayaka brewed tea as if nothing was amiss. The house was quiet, peaceful even—but to Haruto, something had shifted. Since the test results, there had been a strange tension. Subtle, but unmistakable.
And it wasn't just about the score.
---
That afternoon, Ren finally looked up and asked,
"Haruto… are you mad at me?"
Haruto blinked. His voice was flat, but he tried to smile. "No. Why would I be?"
Ren didn't answer immediately. He lowered his gaze.
"You haven't really talked to me since yesterday."
Haruto stared at him for a second, then exhaled. Guilt tightened in his chest like a knot.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I'm just… confused."
Ren nodded, slowly.
He didn't seem offended.
He simply understood.
And somehow, that hurt even more.
---
That night, long after the lights were out, Haruto slipped out of bed. He walked to the living room and found Ren asleep on his futon. His breathing was calm. Peaceful.
Haruto sat beside him and stared at his little brother's face.
Still innocent. Still childlike.
And yet, the unease wouldn't leave him.
It was a strange, hollow feeling—
like there was a part of Ren he would never truly reach.
---
Outside the house, a gentle spring breeze moved through the sakura trees, scattering petals across the dark street.
And in the stillness of that quiet night, no one noticed—
A line had begun to draw itself between the two brothers.