When he walked into the room, the first thing he noticed was a foul smell. His younger brother, standing beside him, covered his nose in disgust and frowned, "It stinks."
He held his breath and groped for the light switch.
The light did not come on immediately. A sizzling sound came from overhead. The room was still equipped with an old-fashioned square box light, an outdated model for which finding matching parts if it broke down would be difficult. He imagined the electric current cleaning out the long-unused circuits, and worried whether it was broken. The time it takes for a red light to turn green when driving, for a water heater to heat up enough water when you want to take a shower, and for the light to come on at this moment—these might be the three longest periods of time in the world. Taking advantage of this seemingly endless moment, he surveyed his surroundings.
The room was not small, but it was cluttered with miscellaneous items, making it feel very cramped. It was clear that it had not originally been intended as a storage room; the floor, unlike the other rooms, was covered with rare wooden planks, indicating this. However, now the wooden floor was soaked with rainwater, filling the room with a damp, sharp, moldy smell, mixed with long-unsettled dust, creating a murky and foul odor that hit the nose directly. Frankly speaking, it was like the smell you would encounter near a ditch after the rain. He felt a bit relieved, having anticipated the condition of the room and entering with his shoes on. His brother wasn't so lucky. The only saving grace was that his brother was barefoot, so his socks didn't get wet. However, with every step he took, dirty water seeped up from the cracks in the floorboards, sticking to his feet, and his brother let out a groan, "Ugh..."
"I'd better go put on some shoes," his brother said sulkily.
He nodded and stepped aside. The light continued to sizzle. He kept looking at the room before him.
The clutter mainly consisted of cardboard boxes, but there were also many stacks of magazines and outdated newspapers tied together with plastic straps.
At the end of the room filled with these items, there was a window. Both sides of the window were boarded up from the outside, but there was a small gap left in the middle of the windowpane. Dim morning light streamed through this narrow gap, illuminating the dust in the air like sparkling glitter. The whole room was thus enveloped in a hazy, dreamlike atmosphere. The wind and rain must have also entered through this gap.
He had already forgotten who had left this window open. During his college years, he had lived on his own, and even after graduating and joining the police force, he never thought about moving back. Two years ago, when his younger brother was accepted into college, he also moved out. Now, only their parents lived here, along with a large black dog. The black dog was called Hachiro by their father.
In all his memories of this place, this window had always been open. Even the interplay of light and shadow was a deeply ingrained part of his recollections. He guessed that one day, the last person who used this room for its original purpose had left without closing it. Later, cardboard boxes and other items piled in, and this window gap was long forgotten, until now, when a heavy rain had given it an unprecedented presence.
Yes, this was the reason he—Madara, a 26-year-old police officer—had returned to his old home during this holiday.
To be precise, it wasn’t just a heavy rain. After forming, the typhoon crossed the Land of Waves and made landfall in the Land of Fire. For an entire week, torrential rain poured down, with the force of a car wash scouring the land, and fierce winds driving raindrops into every building with a forgotten open window, causing disasters. Reports of damage came in from all over, disrupting his originally planned date. As a police officer, he wasn’t among those who could stay home and avoid the storm.
After finally dealing with the issues in his jurisdiction, he received a message from his father.
At this time of year, his father usually took his mother to the Land of Lightning for a summer trip, and this year was no exception. As for Hachiro, he was probably left with Izuna. When the message came through, Madara was lying on the sofa, texting someone on the other end of the phone, apologizing for missing their date a few days ago. A cat was sitting on the table licking its paws. Ten minutes after he sent the message, it was still unread. Knowing that the person on the other end could go days without replying when busy, Madara decided to get some rest and take a long nap. At that moment, another message notification popped up.
“I made sure all the doors were closed before we left, but I’m still worried something might go wrong,” his father said.
“Especially the storage room. If you have time, go check it out.”
Madara, with dark circles under his eyes, stared at the message. The cat jumped from the table onto his stomach, his hand loosened, and the screen fell onto his face with a smack.
At eight o’clock this morning, he drove to his brother’s place and they returned to their old home together.
Their old home was located in the suburbs and built in a traditional architectural style, mainly constructed of wood. The house had been passed down from their great-grandfather’s generation, nearly a century ago. Although it had been renovated several times, some parts inevitably showed signs of aging and wear. For example, Madara remembered that during the days he lived there, the sliding door in his room could never be fully closed. Perhaps there was a problem with the track, and it required pushing the whole door forcefully to get it into place. It wasn’t a big deal; even if it didn’t close properly, it would only leave a small gap. But over time, it became increasingly irritating. If he was in a bad mood, seeing that gap would only make it worse.
It wasn’t impossible to find someone to fix it, but a teenage boy’s room often contains secrets he doesn’t want others to know. So, one weekend, he decided to deal with the gap himself—with the help of a close friend at the time.
The square box light made a sound like insects hitting it, and the old-fashioned light, probably a few years older than him, finally stubbornly lit up. The daylight streaming through the window gap merged with the artificial light, and shadows left the dreamlike atmosphere, falling realistically under the clutter according to the rules of reality.
Madara snapped out of his reverie just as he heard footsteps outside the door.
His brother, wearing slippers, approached. Compared to his usual image outside, Izuna looked somewhat disheveled at the moment.
Izuna was nineteen years old, just starting his second year at the prestigious Naka River University, studying law. The university wasn’t far from their old home, so during the summer, it was only natural that Izuna took on the responsibility of feeding Hachiro. Speaking of Hachiro, he wasn’t any particular breed, just a stray dog their father adopted after both brothers had left home. There had also been Shichiro, Rokuro, Goro, and so on, going back to their elementary school days. Madara remembered that Ichiro was a hamster and Saburo was a rabbit. When he left home, he took the tabby cat, Shichiro, who was now happily living in his apartment.
Perhaps Izuna had grown fond of Hachiro over the years, as he would occasionally come back even outside of the summer to check on him and take him for walks. So, compared to Madara, who rarely came back, Izuna was somewhat more familiar with the increasingly strange old home. He not only put on slippers but also brought along a plastic trash bag, gloves, and tongs, rolling up his pants and sleeves, looking ready for the upcoming work. Madara couldn’t help but find it amusing.
“The light’s on,” Izuna said as he walked in, “I thought it was broken.”
“Looks like it can still hold on for a while.”
“No way,” he muttered, “This fifty-year-old relic should retire.”
Madara chuckled and took the plastic bag from his brother’s hand.
Just as their father had said, they had closed all the necessary doors and windows before leaving, so the main house didn’t have any major issues. However, the trees in the garden had suffered from the seven days of fierce wind and rain, shedding a lot of leaves. One branch had even fallen onto Hachiro’s doghouse. When Izuna saw this, he took several pictures and said with relief, “Good thing I took Hachiro away as soon as the rain started.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Madara noticed that the lock screen on his brother’s phone showed a picture of Hachiro panting. Hachiro was wearing a blue collar that Madara hadn’t seen before, likely something Izuna had bought himself, as it didn’t seem like something their father would choose. This reminded him of someone else—her large dog also wore a similar collar. Was it a recent trend? He wondered silently.
After checking the rest of the house, all that remained was the storage room their father had specifically mentioned. While still in the garden, Madara had noticed this area: from the outside, it appeared to be an unremarkable wooden wall, showing signs of long neglect. The marks of time were evident on the horizontal wooden planks of the exterior wall, and numerous weeds grew chaotically at the base. The two window frames were boarded up, yet there was still a narrow gap in the middle.
After taking the pictures, Izuna was engrossed in something on his phone, his head bent down as he typed. Madara didn’t stop but walked slowly, absentmindedly examining the outer wall. The window glass was covered with muddy rain streaks, and his blurry reflection was cast on the pane. The interior was unclear, only the faint outlines of stacked cardboard boxes were visible, standing silently inside like a range of mountains. With a sense of foreboding, he walked into the house still wearing his shoes. Izuna, absentmindedly, took off his shoes without hesitation.
After standing inside for a while, the initially pungent, moldy smell had faded from his desensitized nose, but Izuna, having just changed his shoes and walked in, still found it quite strong.
“No wonder Dad wanted us to come back and check on things. If we waited for him to return, who knows how much worse the smell would be,” Izuna remarked as he put on a mask. Madara also donned a mask, to block the dust that might be stirred up—though this concern might have been unnecessary. Surprisingly, there wasn’t much dust in the room; most of it had already been condensed by the wind and rain into damp, muddy patches on the wooden floor. When moving items and cleaning the surroundings, these patches of mud were more troublesome than dust. The combination with rainwater had turned the dust into something messier and harder to clean.
The room was mostly filled with stacks of old newspapers and outdated magazines. Most magazine covers were laminated with a smooth, glossy film, which provided some protection against the elements. However, the edges of the pages were still yellowed and curled from water damage, emitting a damp, sour smell. By comparison, the newspapers were much wetter. The topmost layer of old newspapers had been thoroughly soaked by the torrential rain, with all the inked text blending into an unreadable mess. Madara could only guess the dates from the corners of the pages.
Wearing latex gloves, he lifted a corner of the newspaper, flipping through the stacks with the precision of counting money. He arranged the magazines he moved out of the room in a neat order before going back in to fetch another load. Before they started cleaning, Izuna sent photos of the entire storage room to their father. Still in the Land of Lightning, the Uchiha parents decided to take this opportunity to have their two sons properly clean out the long-neglected storage room.
“See if there’s anything you want to keep; otherwise, just throw it all away,” they said. These old items, once cleared out, would soon be discarded. Perhaps because of this, or maybe due to his lack of sleep causing mental fatigue, Madara found himself unusually interested in this room that once felt as ordinary as air, these boxes, and these stacks of newspapers and magazines soaked by rain. So he patiently untied the knots sealed many years ago and leafed through the outdated news. On one magazine, a faded image of a smiling woman holding a perfume bottle was printed, with carefully designed fonts decorating the page. He stared at the ad words intently and absentmindedly, savoring the stark contrast of time that he had never noticed before. Suddenly, a water droplet fell onto the woman’s face with a splat.
The paper immediately absorbed the droplet, and the colorful ink of the woman's face spread out like ripples, creating a blur of colors that represented her skin, makeup, and features. It looked like an explosion of fireworks. Madara was startled, and then he heard his brother’s voice.
“Brother, what are you looking at?”
Izuna came out, carrying a precariously balanced box. Madara closed the book and stepped forward to help him with a few stacks. Looking into the room, except for the bookshelf tightly against the wall, most of the items had been moved, leaving only muddy dirt on the floor, which showed their footprints.
He sighed in relief as he placed the box on the ground.
Izuna crouched in an ungraceful manner, fiddling with the slightly open side of a cardboard box, as if handling something dirty. The damp, soft cardboard had an unpleasant feel, carrying a sensory implication of uncleanliness. Madara knew Izuna had a vague tendency toward cleanliness since childhood.
“Is there anything you want to keep?” Izuna asked, half-heartedly sifting through the items in the box.
Probably not. Even if there were things that seemed very important at the time, if they could be ignored and forgotten for so long, they probably weren’t that important after all. Madara thought this but still opened another box to check its contents. Just in case.
He pushed aside a box full of dead batteries—who had left them there?—and, stifling a yawn, dragged another box in front of him. The boxes piled nearby contained old brooms broken into several pieces, dried-out markers, and an old sewing kit.
“This duck plush toy should make Hachiro happy,” Izuna suddenly said. Madara stopped unpacking the boxes and turned to see his brother holding a dusty, arm-length duck-shaped pillow, with bright orange beak and feet.
“You really like Hachiro, don’t you?”
Izuna held the toy up to his eyes and snapped a few photos.
“Even though he’s a little rascal, he’s quite cute sometimes.”
He said casually, then lowered his head, typing quickly on his phone as if sending a message to someone.
“And… hmm.”
Izuna’s voice trailed off.
“Never mind… alright.”
He closed his phone, put it back in his pocket, and placed the duck into a plastic bag he had prepared nearby.
A sense of curiosity stirred in Madara. Given the busy schedule of a police officer in the Land of Fire, he had rarely seen his brother in recent months, with most communication happening online. That's how the digital age works, right? Even if they’re not in the same place, the constant exchange of messages keeps them from feeling estranged. However, some signs are only evident face-to-face. For example, since picking up his brother, Izuna had been frequently glued to his phone, seemingly absorbed in some messages. There’s a saying that those who are always focused on their phone are either in debt or in love—just a joke.
Madara didn’t intend to pry, but Izuna brought it up himself.
“I recently met a friend.”
“A friend?”
“Yeah, someone I met while walking the dog.”
In fact, it wasn’t someone he had just recently met. They had crossed paths two years ago. As Izuna spoke about this, his tone had an underlying excitement, as if he was eager to share the news and had brought it up to his older brother on his own.
At that time, he had just graduated from high school and received his admission letter from Naka River University. It was supposed to be the most leisurely summer of his life. Hearing that his parents had brought home a puppy that needed his help to feed was as surprising as if they had suddenly brought home a child for him to raise.
Moreover, Izuna had a tendency towards a somewhat vague form of obsessive cleanliness, Madara thought to himself. Of course, his brother would never admit to having unclear standards. At least, he was very clear about his initial dislike for having a dog.
The puppy was cute, but also stinky, needed training, and required someone to manage its waste. Not long after, Hachirou seemed to view him as a parent, following him everywhere. Coupled with the sweltering summer heat, Izuna felt overwhelmed by the constant presence of the hot, doggy smell, which left him in a bad mood. He didn't want to go home to be overwhelmed by the puppy, so he sat by the riverside in Naka, sulking.
He remembered it was the time of day transitioning from afternoon to evening, with the bright blue sky tinged with the crimson of the setting sun. Along the riverbank, some joggers with dogs passed by, and others were being pulled along by their dogs.
Hachiro’s appearance clearly suggested he would grow to be at least a medium-sized dog, and even as a small bundle, he was already causing headaches. It was bound to get worse as he grew up. I definitely don’t want to be like that—he thought, and then felt that it was pointless to be annoyed at a small puppy. As mealtime approached, he couldn’t really just leave Hachiro behind, so he got up and prepared to go home. At that moment, he heard a faint and weak barking, along with the sounds of children’s screams and laughter.
Since he had been sitting there, the group of children had been gathered at a distance, playing some unknown game. Izuna, who had been lost in thought, was only vaguely aware of his surroundings until he noticed something was wrong.
What were those kids poking with sticks?
"Hey! What are you doing?" he shouted as he approached. The riverbank, surrounded by the kids, was obscured from view, but from the chaotic ripples and the weak cries amid the children's laughter, it was clear that there was a living creature involved.
His already bad mood was further exacerbated by the sight, fueling his anger. The fierce energy in his voice made the kids scream and scatter, dropping their sticks. As Izuna reached the scene, he discovered a small puppy.
The puppy was only a few months old, gray and white all over, struggling in the stream, trying to paddle its way to the shore. However, due to the earlier interference from the children—who might have even thrown it in!—the puppy was clearly exhausted, its little paws growing weaker. Even if it managed to swim closer, the steep riverbank, towering over it, made it impossible to climb out easily.
He had just been troubled by the family’s puppy, and now another puppy needed his concern.
But Izuna couldn’t worry about that now. The stream in Naka was swift, and the puppy had already been carried farther from the shore. He hurriedly grabbed a branch that the children had left behind, hoping to fish the puppy out, but found the puppy desperately swimming away from the branch he was using.
“I’m trying to save you!”
He was so anxious that he was almost jumping up and down, determined to give those mischievous kids a lesson later. But not now—no matter how much he disliked dogs, he couldn’t just watch the puppy being swept away by the current.
In his desperate moment, he suddenly heard a voice ask, “What’s going on?”
It was a calm, steady female voice. Even now, Izuna remembered it clearly. After he responded with “A dog has fallen in,” the owner of that calm and steady voice suddenly stepped forward, tossed aside her baseball cap and mask, and jumped into the rushing Naka River.
“Wait...” Dangerous! He was about to shout, but his voice caught in his throat. Even someone who didn't know how to swim could see how gracefully the person moving toward the dog in the creek swam—honestly, it was the first time he’d seen a swimming style that could be described as “like a fish” outside of TV. The gray-white puppy was soon caught in her arms, and she swam back toward the shore. But the current was too strong, and Izuna, stunned for a moment, felt he should do something. He waved the branch a couple of times, then threw it away and threw himself onto the riverbank, reaching out a hand toward the person in the water.
He felt that she seemed to glance at him during a moment when she was catching her breath, and she reached out her hand.
Snap！Their hands tightly clasped together.
“Thanks,” she said, breathing heavily, with strands of wet hair sticking to her face. She used her arm to pull herself up, and Izuna immediately understood her intention. He reached out with the other hand, grabbing her arm, and together they managed to pull her up onto the shore.
Izuna panted heavily, lying on the riverbank, feeling every muscle in his body aching. His vision was blurred, and even the sun appeared as two tangled dots. When the person leaned over, he couldn't make out her face clearly because of the backlight and the shadow.
All he saw were her sharp eyes, which were slightly curved into a smile at that moment.
“I’ll take the puppy with me.”
By the time he regained his senses, the person had already disappeared.
“That’s quite dramatic,” Madara commented. Izuna smiled, swallowing hard, feeling a bit embarrassed. This was the first time Madara had seen his brother like this.
Noticing his brother’s hesitation, Madara took the initiative and asked, “And then? You must have met more than once, right?”
“Then…”
Izuna fell silent for a moment.
After that day, he would go to the riverside every day, but never saw that person again. Although the fleeting romance remained unresolved, at least Hachirou grew up day by day. He had gotten used to raising a dog and, in his vague standards of cleanliness, finally accepted dog ownership.
The next time he saw her was about half a year ago.
“Casually walking Hachirou… I ran into her again, walking the same white dog.”
The white dog had grown. Hachirou, being friendly, rushed over to sniff the white dog. He apologized to the owner, trying to pull Hachirou back, but the more he looked, the more familiar those eyes under the shade of the cap seemed.
“We finally exchanged contact information…”
Izuna’s voice trailed off.
“Do you have a photo?” Madara asked, curious. Izuna’s voice suddenly raised.
“No! I... She probably just saw me as an ordinary friend walking the dog together.”
In Izuna's unfinished words, Madara suddenly understood why he had brought up the matter. With hidden, uncertain feelings and not knowing how to proceed, Izuna needed someone to support him. Naturally, the first person he thought of was his older brother.
Without further thought, Madara said, “I think you should ask her out directly.”
“Really?”
Izuna murmured, but there was a trace of hesitant disheartenment in his tone. It seemed that the mere fact that someone other than himself knew about these feelings provided him some solace. He changed the subject.
“...We’ve chatted too long. Let’s finish organizing, brother.”
As he spoke, he lowered his head and opened the last box.
Madara felt he had no place to interfere with his brother's decisions. Even though he didn’t agree with Izuna’s tendency to avoid the issue (a term that seemed oddly fitting for him), Madara still obediently followed along, joining him in examining the contents of the final box.
Compared to the other boxes, this one was not very big. Inside, there was a thick photo album that was popular ten years ago, and a small box of band-aids featuring cartoon bears. Everything was covered in dust.
"The photo album... this can be kept."
Izuna said softly, picking up the album.
The album was about the size of two palms, with one photo per page, making it quite thick. Opening the first page, he saw Madara's name written in dark-colored ink.
"It looks like it’s yours, brother." Izuna said excitedly as he flipped to the next page. Indeed, Madara recalled a vague memory. He vaguely remembered that during high school, he developed a passion for photography, using his pocket money to buy a camera and taking pictures everywhere. He would print the ones he was satisfied with and put them in the album. What exactly he had photographed, he couldn't remember.
He was about to lean in to admire his high school masterpieces, but his attention was drawn to the small bear band-aid box.
The box seemed increasingly familiar, and he instinctively picked it up.
Looking up, he saw his brother staring at him.
"...What’s wrong?"
Izuna's face took on a strange expression as he held up what he had found—an envelope.
To be precise, it was a light blue envelope with no signature, only a line of text: "If possible, meet me under the tree at the back playground after school."
Madara stared at the envelope, instinctively gripping the band-aid box in his hand before letting go before it was crushed.
Izuna said, "If I'm not mistaken... this handwriting is yours, right? Under the tree at the back playground... I remember that it's..."
A confession spot at Fire High School?
The brothers, who had both attended the same high school, understood the implication. Izuna subtly closed his mouth, and after a pause, suddenly asked, "Can I take a look?"
He was eager to find another topic of interest to shift the focus away from his own unprogressive romance. Even so, he thought Madara would probably say “no” to looking. It's best if one's teenage embarrassments remain unknown to others.
Madara, however, said, "It's fine to look... I didn’t put anything inside."
After a pause, he added, "At that time, I intended to say everything in person."
The implication was that he hadn’t managed to say it.
“Is it… because of something? In high school... I was still in elementary school at that time? I didn’t even notice…”
Izuna's eyes held a mix of anxious anticipation. Madara hesitated for a moment, glancing at the sky. Compared to the vast blue sky when he first entered the house, there were now large, sculptural clouds. The sunlight was still blinding. The sun blazed down on the courtyard’s land, so Madara moved to a nearby bench and sat down.
“...Do you remember my door? For a period, it wouldn’t close properly.”
It was another summer. As the cicadas broke through the earth on their thirteen-year cycle, they cried out hoarsely on the trees, their collective chirping formed a continuous, overwhelming sound, and from a distance, it seemed as if the entire tree was calling out.
The Land of Fire bordered the ocean, and the abundant moisture from the sea nourished the vegetation and land well during the spring, but in summer, it turned the air into a hot and humid steamer. To this day, Madara still remembers the cicadas' cries that summer and the now-obsolete old electric fan, which would hum and blow cool air with its head turning "clack-clack" in the sweltering heat.
Things hadn't gone smoothly from the start. The friend who had promised to help was late, running from a distance while shouting, "Sorry—"
"Too slow!"
Madara's angry shout was followed by the realization that his friend wasn't alone. There was a girl with him, her hair cut short and neat, wearing the Fire Country High School uniform skirt. His friend, hands on his knees and gasping for air, introduced her as his sister after catching his breath. Prior to that, Madara had already exchanged polite glances with the girl, guessing at her identity but never considering she might be his friend's sister.
Having been friends since elementary school, Madara certainly knew his friend had a sister. He just didn't expect them to look completely different, as if they were opposites in appearance. This amused him slightly, but the feeling was quickly overshadowed by a rising sense of awkwardness. Under the girl's calm gaze, Madara felt a strange sensation in his heart. Perhaps it was the incessant cicada noise. He couldn't help but feel annoyed at his friend for bringing his sister without any prior notice. He glared at his friend.
"My sister was originally tutoring an elementary school child. But the kid suddenly canceled today," his friend said cheerfully. "So, with the unexpected free time, I brought her along."
...Well, there was nothing to be done about it. Reluctantly, Madara accepted the explanation and invited his friend and his friend's sister into the house.
Nails, hammers, wooden boards, and any other tools that might be needed—Madara had prepared them all. To be honest, it was a task he could have completed on his own. But having an excuse to invite a friend over was always welcome. Even if it was just chatting while figuring out how to fix the sliding door, it was more fun than doing it alone.
It wasn't his friend's first time at the Uchiha house, and he was probably more familiar with where the snacks and drinks were kept than Madara was. Shouting a casual "Sorry for intruding—" into the empty Uchiha house, he headed straight for the kitchen. This left his sister alone with Madara, making him feel awkward again.
He could only politely invite his friend's sister to sit down. Fortunately, his friend soon returned with snacks in hand.
"I'm not that familiar with your sister, keep an eye on things," Madara muttered through gritted teeth as he and his friend bent their heads together to discuss how to fix the door. His friend cheerfully apologized, though he didn't seem particularly remorseful.
Having an unexpected guest, Madara had anticipated it would be quite uncomfortable. However, the girl barely spoke, only asking "Where's the bathroom?" besides her initial "Hello." The rest of the time, she had her nose buried in a booklet, writing something unknown.
An hour later, Madara had settled back into his usual rhythm with his friend, though he had grown curious about the booklet. As he passed by while moving materials, he sneaked a peek and saw nothing but a page full of text and numbers. Taking the opportunity during their discussion, he whispered conspiratorially to his friend.
"Your... sister... what's she... writing..."
His friend whispered back just as quietly, "No... idea... never... understood..."
Madara almost burst into laughter but quickly checked himself. Glancing up, he noticed the girl leaning against the veranda, frowning in their direction. His breath caught, and he felt a cold sweat break out across his back. His friend must have felt the same; perhaps even more keenly. Realizing Madara had gone silent, he immediately sprang up, saying, "Seems like we're out of juice. I'll go get some," and quickly made his exit.
That was supposed to be my excuse!
But it was too late. The air grew thick with an awkward silence. Madara pretended not to notice, turning his body slightly, and picked up a hammer and nails, staring intently at the slightly ajar sliding door as if in deep thought. In truth, he was watching the figure by the veranda out of the corner of his eye. In that dim view, the girl's figure seemed almost ethereal, making it hard to discern if she was still looking at him. Whether she was or wasn't, he felt the prickling sensation of her gaze piercing his back. The cicadas' chorus grew louder.
Distracted, Madara mishandled the nail, and its sharp point grazed his fingertip.
"Hiss!"
Reflexively, he jerked his hand back, shaking it before bringing it to his mouth to blow on it. At first, the skin seemed intact, but after a moment, a bead of bright red blood surfaced, sending waves of pain from the wound through his arm and into his heart.
What bad luck. He repeated the shaking and blowing, though it did little to ease the pain. The prickling sensation of being watched seemed to lessen slightly.
Just then, his wrist was suddenly grasped.
In hindsight, her fingertips always felt cool to the touch. But that day, perhaps due to the scorching sun and the incessant cicadas, her grip felt so hot it made him tremble.
"Are you hurt?"
A calm voice spoke quietly. Without him noticing, his friend's sister had approached and was now holding his hand, examining the wound closely. Madara shivered from the heat of her touch, prompting her to frown and say:
"Don't move!"
Strangely enough, the temperature seemed to drop just like that.
Madara didn't know why he obediently followed his friend's sister's instructions. He simply followed the subconscious directive—holding up his hand for her to examine. After a while, she said, "Wait a moment, I have a band-aid."
She turned around, retrieved a band-aid with a cartoon bear design from her bag, and quickly and lightly applied it to his wound. It was wrapped too tightly, causing an itchy sensation at the edges. Madara knew he should say thank you, but all words and thoughts vanished the moment she held his wrist.
He could only watch her actions in a daze.
Her long eyelashes were lowered, and after applying the band-aid, she gently blew on the wound twice. The light breaths tickled the tightly wrapped wound, creating a tingling sensation.
She thinks I'm a child. The blank mind of Madara surfaced with a thought. His friend's sister released his hand, hesitated for a moment, then handed him the whole box of band-aids.
"Sorry, I subconsciously treated you like one of my students," she said candidly. "That child is especially afraid of pain."
"If you're worried about infection, it's better to see a doctor."
She spoke, but Madara couldn't hear her clearly anymore. How they fixed the door, he couldn't remember, nor when his friend returned or what he said. He only remembered the restless cicadas that day.
And his heart beat even faster, with the sound of his heartbeat drowning out the cicadas.
Madara began a year-long crush.
"…I always found various reasons not to confess my feelings to her. I thought about writing them down but felt it was too much to fit on a single sheet of paper. By the time I finally made up my mind, she had transferred schools. Her entire family moved, including her brother."
He could only tuck the unsent letter into the album and bury that memory along with the band-aid.
"Didn't you keep in touch via phone?" Izuna couldn't help but ask.
"I kept in touch with her brother through text messages."
Madara paused.
"Smartphones weren't common back then. He probably changed his number, and after that, I couldn't reach him."
Izuna sighed deeply.
"What did she look like? Didn't you take a lot of photos?"
Madara shook his head.
"I never took a picture of her."
He vaguely remembered countless times when his lens framed her figure, but he always hesitated to capture her image. Even his own feelings were too shy to reveal; to leave behind her image without her knowing felt like a grave offense.
He didn't take a single picture.
After speaking, he paused, "Except for one… taken that day after it all ended."
Madara took the album from Izuna's hands and quickly flipped through the pages of developed photographs, skimming past mountains, their high school campus, the red-brown track, flowers, trees, and blue skies. These photos, carefully laminated after developing, despite being memories from long ago, were still vivid and fresh.
"Here…"
His hand stopped. Izuna leaned in to look, seeing a yellowed, faded photo without lamination. The setting appeared to be the area near the entrance, with three people standing together. High school-aged Madara, not fully grown yet and with a somewhat boyish face, stood on the left, being laughed at and shoulder-clasped by the person in the middle. Madara looked like he was about to fall, mouth open, one hand reaching forward, his index finger adorned with a cartoon bear band-aid.
On the far right stood the girl in her school uniform.
But her features were blurred. The fading was so severe that only her short hair and the slight upward slant of her eyes were discernible. As Izuna tried to look more closely, a droplet fell onto the photo's protective sleeve, creating a tiny splash.
Was it raining?
He was momentarily distracted, and by then, Madara had closed the album and put it back in the bag.
Izuna glanced up, noticing that it wasn't raining; large, heavy clouds hung low in the sky.
“It must be the water condensing from the eaves,” Madara said. “We’ve talked too long.”
Alright, then. Izuna stood up and stretched.
“...Since you have a photo, do you need me to help you find her online?” he joked. Madara chuckled.
“It might rain soon, so let’s hurry up and clean up.”
…The unspoken truth was that a year ago, he had met the girl again.
Over the years apart, she had jumped several grades, earned a Ph.D. in the renowned Department of Physics at the University of the Clouds in the Land of Lightning, and was now starting a second degree at Naka River University. He later learned this from her. When they met again, she was delivering documents to the police station on behalf of her forensic medicine professor, who was also her advisor.
At that time, he was the only one on duty.
When her vivid, calm red eyes looked at him, twenty-six-year-old Madara felt as if the relentless cicadas of that summer when he was sixteen were ringing in his ears again, sending a chill down his spine and rendering him motionless.
Thus, they exchanged contact information and had since entered an unspoken, ambiguous phase.
...I wonder if she saw the message? Madara thought absentmindedly.
After dragging the floor and airing out the cluttered room, the sharp odor had diminished significantly. However, having been in the room for so long, the two brothers had become somewhat desensitized to the smell. They sorted the trash into black garbage bags, preparing to take them to the disposal point later.
Izuna had salvaged a few stuffed animals, claiming they could be given away. He was now holding his phone, likely messaging the person to whom the toys would be given.
Madara stood in the shadow of the doorway, waiting for his slow-moving brother to finish sending the messages. He folded his arms and leaned against a wooden pillar, gazing at the house that had been their home for eighteen years. The setting sun cast a golden light, making the afternoon look like an overripe fruit. The once weathered exterior of the house now appeared vividly bright, almost as if coated in gold paint.
“Should we eat something later?”
He thought idly. They had missed lunch while cleaning the cluttered room, but it was still too early for dinner. Deciding what to eat was a dilemma.
When Izuna finally caught up, Madara was still pondering this.
“Brother!”
“What’s up? Are you hungry?”
Izuna hesitated.
“No, I… I wanted to say…”
His voice grew very soft.
“I just… asked her out,” he whispered. “Just for a meal.”
"...She's very busy. When she gets busy, she sometimes doesn't reply for several days. She probably won't have time to go out with me. But..."
He paused for a moment, then smiled slightly.
"...I'm a bit hungry, brother."
Madara felt an unexpected sense of relief.
They walked toward the parking area.
As they stepped out the door, Madara sensed a brooding atmosphere of impending rain.
He looked back up and saw thick gray clouds spreading across the sky, extending into the obscured distance. Brilliant and intense sunlight slanted through the rifts in the clouds, casting its glow on the treetops, the edges of dark roof tiles, and their path ahead, making everything seem still bathed in dazzling happiness.
He suddenly felt that this extraordinarily bright summer day was meant for the storm that was about to come.
With a beep, his brother stopped and pulled out his phone.
“She replied!” Izuna said with excitement.
A damp breeze brushed against Madara’s coat as he was about to respond.
From the distant sky, a sudden low rumble of thunder sounded.
End.