The World Is Too Quiet When You're Holding Your Breath
Silence.
That was the first thing I noticed.
No birds chirping outside. No hum from the refrigerator. Not even the ticking of the old clock above the sliding closet door. Just the faint rustle of wind brushing against the shoji window, and the soft creak of wood beneath me.
And beneath it all, the slow, steady rhythm of my own breath.
> "...Another morning in this second chance of a life."
I sat up on my futon, blinking at the ceiling.
The walls of this room had once been unfamiliar. Now, they were filled with small traces of me—faded magazine clippings taped near the desk, a cracked bookshelf filled with light novels, and a photo of three people standing under blooming cherry blossoms.
Me. Yui. And the couple who once called me "son."
I stood, feeling the cool tatami beneath my feet.
Outside the sliding door, the sounds of life moved softly. A broom brushing the porch. A faint chime of windbells. The dull echo of NHK morning news coming from the kitchen radio.
Peaceful. Almost too peaceful.
Like the quiet before something breaks.
I changed into my school uniform. The collar felt tight, but not because of the fabric. I straightened the red tie. Repeated the same routine I had for years in another life.
Everything was familiar—but off by half a second.
Before stepping out, I paused at the small family altar tucked beside my desk. It held a framed photo, a stick of incense, and a single chrysanthemum.
> You're still gone.
Even in this time, I haven't brought you back.
I bowed.
---
"Ren-nii, breakfast!"
Yui's voice pulled me back to now.
She stood by the kitchen table with a smile too bright for the dull gray of morning. Her twin-tails were messy, as usual, her uniform cardigan hanging off one shoulder. She looked like any normal girl preparing for school—but I knew she wasn't.
Not after what she saw.
Or remembered.
The table had miso soup, grilled saba, white rice, and pickled radish. A meal made with care, despite the rushed time of school mornings. I sat down quietly.
"You're early," I said.
"So are you," she replied, arching a brow. "Couldn't sleep again?"
I didn't answer. But she didn't need one.
We ate in silence. Except silence didn't really exist between us. There was always something unsaid in the air—leftover fragments of memories we weren't supposed to have.
---
After a while, she broke the stillness.
> "You had that dream again, didn't you?"
My chopsticks froze.
"…I don't remember," I lied.
But of course I did.
Not just the dream. The entire day. The exact moment the world collapsed. The bridge. The wind. The scream.
Her voice.
Her tears.
> "Ren!! Don't—!"
I swallowed.
Yui poured tea into both our cups and murmured, "Today feels strange, doesn't it? Like… the air's too quiet."
I looked outside. The narrow Tokyo alley was wrapped in morning mist. A delivery bike rattled past. A neighbor bowed to the shrine near the vending machine at the corner. Everything felt still.
Too still.
> Yeah. It really does.
---
At School – Later That Morning
"Move it, Amano! You're blocking the shoe locker!"
I blinked.
The loud voice snapped me back to reality. A guy brushed past me in the genkan, muttering under his breath.
Right.
Back to this version of my teenage life.
I changed into indoor shoes and walked into the hallway. Posters of the upcoming Cultural Festival lined the walls. Students were chatting, laughing, chasing each other. Some things never changed.
But others did.
I passed Kanzaki Riku by the stairwell. He stood alone by the window, arms crossed, gazing out like he was trying to remember something he forgot years ago.
We didn't talk much. Not yet.
But sometimes, our eyes would meet.
And in those brief seconds, there was a strange flicker in his gaze. A kind of recognition.
Like he knew something.
Or had seen something.
---
First period blurred past. Literature. Then Math.
By lunch break, I escaped to the rooftop—one of the few places where silence was still real.
I leaned against the railing. Tokyo's skyline spread before me, distant and unreachable. The wind tugged at my sleeves. I let myself breathe for once.
> Why am I still here?
Why was I brought back… but they weren't?
Suddenly, I heard the door creak open.
A soft voice followed.
"You always come up here alone."
I turned.
Hinata. Kuramoto Hinata.
She used to be one of my closest friends… back when we were still kids. Back before Reiji and I drifted. Back before Ayaka.
She stood there, arms behind her back, a faint smile on her lips.
"You remember me, don't you?" she asked.
I nodded.
"Of course. Kuramoto Hinata."
She laughed. "Wow. Full name, huh? It's been a while since someone called me that."
I smiled faintly.
She stepped closer, gaze soft but firm.
> "You and Reiji… you two were inseparable back then. But now…"
"You don't even look at each other."
I flinched.
Her words didn't accuse. They reflected. Like she was holding up a mirror I couldn't avoid.
"…Things changed."
"I can see that," she said. Then, after a pause:
"But you haven't. Not really."
She left shortly after, not asking more, not pushing.
But the silence she left behind said everything.
---
That Night – At Home
I sat on the engawa after dinner, the wooden porch cool beneath me. Yui had gone to sleep. The house was quiet.
I watched the moon above the tiled rooftops, the soft rustling of bamboo trees whispering in the night.
Then—
A dream.
Or a memory.
---
> Blood. Crushed metal. Screams.
> A car flipped. Flames.
A woman's voice shouting his name.
> A small hand reaching for his.
"Onii-chan… wake up…"
"Please… wake up…"
---
I jolted awake.
Breathing hard.
My room was dark. But outside the sliding door, I saw a silhouette standing in the hallway.
Yui.
Just standing there, motionless. Barefoot. Silent.
"Yui…?"
She didn't answer for a moment.
Then, quietly:
> "I saw it again. That night… and what happened after. I—"
"You were standing there, on the edge. I screamed, but you couldn't hear me."
Her voice broke.
She turned away.
And for the first time, I realized:
She wasn't just my second chance.
She remembered the end of my first.
---
[END OF CHAPTER 4]
---