Part 1: The Weight of Survival
The front door of the Inazuma household slid open with a smooth, heavy drag. Akari guided the alloy wheelchair past the genkan, its wheels coming to a soft stop against the polished floorboards.
Haruto went completely still. The brief distraction of the number game evaporated the second the cold air of the entrance hall touched his skin. The silence in the house was suffocating—an empty, hollow expanse where Ayame's bright greetings used to echo. But beyond the absence of her voice lay a far more immediate threat.
Haruto knew Kaito was inside.
Akari pushed the chair into the main living room, and Haruto's eyes immediately locked onto the central sofa.
Kaito was sitting there.
Haruto's analytical mind reflexively cataloged every detail. Kaito was clearly bandaged beneath his shirt, and a faint tightness lingered around his posture, but he was roughly eighty-five percent physically recovered. He was moving freely, sitting upright, and showing none of the agonizing structural trauma that should have resulted from taking the full brunt of a gauntlet impact into a stone wall.
He survived it, Haruto thought, his chest tightening as cold fear crept down his spine. My ribs are broken, but he's walking. The physical impossibility of Kaito's rapid recovery didn't feel like a miracle—it felt like confirmation of the dormant entity shielding him from the inside.
Kaito's head snapped up. The moment his eyes landed on Haruto—pale, frail, and strapped into a motorized alloy chair—a volatile mix of raw grief, guilt, and unvented rage exploded behind Kaito's expression.
Without a word, Kaito surged off the sofa.
Haruto froze, his mind paralyzing his body. He had predicted this exact volatile reaction on the path home, but seeing Kaito charge toward him with bloodshot, desperate eyes sent a shock of sheer terror straight through his veins.
"Kaito, stop!"
Akari moved instantly, stepping directly into the line between the brothers. Before Kaito could push past her, Renjiro emerged from the side hallway, his arms wrapping firmly around Kaito's shoulders to lock him in place.
"Let go of me!" Kaito growled, thracing wildly against the iron grip around his arms. "Let me go! Let go of me!"
"That's enough, Kaito," Renjiro said, his voice deep, firm, and immovable as he held the boy back. "Calm down!"
"Get off me!" Kaito screamed, his heels skidding across the polished floorboards as he fought with every ounce of strength in his recovering body. He stared past Renjiro's shoulder, his eyes wide, bloodshot, and locked entirely on Haruto sitting in the wheelchair. The sight of his younger brother—alive, breathing, and protected—sent a wave of agonizing, toxic grief crashing through his chest.
"Why?!" Kaito's voice shattered, cracking into a desperate, furious sob. "Why are you still here?! Why are you alive, but Ayame had to die?!"
The words hit the living room like a physical blow.
Haruto flinched as if struck across the face, shrinking back into the alloy frame of his chair.
"Kaito, stop!" Akari snapped, her voice sharp with warning.
"Why him?!" Kaito thrashed again, tearing at Renjiro's sleeves as tears streamed freely down his bruised cheeks. "She was trying to save us! Why did she have to die while you just sit there?!"