Embers - Chapter 3

“I already told you—I ate with Kurumizawa, so I don’t need dinner.”

I said it again and turned for the stairs, but Yuya called after me. I clicked my tongue, then glanced his way.

“What?”

“I need to talk, Nagi. Come to the living room.”

“Talk here,” I snapped.

He hesitated for a moment, then said, “I got a call from your high school.”

That made sense.

“Oh, another complaint?”

“That’s not fair. They told me to stop letting you run wild. You’re about to be a university applicant—start thinking about your future.”

“I’m not going to university. I have other plans. I’ve told you before I didn’t even want to stay in high school.”

“Even if you skip college, you might not pass this year. Finals are coming up—”

He fell onto the floor before he could finish. I recognized the sting in my own fist—he’d said too much. Before he could get up, I pounced.

One—two—three hard punches to his cheek, his head, his shoulder. I yelled, “Shut up! You’re not my real brother—so quit talking down to me!”

I remembered a teacher in some drama saying that hitting someone hurts your own hand more—but that was a lie. My body felt a fierce joy, and my hand barely registered pain. Yuya didn’t struggle; it didn’t matter. Whenever I hit him, my anger drove my fist without thought. My stepfather and my useless mother—none of it mattered now.

He wasn’t my brother or guardian, and it angered me that he acted like one. Yet his cold, silent eyes showed no guilt as I pummeled him. It was infuriating—like I could beat him to death.

“I don’t want your food—I don’t care about school calls—just shut up, you hypocrite!”

After I’d struck until I was satisfied, I stepped away from the crumpled Yuya. I grabbed my bag—holding the newspaper clippings from Kurumizawa—and headed upstairs. He didn’t follow and didn’t move to rise.

Once in my room, a rare calm washed over me—something I never felt at school or when Yuya was around. I heard him stiffly stir in the hallway, then his footsteps climbing back to his workspace.

I opened my bag and spread the old newspaper article across my desk, closed my eyes, and tried to recall those childhood days before the fire—days when there’d been no problems.

My brother Toru was an exceptional person—but I didn’t grasp that as a child. I learned it later from our cousin, Ao. He’d attended a top school, joined the student council in his first year, and always earned awards. A textbook overachiever—but Ao might have softened her memories because of the fire, so I didn’t press her on details.

What I remembered most was how kind he was to me. Ten years younger and left alone while my parents worked, I was cared for by him and by Ao, who lived nearby. Even if I missed my parents, they made those days peaceful and happy.

He often brought Yuya home, too—probably because he couldn’t leave me by myself. I recall being shy, clinging to Toru’s shadow, and seeing Yuya look puzzled. Toru would laugh, ruffle my hair, and say,

“Nagi, this is Yuya Sairenji. He might look scary, but he’s my friend—he’s kind, and he’ll be good to you. So don’t be afraid.”

I can’t remember how I answered, only the relieved, shy look on Yuya’s face.

Now, buried under a thousand interactions with Yuya, I wonder if they’ve crushed me. He’s become nothing but a hindrance. Maybe I should deal with him—kill him even—before hunting the arsonist. He never fights back; it might be easy to trick and end him.

The image of Yuya burning alive in a dream flashes through my mind.