A month earlier, rain hammered through the night, echoing down the halls. He lay awake beneath a shadow and listened to thunder crack and lightning rip the sky.

He pushed the sheets aside and swung his feet to the floor. Posters and game cases lined the shelves; letters were pinned on the wall. At his desk the lamp haloed the page. He opened a letter: "Thank you for all the letters you sent me, Konin. I feel better knowing someone so kind is looking after me. I'll be home soon."

He folded it closed, pulled a book from the pile, and read until his lids drooped.

Morning found wind chimes singing and the house still damp from the rain. Water dripped from the sink; incense threaded the air. A woman knelt before an altar; a photograph of a man sat at its center. She bowed, prayed. Footsteps yawned into the hall.

The boy paused, eyes fixed on her. He walked over, knelt beside her, and clasped his hands. Silence settled. They bowed, then raised their faces. She smiled. "Thank you, Konin."

"Yeah," he smiled back.

Her smile faltered. She touched his cheek. "Did you sleep enough?"

He sucked his lips, gently pulling her hand away. "Yeah—was reading."

He helped her up. "I've got exams."

"Already?" she said, surprised. "But you just started."

He shrugged. "Guess that doesn't count." He pulled a bottle of milk from the fridge and glanced at the counter: a lunchbox beside a sandwich on a saucer. 

"You made breakfast?" he asked, setting the milk back.

"And lunch," his mother replied, gathering her bags. "Thought I'd give cooking a try."

She looked up; he sniffed the food. "You can throw it away if it's bad—I kind of rushed it," she said, waving her hands.

He sniffed the food, then ate the sandwich she set aside. "Thanks, Mum," he mumbled through a mouthful.

Her eyes fluttered; she pressed her lips to contain a smile and took a breath. "You're welcome."

She swung around and picked up her keys from the living-room counter. "I'll be back by nine," she said, hand on the door. "Want me to take you to school?"

"No—I'll take the bus." He finished the plate and began washing it in the sink.

She nodded. "See you soon."

"You too."

Water ran from the tap. The door shut closed.

He scrubbed the plate's edges, coughed, and pressed his lips together. Setting the plate under the stream, he braced both hands on the sink's rim and frowned until his brow creased. He retched into his hand.

Hand over his mouth, he dashed to the fridge, yanked it open, grabbed the milk, and forced himself to chug. The milk burnt his throat and the churns tasted like copper.

"Bwahhh—ahh," he grunted, slamming the bottle onto the counter. He glared at the sink and took another gulp. He sighed, turned off the tap, set the plate in the rack, and exhaled sharply.

The wall clock chimed eight. "I should get going," he said, drying his hands, tossed the bottle into the bin, and headed upstairs.

He opened the first door on the right and pulled his shirt over his head. "Judy—" his phone lit up. "What's the weather like?"

"It's raining in Kaizawa, New Edo right now. Feels like 49; actual 53..." He walked to the wardrobe and pulled out his uniform. "...Today's high 66, low 44."

He spread the uniform on the bed. "Raining?" He looked out the window. Tiny wisps slid past the glass; the sky was a flat sheet of gray. He rolled his eyes and added a hoodie.

His gaze drifted to the wardrobe mirror. Eyes fixed on his reflection, he turned his face and stroked his cheek; a few stray curls slipped through his fingers. He grabbed a razor from the drawer and shaved off his sideburns. He ran his hand over his face again; it was smooth.

He brushed his teeth, showered, and donned his uniform. He gathered his things and packed his lunch.

"Okay—am I forgetting anything?" He scanned the well-lit, tidy room. "EarPods." He stepped back in, emerged a moment later, and said, "Okay."

He switched off the lights, slung his bag over one shoulder, and paused at the small altar. He stared at the photograph and whispered, "Goodbye, Dad," then closed the door behind him.