Chapter 2: A past that bleeds

Tokyo – Arata's Apartment – 7:12 AM

The sun had not yet claimed the sky. Tokyo lay beneath a shroud of grey clouds, heavy and unyielding, as if the city had forgotten the warmth of light. Raindrops clung to the cracked windowpanes of Arata's apartment, trembling in the faint morning breeze that slipped through the gaps in the frame. The curtains swayed gently, their slow movement like the breath of a world too tired to wake. The soft creak of wood and the dull hum of faraway traffic were the only reminders that the world outside still moved on.

Inside, the apartment was cloaked in silence, broken only by the occasional drip of water from a leaky pipe in the corner. The air was heavy with the scent of damp plaster and the faint bitterness of yesterday's coffee. The room felt small, its cracked walls and sparse furnishings closing in like a cage forged from memories and regret. A faint light filtered in through the half-drawn curtains, casting long shadows that stretched like tired ghosts across the floor.

Arata stood by the window, his silhouette sharp against the muted light. He hadn't changed his clothes from the night before; his dark shirt was still damp, clinging to his lean frame, and his boots left faint smudges of mud on the worn floorboards. His eyes were open, staring out at the city, but they saw nothing of the present. His mind was elsewhere, lost in a labyrinth of the past where time moved in circles, dragging him back to moments he couldn't escape. Moments where he still heard screams in silence, where he still smelled burning metal and synthetic blood.

On the futon across the room, Yuiri slept. Her breathing was slow, deep, but uneven, as if even in sleep she was fighting to hold on. Her fingers clutched the edge of the thin blanket tightly, her knuckles pale, as though letting go might unravel her existence entirely. Her dark hair, still tangled with traces of blood and rain, fanned across the pillow, a stark contrast to her pale skin. Her lips were slightly parted, her brow furrowed as if even her dreams offered no peace.

Arata's gaze flicked toward her, brief but deliberate. She's still alive, he thought. That's good enough for now. The words were a quiet anchor, grounding him in the present, if only for a moment.

He turned and moved to the kitchen, his steps silent on the creaking floor. The small space was barely functional—a single counter, a rusted sink, and a metal kettle that had seen better days. He filled the kettle with water, the soft gurgle breaking the stillness. As it began to heat, the low hum of boiling water filled the room, a sound that felt almost intrusive in the quiet. The apartment was small, but today it felt smaller still, as if the weight of the past pressed in from every wall, whispering truths he wasn't ready to face.

He stood still as the kettle hissed. His fingers tapped lightly on the chipped counter, a rhythm lost in thought. The scent of brewing tea soon joined the musty air, oddly comforting in its normalcy. In this broken place, even the simplest acts took on meaning.

7:30 AM – Yuiri Wakes Up

Yuiri stirred, her lashes fluttering as consciousness clawed its way back. Her body felt heavy, leaden, as if the weight of the night's events had settled into her bones. For a fleeting moment, she didn't know where she was. The ceiling above was unfamiliar, its cracks like veins in a stranger's skin. Then she heard it—a soft clinking sound, delicate but deliberate.

She turned her head, wincing as a sharp pain flared in her side. Across the room, Arata sat at the small table, placing a steaming cup of tea beside her. His movements were precise, almost mechanical, and he didn't meet her gaze. His face was a mask of calm, but there was a tension in his shoulders, a quiet storm beneath the surface.

"What time is it?" Yuiri asked, her voice low and rough, scraped raw by exhaustion and fear.

"Morning. Still early," Arata replied, his tone flat, his eyes fixed on the wall.

She tried to sit up, her breath catching as the pain in her side sharpened. Her fingers brushed against the bandage beneath her shirt, a reminder of the night before—the warehouse, the rain, the man who had carried her out of hell. She glanced at the cup of tea, its steam curling into the air like a ghost. Her fingers grazed the ceramic, feeling its warmth, but she didn't drink.

"You could've left me there," she said quietly, her words hanging in the air like a challenge.

"I know," Arata said simply, leaning back against the wall.

"So… why didn't you?"

For the first time, he looked at her, his dark eyes unreadable. "Because you didn't ask me to."

The silence returned, heavier now, as if the room itself was holding its breath.

A Moment of Truth

Yuiri lifted the cup to her lips, the tea's bitterness sharp but grounding. It warmed her throat, easing the ache in her chest, if only slightly. She studied the man across from her—his posture relaxed but guarded, his expression calm but distant, like someone who had learned to live with pain as a constant companion. There was something about him, something that felt both familiar and foreign, like a shadow she couldn't quite name.

"Who are you… really?" she asked, her voice softer now, searching.

Arata didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stood and crossed the room to a small wooden drawer beside the window. The drawer creaked as he opened it, revealing a clutter of papers, a knife, and a single faded photograph. He pulled the photo out, holding it carefully, as if it might crumble under his touch.

He returned to the table and sat across from her, sliding the photo toward her. It was old, the edges worn and yellowed. In it, two boys stood side by side, their faces lit by sunlight. One was clearly a younger Arata, his expression serious even then. The other boy was smiling, his eyes bright with a warmth that seemed to defy the faded ink.

"That's my brother," Arata said, his voice low, almost reverent. "Riku."

Yuiri stared at the photo, her fingers tracing the edge. The boy's smile felt like a wound, a reminder of something pure that no longer existed. "What happened to him?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Arata's eyes darkened, the weight of memory pulling him under. "NOKRA happened."

Chapter 2 ends.