stepped out of Dr. Kuwamoto's clinic and quietly closed the door behind me, as if hiding a secret no one should uncover. I was holding the old file, its time-worn pages telling the story of Kento Arai — a story that resembled a complex mystery, one that continued to haunt me.
The city air was cold, as if the frozen pain in my chest had seeped into the world around me. All I had was a single name and a single place that might lead me to some answers: his sister, Misaki Arai, who lived in the small northern town of Hebi.
I returned home and waited until morning. When the first light of dawn broke, I headed to the train station. I boarded the early train, its dim light casting soft shadows across my tired face. The train window became my mirror, reflecting my confused expression, my worried features, and the relentless ache inside me.
Cities passed by, fields changed, and the train rocked gently — as if trying to comfort my unease — in vain.
I arrived in Hebi after a long journey. The town appeared small and quiet, its alleys carrying the scent of the past and unforgettable memories. All I had was the town's name, no specific address — only the doctor's words: "Misaki Arai, a teacher at a school there."
I headed straight to the local school, an old building with a wooden facade, where life moved at a different pace than the big city I had just left.
I entered the principal's office, a woman in her mid-fifties, her eyes holding the wisdom of years, her voice calm yet firm.
I said, "I'm looking for Misaki Arai."
She paused for a moment, then examined me carefully before replying, "Misaki? Yes, I know her well. She's been a teacher here for years, and she lives in the eastern part of town."
She opened a desk drawer, pulled out a small piece of paper, and handed it to me, saying, "This is her address."
---
The sun was at its peak when I arrived at the address. A small house on the edge of town, surrounded by scattered trees and a simple garden — a reflection of the woman who lived there and the life she chose, far from the noise of the world.
I stood before the door, my hands trembling despite my attempts to appear composed. I knocked twice, slowly and hesitantly, then waited in silence. There was no clear light inside, only a faint glimmer slipping through a side window.
The door opened after a moment, slowly, much like the hesitation in the eyes of the woman who appeared. She was in her mid-thirties, her hair tied back, her features a mix of caution and exhaustion — as if she knew much, but chose silence.
She gave me a searching look, then spoke softly, "Yes? Who are you?"
I replied with visible steadiness, though my voice shook inside me, "My name is Takeshi Moroyma. I came to talk to you about your brother... Kento."
She invited me in and quietly shut the door behind me. The room was simple, with a few tables stacked with books and old photographs on the walls. The entire place was steeped in the scent of memories — as if everything in it carried an unspoken burden.
I sat across from her. A heavy silence hung between us before she began to speak. Her voice was low, but sincere and deep:
"Kento... my younger brother. I haven't seen him in years. Our life was complicated, and sometimes, life doesn't give us a chance to fix what's broken."
Her words seemed to come from the depths of an old wound, and the pain still lingered in her despite the passage of time.
I said gently, "I know he went through a lot. Dr. Kuwamoto told me about his childhood, and the pain that followed him all his life."
She nodded, then added, "Our mother was always silent, but her silence was like a wall of ice that separated us. Kento was alone most of the time, even when we lived under the same roof."
I asked, "Did he do anything unusual as a child?"
She thought for a moment, then replied, "No... not strange, but I remember he used to over-apologize when he made mistakes. He wouldn't stop at 'sorry,' but would carry guilt for a long time, as if the apology was never enough."
I asked, "And during his youth?"
She answered, "He was a normal young man, kind most of the time. But everything changed after he got married and started working in the security services. He was in his thirties when the incident happened... during a mission, he had to act quickly and shot someone — three bullets straight to the chest. He wasn't punished, not legally or professionally, as he acted by the book. But he was never the same after that."
She paused, then continued, her voice heavier with pain:
"He started seeing a psychiatrist, trying to recover... and then the real tragedy struck. The death of his son. It was the final blow to his soul. He completely broke down, drowning in his grief."
I looked into her eyes and cautiously said, "I'm going to ask you something that might sound harsh, but it's important: how did he end up killing a child?"
Her eyes widened with sorrow, then she said,
"Actually... his wife told me that on that day, he was watching a news report about the doctor who performed the surgery. And just moments after the report ended, he changed completely. As if someone else walked out of that room — someone angry, unstable... then—"
She fell silent suddenly, and stared at me as if she remembered something long forgotten.
"You're him... aren't you? Now I remember you. I'm so sorry... I'm truly sorry for what my brother did to you and your family."
I looked at her without showing any clear emotion, and said calmly,
"There's no need to apologize. But inside... I've just been trying to forget. To fool myself into thinking I've moved past it."
Then I asked her, "After that... do you know where he went? Or what he did after that day?"
Misaki replied softly,
"He disappeared... and was never seen again. No note, no trace, nothing for anyone. The police searched, but everything was called off eventually. Even I... stopped asking. I couldn't bear the waiting anymore."
She fell silent, taking a deep breath as if trying to push the lump down from her chest, then continued:
"But sometimes... I hear his voice in my dreams. He doesn't say anything, just looks at me. That look — full of guilt and fear. As if he's still trying to understand what happened to him, just like the rest of us."
I left Misaki's house, my thoughts weighing heavily on my mind — then my phone rang.
It was Koda. I answered.
"Hello, Koda."
His voice came through the receiver, a mixture of tension and seriousness:
"Takeshi... I need you to come to the center. Immediately."
I hesitated for a moment, then asked:
"What is it? Did something happen?"
He paused, as if carefully choosing his words, then said:
"A new location's been found... an abandoned warehouse outside the city. We got a tip-off a few hours ago, and the team that arrived there... found something."
My chest tightened. I asked cautiously:
"Something? You mean... a body?"
He responded in a tense, vague tone:
"Not one body. Seven.
Seven people in one place."
I felt the blood drain from my veins and asked in a low voice:
"Any information on them? Who are they?"
He replied quickly, as if to stop more questions:
"Nothing confirmed yet. We don't want to jump to conclusions. Investigators are still gathering evidence, and the forensics team hasn't finished processing the scene."