The next morning, sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, casting golden ribbons of light across the pale wood counters and the polished floor. The table was already set: a bowl of steaming miso soup, gently swaying with the rise of heat, sat beside a small plate of perfectly cut toast and a soft-boiled egg. The air smelled faintly of soy and seaweed, familiar and comforting.
"Ren," his mother called gently from where she stood by the stove, still in her apron. "Eat your breakfast before you go."
At the doorway, Ren paused only to adjust the strap of his bag over one shoulder, fingers brushing impatiently against the buckle. His eyes didn't even glance at the food.
"Not hungry," he muttered, already reaching for the handle.
His mother took half a step toward him, voice rising with concern. "At least take—"
Click.
The door shut.
A long silence followed, thick as the scent of soup that still hung in the air.
She stood still for a moment, eyes fixed on the space he had occupied, fingers curling tight around the edge of the counter. Her voice cracked under the weight of it all, barely above a whisper.
"I don't know what to do with him anymore… He barely speaks to us these days. It's like he's shutting us out."
Across the room, Ren's father sat behind the newspaper, his face hidden until he slowly lowered the crisp pages and folded them with careful precision. He set it down on the table beside his untouched tea, then reached up to adjust his tie, the motion as practiced as it was slow.
"He's at that age now," he said, voice measured, emotionless. "He'll grow out of it."
His wife turned toward him, frustration flashing in her eyes. "But what if he doesn't? What if this isn't just a phase? Can't you at least go talk to him?"
He inhaled deeply, then exhaled through his nose—sharp and deliberate. For a brief moment, he rubbed at his temples like the weight of the morning was finally starting to press against him. Then, quietly, he pushed himself to his feet.
"Alright…" he said. "I'll try and talk to him later."
Silence settled back into the room like dust, undisturbed and lingering. The morning light was still there—streaming softly through the window—but it did nothing to ease the cold tension that hung between the walls of that house.
Ren walked in silence, hands shoved into his pockets, his bag slung over one shoulder. The crisp morning air bit at his skin, but he barely noticed. Around him, clusters of students headed in the same direction, their chatter a dull, rhythmic murmur that faded into the background.
A pair of girls in the same uniform walked just ahead of him, skirts swaying in rhythm with their steps. Their voices carried softly through the morning stillness.
"Did you hear about what happened to Daichi and Yuto?" one asked, her tone somber, edged with something like disbelief.
Ren's feet faltered—just slightly.
"Daichi. Yuto."
The names echoed, sharp and unwelcome, dragging yesterday's scene into his mind like a rusted hook: Kaito on the floor, bloodied and pleading… Ren, walking away.
He shut his eyes for a beat too long, forcing his expression blank. His mind pulled down the shutters.
"Not my problem."
He didn't hear whatever the girls said after that. Their voices drifted like fog, meaningless noise. His thoughts were already sealing the memory in a dark, locked drawer he didn't plan to open.
He reached the station and slipped into the crowd. The train to Ōme was waiting, doors yawning open like a mouth ready to swallow routine.
But Ren didn't plan to go to school today.
As the train rolled along its route, winding through the quiet mountain line, Ren stared blankly out the window until the familiar station passed him by without pause.
"No turning back now."
At the next stop, he rose from his seat, blending into the morning crowd. Navigating through the connecting platforms, he ducked into a restroom and locked himself in a stall. His motions were swift, practiced.
Blazer off. Shirt unbuttoned. The cold stall echoed as fabric rustled and his school uniform disappeared into his bag. In its place: a plain black hoodie and worn jeans. He tugged the zipper up, then pulled a cap low over his eyes.
He emerged and paused at the mirror. A quick glance.
"Good enough."
Minutes later, he boarded a different train—this one bound for Tokyo. The further they traveled from the quiet mountains, the more the energy shifted. The train buzzed with anticipation, chatter rising in excitement.
By the time the skyline came into view, glass and steel gleaming against the morning sun, Ren's pulse had started to pick up—not from guilt, but from something else.
When he stepped out into Akihabara, the city swallowed him.
Bright signs blinked with animated mascots, holograms floated from store displays, and vendors lined the streets shouting over each other with practiced enthusiasm.
"Limited-edition figures, only available today!" one cried, holding up a box still warm from the delivery truck.
Cosplayers crowded the streets, striking poses for photos. Some wore elaborate outfits that looked straight out of an anime, while others repped characters from the gacha game Ren played.
'This is insane."
He made his way through the crowd, soaking in the atmosphere. Every booth he passed had something tempting—posters, acrylic stands, keychains, all featuring characters he recognized. The special event banners fluttered in the wind, showcasing exclusive in-game bonuses for attendees.
At one of the demo booths, a group had gathered around a screen, watching a live showcase. Ren slipped in among them. The developers were introducing a new event character, and the audience let out a collective gasp as the 3D model rotated on-screen.
"She looks broken," someone muttered.
"I'm pulling for her no matter what," another person said.
Ren crossed his arms, eyes glued to the screen. The animation was crisp, the special moves flashy.
"Yeah, I need her."
After watching for a while, he drifted to another stall selling limited-edition merch. A keychain caught his eye—his favorite character, rendered in high quality.
Only a few left.
'If I don't get it now, it'll be gone."
Without hesitation, he grabbed one and paid for it, tucking it safely into his bag.
Hours passed in a blur. He tested out new game mechanics, snapped photos of cosplayers, and even grabbed a drink from a themed café pop-up. The entire experience was surreal—like stepping into a world he usually only saw through a screen.
For the first time in a while, he felt... free.
But as the sun began its descent, reality crept back in.
He checked his phone.
"Shit. I need to get back."
Quickly mapping out his route, he boarded a train back to Haijima. As he neared the station, he ducked back into the restroom, switching into his school uniform once again. He adjusted the blazer, making sure nothing looked out of place.
When he finally stepped onto the train home, he blended in seamlessly with the exhausted students returning from their normal, uneventful day.
As he sat down, his fingers brushed against the keychain in his pocket.
A small, satisfied smirk played on his lips. "Worth it."
Ren stepped through the front door, keeping his face blank like a mask he'd worn too many times before. The hum of the television bled into the silence of the house, murmuring some late-night drama neither of his parents would really be watching. Just noise to fill the void.
He kicked off his shoes with practiced detachment, slung his bag over his shoulder, and made for the hallway.
"Ren."
The voice froze him mid-step.
His father stood near the dining table, arms crossed, the overhead light carving a hard edge into his features. Across from him, his mother sat, fingers twisted together in her lap, her brows tight with worry.
Ren didn't say anything. Just stared.
His father's voice cut the silence. "Where were you?"
"Library," Ren lied without missing a beat. "Studying."
His dad's eyes didn't move. "We got a call from your school today."
"Shit."
"They said you weren't there."
Ren's fingers curled slightly at his sides. "They actually called home? What kind of school even does that?"
"You wanna explain where you were?" his father asked, tone deceptively level.
"School must've made a mistake," Ren said with a shrug. "I was there."
"Don't lie to me, Ren," his father growled, taking a step forward.
"I'm not."
"We called you. Over and over again," his dad snapped. "Your phone was off."
"I didn't hear it."
"Don't give me that!" His voice rose, sharp and thunderous. "You think no one would find out? You think your school wouldn't notice?!"
"Please, let's all just calm down—" his mother began, standing.
"No, he needs to hear this!" his dad barked, not taking his eyes off Ren. "You disappeared. You cut school without a word. You're lashing out at home. What the hell is going on, Ren?"
Ren rolled his eyes. "What's it to you?"
His father slammed his palm against the table. The sound cracked through the room like lightning. Ren flinched. Just barely.
"You don't get to do whatever the hell you want!" his father shouted. "You have responsibilities! People who care about you! You think we're just here to clean up after your messes?!"
"It was one day!" Ren snapped. "One goddamn day! What, you think I burned down the city?!"
His dad's face hardened. "You keep shutting us out! You don't talk to us, you don't tell us where you're going—do you even care about how much we worry?!"
Ren scoffed. "Oh, now you care? Funny. You only show up when I screw up."
"Don't you dare twist this," his father warned, voice sharp as glass.
"I didn't do anything wrong!"
"You ran off, ignored us, and then lied!" his dad shouted. "So don't act like some innocent victim! I don't know what's gotten into you, Ren. You used to—"
"Oh, here we go." Ren's tone turned venomous. "I used to be better, right? A 'good kid.' What, am I some disappointment now?"
His dad rubbed his temples, visibly worn. "I think you're lost."
The words hit harder than Ren expected. He looked away, jaw clenched.
"You don't know anything about me," he muttered.
"You think this is all on us?" his voice cracked—part rage, part something more desperate. "We're trying. We try, Ren. But you keep pushing us away. You hide. You don't let us in. How are we supposed to help you if you won't even try?"
"Even the hardest rock gets shaped by water—not because water's strong, but because it never gives up," his dad said quietly. "If something that soft can change the world just by keeping at it, so can you."
"Shut up!" Ren exploded. "Just—shut up! You always act like you know everything, like you've got all the damn answers, but you don't! All you do is push and lecture and remind me how I'm not enough!"
His voice cracked, raw now. "I just want to breathe, okay? I want to feel like I can change without everything I do being thrown back in my face!"
His father's voice boomed back. "Because you don't let us! We try to be there for you, but you don't give us anything back! What are we supposed to do?!"
"Maybe just leave me alone!" Ren shouted.
"That's not how family works!"
"Then maybe I don't need one!"
Silence.
The words dropped like a bomb. The entire room fell still.
His mother gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
His father's expression shattered—like something in him physically broke.
Regret surged in Ren's chest, sudden and sharp, but the heat of the moment—the fury and frustration—kept it buried.
His father took a step forward, voice low. "Where do you think you're going?"
Ren didn't answer.
He grabbed his hoodie from the rack, yanked the door open.
"Ren!" his father's voice rang out like a final warning.
But Ren didn't stop.
He stepped into the night, the cold air biting into his skin, and kept walking. Fast. Without looking back.
The door behind him creaked.
Then—
"Ren!"
His mother's voice. She sounded desperate, torn. She took a step forward, but then hesitated, her voice dropping to almost a whisper. "Maybe we should… just give him some time."
His father shook his head. "We can't just let him walk away like this."
"But forcing him back won't help either," she said, her voice wavering.
His father exhaled sharply, but he didn't argue. He just stood there, watching Ren's retreating figure.
Ren stood at the edge of the street, his fists clenched. His whole body was tense, his chest tight with emotions he couldn't even begin to untangle.
But he didn't turn back.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked into the night.
The cold air bit at his skin, but he barely felt it. He just kept moving, his feet carrying him forward without thought, without direction. Streetlights flickered overhead, casting long shadows on the pavement. The further he walked, the quieter the world became, until all that remained was the echo of his footsteps and the dull roar of emotions he couldn't shake.
He needed a distraction. At some point, he found himself in front of the arcade. He didn't remember deciding to come here—his body had just taken him somewhere, anywhere, that wasn't home.
The neon sign buzzed softly above him, bathing the sidewalk in electric blue. He exhaled, then pushed open the door.