I knew I was done for the moment Saki's grandfather smiled.
Not a warm smile.
Not a polite smile.
The kind of smile that says I have already decided you are suspicious, now entertain me.
We were sitting in Saki's living room.
Correction.
Everyone else was sitting.
I was perched on the edge of the sofa like a hostage, hands neatly on my knees, back straight, soul slowly evaporating.
Saki sat beside her grandmother on the other couch.
Her grandmother looked relaxed. Too relaxed. One leg crossed over the other, sunglasses still on indoors for some reason, sipping iced coffee like this was her favorite reality show.
Saki's dad stood near the kitchen pretending to be busy with absolutely nothing.
Saki's mom hovered nearby, already sensing disaster.
And directly in front of me.
Across the table.
Arms crossed.
Back straight.
Eyes sharp.
Her grandfather.
He cleared his throat.
The room went silent.
"So," he said calmly, "you are Haruto."
My brain immediately shut down.
Words exited the chat.
"…I," I started.
Nothing came after that.
I nodded. Aggressively.
Too aggressively.
"Yes," Saki said quickly. "This is Haruto. He's lived next door since we were kids."
Her grandfather's gaze did not leave me.
"…Hm."
That single sound shaved another year off my lifespan.
"How old are you."
Simple question.
Basic.
I opened my mouth.
Blank.
Nothing.
I raised one finger.
Then another.
Then stopped halfway like I forgot how numbers worked.
Kyosuke, watching from our doorway, mouthed wow.
"Seventeen," Saki said.
I nodded violently like a dashboard bobblehead.
"Yes. That."
Her grandfather leaned forward slightly.
"What do you do."
I froze again.
Do?
Like… exist?
"I—" I began, then panicked and gestured vaguely at my chest. "I'm… me."
Dead silence.
Saki's grandmother snorted into her drink.
Her grandfather did not blink.
"…I see."
No you don't.
Please don't see.
"Do you study well."
"Yes!" I blurted.
Too fast.
Too loud.
My hands flew up for emphasis and nearly slapped the air.
"I mean— not like— I study— I do study— studying happens—"
Saki covered her face.
Her grandmother leaned back, delighted. "Oh I like him."
"Mother," Saki's dad whispered urgently.
Her grandfather turned his head slightly toward Saki.
"Is he always like this."
Saki hesitated.
"…Only when he's breathing."
I wanted the floor to open and consume me whole.
"Haruto," her grandfather said slowly, "why are you sweating."
I hadn't realized I was.
I wiped my forehead. Then my neck. Then my palms.
"Summer," I said. "Hot."
He glanced at the fan. Then the open windows.
"…Is it."
"Yes," I said. "Emotionally."
Wrong answer.
He folded his arms tighter.
"How often do you come to this house."
My brain screamed TRAP.
"Often," I said.
"Define often."
I gestured again. This time in a wide, confusing arc.
"Time is relative."
Saki's grandmother laughed openly now. "Saburo, stop torturing the poor boy."
"I am not torturing," he said calmly. "I am assessing."
He looked back at me.
"When did you last visit."
I swallowed.
"…Yesterday."
Saki coughed violently.
"Yesterday?" he repeated.
"Yes," I said, then panicked. "I mean— no— not— I—"
My hands started moving on their own, drawing shapes in the air like I was summoning demons.
"Time is— fluid— days blend— childhood— homework—"
"Haruto," Saki said gently, "breathe."
I inhaled.
Exhaled.
Her grandfather watched every movement.
"…Interesting," he murmured.
That word again.
He leaned back.
"Do you like my granddaughter."
The room detonated.
I stopped functioning.
Completely.
All systems offline.
No thoughts.
No words.
Just raw panic.
My mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
Nothing came out.
I looked at Saki.
She looked like she might faint.
Her grandmother tilted her head, very interested.
Her dad froze.
Her mom gasped softly.
Kyosuke mouthed holy—
"I—" I tried.
My hands betrayed me again.
They flailed.
One knocked into the table.
Another pointed at the ceiling.
I accidentally slapped my own knee.
"I respect—" I blurted. "I mean— she's great— like— as a person— and human—"
Her grandfather raised an eyebrow.
"Human."
"Yes," I said desperately. "Very human."
Silence.
Then—
Saki's grandmother burst out laughing.
"Oh my god," she said. "Saburo, you're going to kill him."
"He is avoiding the question," her grandfather replied.
I was not avoiding it.
I was drowning in it.
"I don't hate him," Saki blurted suddenly.
Everyone turned to her.
She immediately regretted it.
"I mean— I didn't mean— I mean—"
Her grandmother waved a hand. "Relax. You're both adorable disasters."
Her grandfather stood up.
I nearly passed out.
He walked closer.
Stopped right in front of me.
Looked down.
"Haruto."
"Yes," I squeaked.
"Look at me."
I did.
Big mistake.
"Your hands."
"…Yes?"
"They are shaking."
I clasped them together.
They kept shaking.
"…I am not convinced," he said slowly, "that you are harmless."
My soul left my body and filed a resignation letter.
"But," he continued, turning slightly toward Saki, "you trust him."
Saki nodded. Firmly. "Yes."
A long pause.
Her grandfather hummed.
"…Very well."
Relief flooded me.
Too early.
"This assessment," he said, "will continue."
I blinked. "Continue."
"For the duration of our stay."
Which was.
The whole.
Summer.
He turned and walked away.
Saki's grandmother followed, patting my shoulder as she passed. "Hang in there, kid."
Kyosuke whispered, "You're already dead."
I slumped back against the sofa.
My life flashed before my eyes.
And somewhere in the house, Saki's grandfather's voice echoed:
"Tomorrow, we speak again."
The interrogation had only begun.
I stayed on the sofa for a full thirty seconds after he left.
Didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't exist.
"…He's gone," Kyosuke whispered from behind the wall.
"I know," I croaked. "I felt the air pressure change."
Saki slid closer, voice low. "Are you okay?"
I nodded.
Then shook my head.
Then nodded again.
"My hands," I whispered, holding them up. "They're still shaking. I think they've developed free will."
Her grandmother leaned back into the room, clearly eavesdropping. "That's adrenaline, sweetheart. Or fear. Or destiny."
She winked at me.
I died a little more.
Saki's mom cleared her throat. "Tea?"
"Yes," I said instantly. "Tea fixes everything."
Wrong.
Tea fixed nothing.
Because five minutes later, footsteps returned.
Heavy.
Deliberate.
Measured.
Her grandfather was back.
With a notebook.
An actual notebook.
I stared at it in horror.
Saki's grandmother peered over his shoulder. "Oh, you brought that one?"
"For clarity," he replied.
I felt sweat form again.
"Haruto," he said, sitting down across from me once more, "we will resume."
Resume.
Like this was a paused execution.
"Yes," I said.
He opened the notebook.
"When did you first meet my granddaughter."
Got it. You're right 👍
Let's correct that scene cleanly and move on without derailing the story.
---
Her grandfather flipped a page in the notebook.
"When did you first meet my granddaughter?"
I swallowed. Hard.
"…Near a vending machine."
The pen paused.
Saki's head snapped toward me.
Kyosuke whispered, "Oh no."
Her grandfather slowly lifted his eyes. "A vending machine."
"Yes, sir."
"Explain."
I took a breath.
I explained everything to him in the most embarrassing way possible in human history.
When I finished, there was silence.
The kind of silence that judges your entire existence.
Her grandmother covered her mouth, shoulders shaking. "Saburo… don't laugh. Don't laugh—"
She failed instantly.
Saki's mother sighed, half relieved, half amused.
Saki herself had buried her face in her hands and was very clearly rethinking all her life choices.
Her grandfather stared at me for a long moment.
Then he wrote something in the notebook.
"…Acceptable," he said at last.
I nearly collapsed in relief.
Then he added, "But sentimental."
The notebook snapped shut again.
Saki bit her lip to stop laughing.
Her grandfather nodded slowly. "Acceptable."
He flipped the page.
"How often do you speak to her."
Oh no.
"Define speak," I said.
His eyes sharpened.
"Wrong answer."
"I mean— daily— but not— like— always— sometimes—"
My hands started moving again.
This time, they drew a rough circle.
Then another.
Then collided.
"I talk to everyone," I added desperately.
Her grandmother leaned forward. "Is that true, dear?"
Saki smiled sweetly. "No."
I betrayed myself with eye contact.
The pen scratched harder.
"Do you walk her home."
"…Sometimes."
"How many times per week."
"I—"
"Estimate."
"Four?"
Saki coughed. "Six."
I stared at her.
She shrugged. "You forget Sundays."
The notebook snapped shut.
Her grandfather stared at me.
"…You are closer than I thought."
"I swear it's innocent," I blurted.
"Define innocent."
"I don't know anymore!"
Kyosuke choked on laughter in the hallway.
Her grandfather stood again.
I flinched.
He walked to the window.
Looked outside.
Then turned back slowly.
"You care about her."
Statement. Not a question.
My mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
I nodded.
Once.
Very carefully.
The room went silent.
Her grandmother smiled knowingly.
Saki's mom clasped her hands nervously.
Saki herself froze.
Her grandfather exhaled.
"That," he said, "is dangerous."
I swallowed.
"But," he continued, "not necessarily unacceptable."
Hope sparked.
Tiny.
Fragile.
He looked directly at me.
"If you ever hurt her—"
"I won't," I said immediately.
"No hesitation," he noted. "Good."
He turned away again.
"This evaluation," he said over his shoulder, "will proceed daily."
Daily.
EVERY DAY.
I slumped back.
Saki rushed to my side, whispering, "I'm so sorry."
I laughed weakly. "It's fine. I think my soul already left."
Her grandmother stood up, stretching. "Saburo, you're enjoying this too much."
"I am ensuring safety."
"You're scaring him."
"He needs to be scared."
She smiled at me. "Don't worry, Haruto. If he goes too far, I'll trip him."
"…Thank you."
Saki squeezed my sleeve, just a little.
Her grandfather noticed.
His eyes narrowed.
My life expectancy dropped again.
He said nothing.
Just turned the page in his notebook.
And started writing.
The interrogation wasn't over.
It had simply entered Phase Two.
And somehow…
I was still alive.
For now.