After the fire, each family member carried a different version of the truth.
Kenji (17) – The Older Brother
Kenji was at karate practice when the fire happened.
When he returned home, he found his mother shaken and Haru sitting in a corner, his hand wrapped in bandages.
"What happened?" he asked, genuinely worried.
"A small accident," Tomiko replied quickly.
"Haru was a bit slow, but he helped."
Kenji looked at Haru's burned hand.
Then into his empty eyes.
Something felt wrong.
But Kenji carried the family's expectations—the athlete, the pride, the future.
His packed schedule left little room for emotional complications.
One night, he passed Haru's room and saw him standing before the mirror, whispering to his reflection.
His instincts urged him to step inside.
To ask. To protect.
But his mother's voice echoed in his mind:
"Focus on your future, Kenji. Haru is quiet. He's fine."
So Kenji walked away.
His silence, unintended, became another betrayal.
Sakura (15) – The Sister Who Listened
Sakura saw everything.
Her mother's cold stares.
Haru's trembling hand when he lifted a cup.
The way he hid his pain while changing bandages.
As an artist, trained to hear subtle notes, she sensed the fracture.
After the fire, she tried to talk to him.
"Does your hand… hurt?"
Haru nodded once.
"Mom is just scared. She doesn't mean what she says."
Haru looked at her for a long moment.
As if saying: You know that's not true.
Bound by loyalty and tradition, Sakura couldn't confront their mother.
Instead, she left sweets on Haru's bed.
She smiled softly when he passed.
Gentle taps against a thick glass wall.
Once, she saw him in the backyard, staring at the sky's reflection in a dirty puddle.
A tear fell, distorting the image.
Sakura returned to her room and cried in silence.
Something inside her brother was breaking—and she couldn't fix it.
The Breaking Point
Two weeks later, at dinner, Himari tried to cheer Haru up.
"Haru-nii, why do you always wear that glove? You look like a superhero!"
The words hung in the air—innocent, yet cruel.
No one spoke.
Tomiko didn't intervene.
Kenji stared at his plate.
Sakura opened her mouth… then closed it.
Then Haru looked up.
His eyes were not those of a quiet child.
They were cold. Distant.
"Yes, I wear the glove," Haru said calmly, his voice sharp as steel.
"Because my hand burns when I try to save someone. That's a lesson I learned."
Silence.
"Haru! Don't speak like that at the table!" Tomiko snapped.
But Kenji and Sakura exchanged glances.
Those were the most words Haru had spoken in a month.
And they carried all the pain he had never voiced.
In the Mirror World
"I've seen them," the reflection said that night, smiling confidently.
"Your brother knows but chooses to ignore it.
Your sister feels helpless.
Your mother… will never change."
"What should I do?" Haru asked, his voice now filled with challenge.
"Give me your burned hand."
He pressed it against the mirror.
Cold pierced the bandages—then warmth.
When he pulled back, the burn had shrunk by half.
The pain was gone.
"This is only the beginning," the reflection said.
"In my world, wounds heal.
The weak become strong."
"And them?" Haru whispered.
"Let them see the shadow they created.
Soon… they'll see the light I give you."
That night, Haru wrote in his secret notebook:
Today I spoke.
My words were small knives.
Maybe that's what they need—not silence, but truth.
The reflection says I can be strong.
I want to believe him.
A note at the bottom:
Sakura-nee, thank you for the sweets.
Kenji-nii, I know you see me.
Himari… you're still too young to understand.