Genzo sat cross-legged at the head, spine straight as a post, silver-streaked hair pulled back tight. His daughter knelt beside him, smoothing her apron with restless fingers.

  Sayaka had already laid out the meal. Bowls of miso soup steaming gently, pickled radish bright against dark lacquer trays, and a basket of still-warm rolls wrapped in cloth. “You must all be hungry,” she said. “Please, help yourselves.”

  Ren settled onto his cushion, watching steam rise in pale threads. Only the clink of chopsticks echoed off the walls.

  Sayaka’s gaze lingered on them again. “Such a large group. I don’t understand how you all made it out alive, no offense.”

  Midori gave a dry laugh. “We don’t either. Luck, I guess.”

  “It was more than luck,” Shion said. “The bodies we saw. The path laid out before us.”

  “And the bridge.” Haruto exhaled. “I couldn’t see clearly, but it looked like it just—collapsed. Exploded, maybe? I don’t know.” Several faces blanched at the reminder.

  Ren’s eyes dropped to the broth, his own reflection quivering back at him.

  “Wow. It seems you’ve been through quite a lot.”

  Genzo set his bowl down with a muted thud. “Doesn’t matter how you survived. What matters is that you did. That’s all that counts.”

  Sayaka’s cheeks flushed. “I didn’t mean to sound harsh. It’s just, we’ve lost more people than I ever imagined. Before the networks went dark, hospitals were already overflowing. The sickness spread before the turning ever began. We’re on the outskirts of Suiren Gaoka, the old affluent district, so I drove as close as I dared last night, scouting the roads. You’re the first survivors we’ve seen besides these three.”

  Opposite them, the boy hunched forward, chopsticks trembling above his bowl, dark hair veiling his eyes. Beside him, a woman tugged at the wrinkled hem of her skirt, her whispered thanks barely audible. The man slumped in his jacket, shoulders rounded, gaze fixed on the broth as if waiting for something to rise.

  “We didn’t see many others either,” Midori said, frowning.

  “You’d think there would be more camps. Checkpoints. Something,” Satsuki said. “We thought we saw lights, but it was too far and we ran when the—” She stopped, memory catching her mid-sentence.

  “Don’t count on anyone saving you. What matters is learning how to fight back. You don’t waste bullets guessing. You aim here—” Genzo raised a calloused hand, tapping the base of his neck. “Back of the head, just below the skull. Otherwise, they’ll keep coming. I shot one in the chest once, didn’t even slow it down.”

  Amira, cross-legged near the door, snorted. “Lovely breakfast conversation.”

  “So what’s our plan here?” Haruka asked. “A couple of cows, some chickens, and one generator won’t keep us all alive.”

  He watched faces shift. Most looked ready to settle in, to cling to Genzo’s small refuge until help arrived. But, as Genzo had said, rescue wasn’t coming.

  “I’m worried about supplies too,” Hayami murmured, hands folded in her lap. “What I brought won’t last. If anyone gets seriously injured, we’ll be fighting two battles.”

  “Then we ration. Every scrap of food, every bandage. Survival demands discipline.” Shigure said smoothly, his gaze sweeping the room. “I walked the treeline already. We’re safe enough, for now.”

  Ren saw the others ease. Haruka alone narrowed her eyes, lips pressed tight as she jabbed her chopsticks into her rice.

  The room filled with tentative chatter. Apologies, quiet questions, thin laughter. The woman spilled her broth, and Midori steadied the bowl with gentle hands, drawing the faintest smile.

  Ren’s bowl went untouched.

  * * *

  The sun had climbed high. Yuka raised a hand to her brow, sweat damp beneath her palm. In her other hand, the bucket sloshed, cool water tickling her wrist. For the first time in a while, her shoes weren’t sticky with blood. For that, she was grateful.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Around her, the farm thrummed with ordinary sounds: a grasshopper rasped in the tall grass, the distant low of a cow drifted across the field. How cruel, she thought, that the world could look and sound so normal after everything they’d lost.

  She set the bucket down just inside the kitchen door. She’d volunteered for chores—hauling water, stacking wood—anything to keep moving. Whenever she stopped, the thoughts returned.

  Her gaze drifted over the yard. Haruka leaned against the barn wall, arms folded, jaw set hard as Shigure spoke with Genzo. Kurobane sat on the porch steps, elbows on his knees. Satsuki sat beside him, jabbing his side with a twig until he swatted her hand away, muttering something that made her grin.

  It settled on Ren, who rested beneath the out-of-place great oak, a knife braced across his knee as he worked an oiled cloth along the edge in slow, deliberate strokes. His eyes never stilled, tracing the yard in restless circles.

  Yuka chewed her lip. The others might not notice, but she did. She lifted the ladle from the bucket and walked toward him. “You’ll wear that blade down if you keep at it,” she said, forcing a lightness she didn’t feel.

  “Better sharp than stuck.”

  Another stroke of the cloth gleamed across the steel before he set it aside.

  “Sure. But you could take a break.”

  His eyes flicked to her. A small shrug.

  “Sure.”

  She lowered herself onto the grass across from him, folding her legs beneath her, plucked a blade of grass and twirled it between her fingers. Silence settled between them, familiar, almost comforting in its inevitability. She’d learned long ago that Ren tested people by how much silence they could bear. “At breakfast, you didn’t say anything,” she said. “You haven’t said much since all this started.”

  That earned her a long look. “You don’t have to be my counselor anymore, you know?”

  “Maybe not, but talking to you—or anyone who sat in my office—it was never just work.”

  “Then, believe me when I say this once, just once, I’m fine.”

  “The thing is,” she said softly, “I do believe you.” And that’s what worries me.

  “Well, I’m glad.”

  “Ren. Back on the roof, when you said that we were even. What did you mean?”

  He sighed. “Usually, I wouldn’t answer. But I guess things are different now. What I mean is…” He paused. “You’re a good person, Fujimori Yuka. Don’t ever think otherwise.”

  Whatever she’d expected, it wasn’t that. She dropped her gaze to her hands, certain any word she spoke would shatter something fragile taking shape in the air. When she finally spoke again, her tone was lighter, almost teasing, an escape from the weight of his words. This time, she did mean it. “There was always something different about you. Not just your looks.”

  “My looks? What’s wrong with my looks?”

  A deflection.

  “Well, for one, I used to think you dyed your hair and that you wore contacts.”

  Ren frowned, as if weighing how much truth to give. He pulled at his snow white locks. “It’s not natural. I used to have brown hair, believe it or not.”

  “What made it white?”

  His gaze drifted to the oak’s swaying branches.

  “Dyed it too much.”

  She wanted to ask more, dig deeper, but the careful way he held himself stopped her. So instead, they rested, leaves whispering overhead. Yuka let herself breathe the false peace. She knew it couldn’t last. But for now, it was enough.

  * * *

  When Ren stepped back inside, voices had already gathered in the main room. He slipped onto a cushion near the end of the table.

  “It’ll be dark soon. I’m going to take Sayaka and…” Genzo said. His eyes cut to the man slumped on the far bench, shoulders sagging under some invisible weight. The man startled, blinking against the lamplight. “…you. We’ll circle the woods tonight, make sure nothing’s creeping close while we search for more survivors.”

  “H-Hold on! I never—”

  The skin around Genzo’s eyes tightened, carving deeper valleys into his weathered face. The man’s protest died in his throat, replaced by a curt nod.

  Midori straightened. “Are you sure you’ll be all right? Some of us could go with you.”

  “I’ve been tracking wildlife along these pines since before most of you were born,” Genzo said. “I’ll be all right. Besides, that’s too many people wandering in the dark. Most of you would just get us killed. Best case, you take a wrong step, hurt yourself. Worst case, you’re the appetizer.”

  “R-Right…”

  “We’ll bring back what we can.” Sayaka said.

  Ren watched the three of them slip out the door. The room felt emptier the moment they left.

  “So… what now?” Haruto asked.

  A faint rustle from the hearth drew every eye. Amira knelt by the stone, shoving aside bundles of herbs and cloth.

  Reina frowned. “What are you doing?”

  Amira didn’t answer. She ducked deeper, muttering, until glass scraped stone. She rose with a triumphant grin, two dusty bottles clutched in her hands, firelight catching the amber liquid. “Well, look what I found.” She held them up like trophies. “We’re still breathing. And if I’m dead tomorrow,” her smirk widened, brittle at the edges, “I’ll damn well enjoy tonight.”

  “Should we really be doing this?”

  Reina stiffened. “No, we shouldn’t. That’s theft. You want to repay their hospitality by raiding their liquor cabinet?”

  “Lighten up, princess.” Amira rolled her eyes. “The old man’s probably counting the seconds until we clear out, anyway. And right now? I couldn’t give less of a damn. Who’s with me?”

  “Can someone please talk her out of this?” Reina glanced around the room.

  Shigure cleared his throat. “You’re all adults. I certainly can’t stop you. And given what we’ve all endured…” His fingers traced an invisible pattern on the table. “I suspect our hosts might understand the need for temporary relief. I’ll compensate them, naturally.” He exhaled slowly. “God knows I could use a drink.”

  Yuka worried her bottom lip between her teeth, indecision plain on her face. But it was Haruka who reached first. She plucked a bottle from Amira’s grip, holding it up to the light. The liquid sloshed inside.

  Something flickered across Ren’s face—surprise, quickly masked. He hadn’t expected her.

  Amira grinned, the cork popping from the second bottle. “There’s more behind the stove,” she announced. “Help yourself. Before the old man comes back to scold us.”