The morning of the third day dawned bleak and cold, the kind of cold that seeped past skin and into the marrow, leaving a heaviness in its wake. The pale sun fought to break through the dense, gray clouds, but its light offered no warmth, only a stark illumination of a restless world.
Kenshiro had spent two sleepless nights with unanswered questions gnawing at his mind like a relentless predator.
Misaki had tried, over and over, to soothe him with kind words and gentle touches, but nothing she said could breach the iron wall of dread enclosing his heart.
Each passing moment only tightened the noose of uncertainty.
By late afternoon, the stillness of the house was shattered by the sound of tires crunching against the gravel driveway.
Kenshiro, sitting in the living room with a blank stare fixed on the floor, stiffened at the arrival of Shimizu Hideki, Kyoko's father. The man's usually composed face was a storm of grief and resignation, a grim herald of news too heavy for words. Kenshiro's breath hitched.
"Kenshiro-kun," Hideki said as he stepped into the room. His voice, usually calm and authoritative, now bore a tremor, laden with sorrow. "There's news about your parents."
Kenshiro was on his feet before he realized it, his heart hammering in his chest. Misaki froze beside him, her hands twisting nervously. The head butler, Arata, stood in the shadows of the room, his stern demeanor softened by the worry etched into his face.
"What is it?" Kenshiro demanded, the words sharp and forceful, though his voice threatened to crack under the weight of his fear.
Hideki hesitated. The silence stretched unbearably, pressing on everyone in the room. He drew a deep breath before speaking, each word cutting through the air like the toll of a funeral bell.
"They've found your parents..." His voice faltered for the briefest moment, but the pause was an eternity to Kenshiro. Then the final blow came. "…but they didn't survive the accident."
The world seemed to tilt, the weight of those words crashing down on Kenshiro's shoulders like an avalanche. His ears rang, drowning out Misaki's soft gasp and Arata's low exhale. He felt the room blur around him, the walls spinning and closing in.
For a fleeting moment, he was no longer in the present—he was a child again, hearing his mother's melodic laughter as she read to him by the fireplace, feeling the warmth of his father's rare but tender smiles.
The memories pierced him like shards of glass.
"They're…" Kenshiro's voice was barely a whisper, trembling and fractured. But as the words settled deeper, something inside him froze. His chest tightened, not with grief, but with a cold, steely resolve. He straightened, his knuckles clenched so tightly at his sides they turned white. He refused to cry.
"Where are they?" Kenshiro asked, his voice stripped of all emotion, leaving behind a hollow, detached tone that sent a chill through the room.
Hideki's face softened with a trace of pity, but his words came steady. "They're in the hospital morgue in the capital." He paused, glancing at the boy with a mix of sorrow and admiration for the strength he tried so desperately to project.
"I'll go with you," He offered, motioning toward the car waiting outside.
The room fell into a heavy silence as Kenshiro turned without another word, his movements deliberate and mechanical. The grief would come later, he knew, but for now, he locked it away, burying it beneath the icy resolve that gripped him.
He followed Hideki, the weight of his steps dragging behind him like a shadow that he would carry for the rest of his life.
The drive to the capital stretched on like an eternity, every second laden with a suffocating silence. The low, rhythmic hum of the car engine was the only sound filling the void.
Misaki sat beside Kenshiro, her hands clenched tightly in her lap as she cast worried glances his way. But Kenshiro's face betrayed nothing—a mask of calmness so deliberate it was almost unnerving. His dark eyes stared blankly out the window, unfocused yet burning with a quiet intensity.
Inside, though, a tempest raged, a storm of grief, anger, and unanswered questions battering the fragile walls of his composure.
In the front seat, Hideki sat in muted conversation with the driver, his voice low and steady. Even so, a subtle tension clung to his every word, as though he were bracing himself for the weight of what lay ahead.
When they finally arrived at the hospital in the capital, the building loomed before them like a pale monolith, its sterile white walls gleaming dully under the dim afternoon light.
Kenshiro stepped out of the car, his movements deliberate, his back straight. The air felt colder here, heavier, as though it carried the unspoken grief of countless others who had walked this same path.
Inside, the hospital's sterile smell struck like a physical blow. It was a sharp, antiseptic tang that clawed at the back of Kenshiro's throat, a cruel reminder of where he was and why he was there. The quiet hum of fluorescent lights overhead felt oppressive, and the faint echoes of footsteps in the corridors only deepened the sense of isolation.
A man in a crisp white coat approached them, his expression professional but distant. In a private office, he introduced himself as the head doctor and gestured for them to sit.
Kenshiro remained standing, his piercing gaze fixed on the man, watching every fidget and hesitation with the sharpness of a blade.
Hideki began speaking, his tone measured as he exchanged pleasantries and pressed for details. But Kenshiro barely heard him. His ears rang faintly, and his heartbeat in an unsteady rhythm, his focus narrowing on the doctor.
The man spoke carefully, flipping through a stack of papers as he explained.
"It appears to have been a car accident," He said, his voice neutral but tinged with discomfort. "The autopsy report confirms that both individuals died from blunt force trauma. The authorities have cleared the case, and we've already taken steps to prepare the bodies for cremation to—"
The doctor's words were cut short by Kenshiro's voice, sharp and biting. "Cremation?"
The single word hung in the air like a thunderclap. Misaki flinched slightly, her wide eyes darting to Kenshiro, whose face had turned to stone.
The doctor faltered, blinking as though startled. "Y-Yes. Given the circumstances, we thought it best not to delay—"
"Without consulting the family?" Kenshiro's tone was cold, each word precise and laden with restrained fury.
The doctor visibly shrank under the boy's glare, a flicker of unease crossing his face. He opened his mouth to respond, but it was Hideki who spoke, his voice calm yet commanding.
"With respect, doctor, such decisions should never be made without notifying the family first. These are deeply personal matters, and the lack of communication is unacceptable."
The doctor fidgeted with his papers, his composure unraveling under the combined weight of Hideki's firm words and Kenshiro's unrelenting stare.
"It was…a judgment call," He stammered, his voice losing its earlier polish. "I assure you, everything was handled with the utmost respect—"
"Respect?" Kenshiro's voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the room like a blade. The coldness in his eyes was haunting, far beyond his years, and it sent a chill rippling through the air.
The doctor swallowed hard, his face pale as he struggled for a response. But Kenshiro didn't wait for one. He turned abruptly, his movements stiff and controlled, as though any sudden motion might shatter the fragile calm he was clinging to.
Hideki and Misaki followed him out of the office, their expressions tense with unspoken concern. The weight of the encounter pressed down on them like a shroud as they walked back to the car.
They drove to a hotel, the ride was silent once more, the oppressive stillness punctuated only by the distant rumble of the engine.
Kenshiro wanted answers and he was not going to leave without them.
Kenshiro sat motionless, staring straight ahead, his hands clenched tightly in his lap. His mind churned with unease, replaying the doctor's words, the slight hesitations, the casual dismissal of his parents' dignity. The cold fury within him swirled alongside his grief, growing sharper with each passing mile.
But he kept it all hidden, locked away behind a façade of calm that no one—not even Misaki—could penetrate.