Grey Spring: Ruins of Tokyo Manji and the Love We Left Behind - Neighbor

The door opened. In that instant, there was someone in the hallway. Through the thin darkness of Corpo Minase's corridor, the orange light of evening filtered in. And standing in that light was a girl. Her hand was still on the doorframe of Room 202, the moment she was turning to face him. Takemichi froze. He'd left for his shift without even bothering to fix his hair. The convenience store shift started at 10 PM—he still had nearly two hours to spare, but the apartment had felt suffocating, so he'd decided to wander somewhere. It was right then. The girl in the hallway stopped moving too, just for a moment. Their eyes met. Words wouldn't come from Takemichi's mouth. He knew. He knew this face. Hinata Reina—it was Hina. Her hair was black and straight, bouncing lightly at her shoulders. Her body seemed just a little more grown than before, but the color of her eyes hadn't changed. That calm, yet resolute color. She was wearing an apron. She must have stepped out in the middle of cooking—there was a faint smell of dashi broth lingering around her. It had been two years. Something flickered across Hina's eyes for just a moment. Surprise, perhaps, or pain—something that could be read as either. But it lasted less than a second. The next instant, Hina smiled naturally. As if they'd seen each other yesterday, with an ordinary, everyday smile. "I never did give you a moving-in gift, did I?" As she spoke, Hina held out the plastic containers she'd been carrying. White plastic lids. A sweet and savory smell leaked from the gaps—nikujaga, beef and potato stew. Plenty of it. Takemichi's hands wouldn't move. He just had to take it. That was all. But his fingers were frozen, wouldn't budge. If he took it, he'd connect with someone again. If he connected, then— Draken's face surfaced in his mind. The smell of blood. For two years, Takemichi had lived like this. Building walls. Keeping distance. Even his relationship with Katagiri Minoru was just senpai and kouhai, nothing more. Don't get involved deeply. If you don't get involved deeply, you don't lose. If you don't lose, you don't feel that pain— "It'll get cold." Hina's voice was gentle. Not blaming. Not rushing. But not backing down either. She stood there with the container still extended, showing no sign of retreat. Not even a millimeter of it. Takemichi awkwardly stretched out both hands. The warmth of the container transferred into his palms. "...Thank you." His voice came out strained. 　　＊ Sasazuka Sakura Park smelled of rain-washed earth. A three-minute walk from the apartment. At Hina's suggestion, they sat down on a bench together. Since they'd eat it anyway, it might as well be here, she'd said. Takemichi couldn't refuse—or rather, by the time he was searching for words to decline, they were already walking. The park was small. Two swings, one sandbox, four benches. The streetlights hadn't come on yet, and the redness of the evening sky reflected thinly off the wet asphalt. Only the sound of insects continued at regular intervals. They sat side by side on the bench and ate the nikujaga. Hina didn't ask anything. Where he worked, what he'd been doing for two years, why he lived here—nothing. She just sat beside him, poking at her own portion with chopsticks. For Takemichi, that was a small mercy. Because he wouldn't have known how to answer if she'd asked. The potatoes were cooked perfectly. The sweet and savory broth had soaked through them, and they were soft enough to fall apart at the slightest touch. When was the last time he'd eaten something like this? Convenience store bento boxes, cup noodles— Takemichi took one bite and then couldn't move for a while. It was delicious. That feeling pierced slowly into the depths of his chest. He didn't understand why. Just because the food was good, why did it— A streetlight in the park flickered on. Orange light illuminated the wet sandbox. The chains of the swings swayed faintly in the evening breeze. Without even noticing, Takemichi's eyes had begun to blur. He tried to stop it. But he didn't know how. For two years, he'd known how to stop this. Just don't feel it. Freeze it. But now, something—was beginning to thaw, just a little. One drop traced down his cheek. Takemichi turned his face away. He didn't want Hina to see. What would happen if she saw, what would it— But Hina was watching him from the corner of her eye, his turned-away face. She said nothing. She simply placed a white handkerchief softly on his knee. Takemichi's hand gripped that handkerchief. His grip was too tight, his fingertips turning white. Just having someone beside him—was it really this heavy? In Hina's chest, something was quietly beginning to regain its warmth. The thing she'd been holding onto for two years. The feeling that hadn't disappeared, even alongside the pain. But tonight, she wouldn't put it into words. She just sat beside him, poking at her own potatoes. 　　＊ Just before 10 PM, Takemichi headed toward Daily Shop Sasazuka. Seven minutes on foot from Corpo Minase. He walked the usual route at the usual pace. The night breeze was humid, and the lingering dampness of the rainy season still hung in the air. He was still caught up in what had happened at the park. He'd cried in front of Hina—that kept spinning through his head. He hadn't intended to cry at all. But it had overflowed. For the first time in years, tears had come. (What the hell...) The convenience store sign came into view. The blue letters of Daily Shop floated in the night. The moment he approached the glass automatic doors—Takemichi stopped. Something was wrong inside the store. Through the glass, in front of the register counter, three people were standing. Not customers. Their clothes were different. Black gang jackets—a large "卍" symbol embroidered on the back. Below it, unfamiliar characters. "WALDSTATT." The lettering resembled the embroidery of the old Tokyo Manji Gang, but it wasn't the same. One of the three had both hands on the register counter. Katagiri Minoru was frozen on the other side of the counter. His face was pale. His lanky body was hunched and trembling. Takemichi's body wouldn't move. He couldn't take a single step forward. If it were two years ago—if it were the old Takemichi, he would have pushed through the door without thinking. It would have been an automatic reflex. When a friend, when someone was in trouble, his body moved first—that was how Takemichi's body was supposed to work. But now, his feet were rooted to the ground as if sewn there. The night of the Kanto Incident flashed across his mind. The roar of that night, the smell of blood, the red spreading across asphalt, the moment Draken's body tilted—it all spread across the back of his retinas in an instant, and strength drained from his limbs. What could I do if I went in? I couldn't do anything. That night, I couldn't do anything. I couldn't protect anyone. Laughter from the young men echoed out. One of them, apparently the leader, roughly slammed the cash drawer. Katagiri opened it with shaking hands. Takemichi stood on the other side of the glass, unable to do anything, watching the scene unfold. The three left soon after. Laughing. Not in any hurry, not seeming scared at all, just ambling away casually. The automatic door slid open. Takemichi shifted a step to the side, hiding himself against the wall. The three young men passed by. They didn't seem to notice him. They disappeared into the alley. Just before the last one vanished, he said something. Looking at his phone, whispering to his companions in a voice barely audible—it drifted to Takemichi's ears. "Hanagaki Takemichi's in Sasazuka. He could be useful." The words didn't reach Takemichi's ears. Takemichi wasn't looking at the alley where the young men had disappeared. His gaze had fallen to his own hands. They were shaking. His right hand, his left hand, trembling finely, unable to stop. From inside the store, he heard Katagiri's voice: "Hello, is this 110—" His young voice, cracking with fear. Listening to that voice, Takemichi fought back the urge to vomit. 　　＊ The shift ended at 6 AM the next morning. The police came, questioned Katagiri, and asked Takemichi a few things—since he'd been outside just before the incident. He answered their questions about the height and number of the gang-jacketed youths. That was all. No one asked "Why didn't you help?" Back at Corpo Minase, Takemichi closed the door to Room 201 and leaned his back against the wall. He sat down on the floor without even removing his shoes. The window outside was turning white. The light of the rainy morning filtered thinly through the gap in the curtains. He looked at his hands. Placed them on his knees and stared at them. They weren't shaking anymore. But the fact that they had been shaking wouldn't disappear. He'd cried in front of Hina. He couldn't help Katagiri. These two things collided inside Takemichi. Both were true, both were about him—yet they pulled him in completely different directions. (Maybe I'm done for.) That thought floated up like murky water. A phrase he'd floated up and then sunk countless times over two years. But tonight, Hina's white handkerchief was still in his pocket. He'd forgotten to return it. Or rather, he couldn't return it. He'd meant to wash it and give it back, but he'd spent the whole night with it in his pocket. His fingers searched for it without even meaning to grip it. From beyond the wall, a faint sound drifted through. A melody he'd heard last night. Hina's humming. Just the melody, no lyrics, a soft sound. It passed thinly through the wall of Room 202 and reached Takemichi's ears. It was already morning. Was she already awake? Or had she not slept all night? He didn't know which. But it was there. Takemichi hugged his knees and listened to only that sound. He had neither the strength to reject it nor the courage to accept it. Just the fact that someone existed on the other side of the wall—that was all that existed in this room this morning. The humming continued. Calm, matter-of-fact, as if she had no intention of anyone hearing it. Takemichi softly gripped the handkerchief in his pocket.

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Episode 2

Name: Grey Spring: Ruins of Tokyo Manji and the Love We Left Behind
Author: Novelia

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