Embers - Chapter 2
I pushed through the winter darkness and stopped in front of a lonely country house, half-lost in thought. Seeing the light on in the room upstairs made me sigh. Reluctantly, I opened the front door—the old beam groaned as if it had been waiting for me.
No matter how quietly I moved, the house announced my presence. Just as I was slipping off my sneakers, I heard a sound and knew Yuya was coming down from his upstairs workspace. It was always the same: he showed up every time I came home. I’d asked him to leave me alone before, but it was useless—he wanted to play the big-brother role to the hilt.
In the evening, our parents weren’t home. My stepfather was often delayed by work (or who knows what), and my mother’s official quitting time was six, though she seldom returned exactly then. That left just the two of us. I didn’t know exactly what Yuya did for work, only that he worked from home—and apparently had a perfect excuse to hover around me.
Just as I had finished pulling off my sneakers, Yuya appeared in the entryway.
“Welcome back, Nagi,” he said, even though he knew I’d barely reply.
I met his greeting with only a look. His unreadable, calm expression still managed to ignite my irritation.
I swung my arm up and shoved hard at his shoulder—but he didn’t even sidestep. Of course he didn’t. Yuya simply took a step back, pressed his back against the wall, and stared at me. As I glared, a familiar fire of frustration rose within me, fanned by memories I’d tried to smother long ago.
“What about dinner?” he asked, his voice level.
“I said I don’t want any.”
“That’s not an option. You’ve got to eat.”
“I already ate with Kurumizawa.”
I remembered the convenience-store breads marked down on stickers—she had a meat bun, cramming it into her mouth like it didn’t matter how she looked.
After she’d finished, she handed me a copy of a newspaper. It was decades old, stuff her grandfather had hoarded—she had the whole thirty-year archive in his attic. The paper was dated October 9, ten years ago. The front page detailed the fire that destroyed my real home.
Kurumizawa had teased me back in the dark convenience-store lot: “If you’re gonna hunt for the arsonist, aren’t you worried it’s pointless to dig up something from ten years ago?”
“Why are you so desperate about this?” I’d asked.
She’d grinned. “Hey, I’m helping you, too—don’t I deserve the scoop?”
I’d said, “My brother told me—”
She cut in, smirking: “You mean Yuya-onii-san? Or the one who burned to death… Wait, that’s confusing. What’s his name again?”
I tightened my jaw. “Azuma Toru. My one and only real big brother. Yuya’s not my brother—just some stranger living here.”
She’d laughed. “Poor Yuya-onii-san! So what did Toru-onii-san say?”
“He said someone lit the fire on purpose, and I have to find them. He died protecting me in that blaze—so I want to track down whoever did it.”
As soon as I said it, she’d patted my shoulder. “That’s awesome! I love wild ideas! I’ll help you any way I can. I’ll dig up other papers on arsons and fires around here. Just say the word.”
She hopped on her bike, then called back over her shoulder, “Give my regards to poor Yuya-onii-san who nobody pays attention to!”
Then she’d disappeared into the night. I’d tucked the newspaper carefully into my bag.
Yuya, standing nearby, spoke in a low, rough voice I almost hadn’t heard: “Kurumizawa, huh…”
He knew as well as I did: the only person at school I really talked to was Tsubaki Kurumizawa—and she was one of the biggest troublemakers around.
Then again, I’d ended up a problem kid myself. The classmate whose head I once bashed with a chair? They’d stopped coming to school not long after.