"THREE MONTHS EARLIER"
"Next station… Hanasakura Station. We will be arriving at the station shortly. Please be ready to disembark. "
The feminine voice over the intercom crackled, almost completely buried under the ringing static and the rattling of the train wheels.
The underground train felt like a coffin to Ren going continuously over and over and over on the metal rails.
Ren sat tucked away alone by the corner away from all human interactions.
The car was almost empty safe for a few handful of people who sat closer to the doors probably in a hurry to get off as quickly as possible at the next station.
This wasn't his first time on a train but he had his backpack held tight against his chest like a kindergartener, his eyes not leaving the sight of the windows.
Ren just only turned fifteen last month but he looked tired in every sense almost like someone had sucked away everything that made him a kid and left behind an empty shell.
The tunnels outside were a mix of darkness and the occasional light but all it did was make it harder for him to tell if the world was moving or if he was being dragged forward by some mysterious force.
Fresh start, he told himself for the hundredth time. New school. New life. Leave it all behind.
But his hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Ren shoved them back into his jacket pockets, fingers immediately finding the folded paper inside. Bloodstained. Three weeks old. Still there.
Always there.
The edges were soft now, worn from constant handling. The soothing sound of it between his fingers had become his nervous habit, something to help me convince himself that he wasn't going insane. That it had really happened.
The train breezed through another curve, and Ren closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing.
He breathed in slowly in through the nose and slowly out through the mouth. The way the hospital therapist had taught him during that single, useless session his mother had insisted on.
"Post-traumatic stress," the woman had said clinically, as if slapping a label on it would make it better. "It's normal after what you witnessed. Give it time."
Time. Three weeks. Twenty-one days since his entire world had shattered.
The automated announcement crackled again overhead: "Next stop: Hanasakura Station. Hanasakura Station, next."
The train began to slow down from the high speed it was moving earlier, the brakes scraping heavily against the metal.
Through the window, he could see the platform approaching ahead countless bright advertisements, a few waiting passengers, sunlight streaming down from the street level above.
Almost there.
But then the train sped down into another tunnel.
And then like it always did when everything went dark his mind dragged him back into his darkness.
His complete and utter darkness.
And suddenly Ren found himself not on the train anymore.
"No."
"Not again."
"Please not again."
Three Weeks Ago,
Somewhere in Naruse West,
9:47 PM.
Ren had been studying hard for his entrance exams, spread out at the low table in their small apartment's living room. He was attempting to get into this prestigious highschool but he knew he had to study hard to have any chance of doing that.
His Math textbook was wide open, his notes and jottings all scattered everywhere like a madman's workshop.
He had the house all to himself. His mother, Aiko was working her usual night shift at the hospital while his stepfather had taken Ayame to visit her grandparents for the week.
The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic from the street below.
Ren had been working through a particularly frustrating algebra problem for more than an hour when he heard it:
The sound of footsteps in the hallway outside.
Slow. Uneven. Heavy.
He thought it was maybe their drunk neighbours again. Well they had a lot of them could've been any of them.
But then the doorknob rattled open.
Ren looked up, pen still in hand. "Mom? You're home early.. " The door opening cutting him short in his speech.
Kaito stumbled through the doorway, and Ren's words died in his throat.
His brother was only twenty-one years old. Strong. Always smiling. Always smiling—except he wasn't now.
Kaito had one hand pressed against the side of his neck, the other gripping the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His white jacket, the one with the faded dragon embroidery on the back, was soaked through with blood.
It ran down his left arm in dark rivers, dripping onto the wooden floor in thick droplets. His face was pale, lips drained of color, but his eyes burned with something desperate. Urgent.
"Kaito!"
The textbook slid from Ren's lap as he scrambled to his feet.
Kaito took a single step forward before his knees nearly gave out. He caught himself on the kitchen counter, leaving a red handprint smeared across the white surface.
"Ren…" His voice was wet. Gurgling.
He coughed, and blood sprayed from his lips. "Ren… listen… to me…"
Ren didn't move.
It was like his legs had been welded to the floor. His brain screamed at him—do something, move, call someone—but his body refused to respond. He stood there, pencil still clenched in his hand, watching his brother bleed out in front of him.
This wasn't real.
It had to be a nightmare.
Kaito slid down the wall and collapsed, one hand pressing against his stomach. Blood seeped through his fingers, pooling beneath him.
Ren's body finally obeyed.
He crashed to his knees beside him, hands hovering uselessly over the wounds, not knowing where to start. There were too many— deep knife slashes across Kaito's torso, blood pumping out with every shallow heartbeat.
"I'll call an ambulance."
"No—wait." Kaito's hand shot out and clamped around Ren's wrist with surprising strength. His fingers were slick, sticky with blood.
"I don't… have much time." He coughed again, blood splattering the floor.
"Remember… our code… from when we were kids…"
"What?" Ren shook his head, panic rising. "Kaito, I don't—"
Kaito fumbled inside his jacket with his free hand, movements jerky and desperate. When he pulled it out, he was clutching a piece of white paper, now stained red.
"The game… the treasure hunts… you remember…"
His voice faded with every word.
"This is… the final treasure… only you… can find it…"
"I don't understand—"
"Take it."
Kaito pressed the paper into Ren's palm, forcing his fingers to close around it.
"Ren… listen to me—"
He coughed again, harder this time, blood spilling freely.
"Find… Hasegawa Fujimoto… at Sakura High…"
"Kaito, please—just hold on."
"The dragons… they're not—"
His breathing grew shallow. His eyes began to roll back.
"He will… understand. Tell him… the dragons… they're not…"
Then his eyes closed.
His grip loosened.
Gone.
"Kaito!"
Ren screamed his brother's name, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him.
"Wake up! Wake up!"
His voice broke. Tears streamed down his face.
"No, no, no—stay awake, please…"
"Mom! MOM!"
The apartment door was still open.
A neighbor appeared in the hallway, her phone already pressed to her ear.
"Ambulance! We need an ambulance!"
She rushed inside and knelt beside them. It was Mrs. Sano, the only neighbor in the building who wasn't usually drunk.
"Help is on the way," she said calmly. "Can you feel a pulse?"
Ren's hands trembled as he pressed his fingers against Kaito's neck.
"Yes... yes, it's there. It's weak. Please, tell them to hurry."
"Keep pressure on the wounds. Don't let him move. They'll be here in three minutes."
Three minutes.
It felt like three hours.
Ren held his brother as blood pooled around them both, whispering the same words over and over, like a prayer he refused to stop believing in.
"Don't die. Don't die. Don't die."