The old car moved slowly, leaving Chiba City behind, leaving the concrete buildings and city lights that had begun to glow at dusk. On the way back to Hanyu Village, the atmosphere inside the car felt heavy. Not an empty silence, but a silence filled with unspoken words.
Yuna occasionally glanced at the rearview mirror, watching Tobio sitting silently in the back seat. His eyes—now open—stared out the window, but Yuna knew the boy wasn't really seeing the passing scenery.
Sae sat in the front passenger seat, her fingers gripping the hem of her shirt tightly. Occasionally she turned to look back, wanting to say something, but her words always got stuck in her throat.
Finally, after the car entered the quieter village roads, Yuna took a deep breath.
"Tobio."
Her voice was soft, careful. Like someone walking on thin glass.
"It's better if you stay here."
Tobio didn't answer immediately. His eyes were still directed out the window, at the rice fields beginning to darken with dusk. Yuna continued, her tone growing increasingly worried.
"I'll help you. And Sae can be with you." She paused for a moment, choosing her next words carefully. "Do you really want to go to the city... with your condition like that?"
Silence filled the car cabin. Sae held her breath, waiting.
Tobio finally turned—not towards Yuna, but towards Sae. His strange eyes—with their night sky and vertical crack in the pupil—fixed on the silvery light he recognized as his friend's soul.
"Alright."
His voice was soft, flat. Not resignation, but more like someone calculating their next steps.
"I don't know my plans after this. But..." He sighed. "I'll stay temporarily at my house first. I can still see my surroundings."
It wasn't entirely a lie. He could still see—but not the way ordinary humans see. And he didn't know how long "temporarily" would last.
Sae couldn't hold back any longer. She unbuckled her seatbelt, reached for Tobio's hand from behind the front seat, gripping it tightly.
"Why do you keep pushing yourself?"
Her voice trembled. Her eyes—which Tobio couldn't see—were glassy. There was anger there, but more than that, fear. Fear of losing. Fear that one day Tobio would push himself too far and never wake up again.
Tobio didn't answer.
Not because he didn't have an answer. But because that answer was too heavy to say inside a car moving slowly along village roads growing dark.
'Because I have to. Because no one else will. Because if I stop pushing myself, then everything I've done—everything I've paid—will be for nothing.'
But he didn't say any of that.
Yuna sighed deeply. She had known Tobio long enough—to know that the boy in the back seat wouldn't change his mind easily.
"Alright," she finally said. "I can't force you."
She turned on the car's headlights as the road ahead grew dark. The shadows of trees moved slowly in the rearview mirror.
"Sae, please walk him home. And bring him some food."
Sae nodded, her hand still holding Tobio's. "Alright."
The car stopped in front of the old house at the end of the road. Yuna waited a moment to make sure Sae and Tobio went up to the porch, then waved before driving away.
The house stood silent under the darkening sky. No lights on inside, no smoke rising from the kitchen chimney. An abandoned house, a house that had lost its life.
Sae opened the front door—still unlocked, as usual. She guided Tobio inside, her hand gripping the boy's wrist tightly, leading him through the dark hallway to the living room.
"Here," Sae whispered, gently pressing Tobio's shoulder until he sat on the wooden sofa covered with thin fabric.
Sae stood before him, watching Tobio's calm face even though his eyes were wide open—his eyes that now held a small galaxy within them. She swallowed, trying to push away the discomfort that arose every time she saw those eyes.
"Maybe I'll come here more often from tomorrow. Be with you."
Tobio turned towards Sae's voice. There was warmth in his chest—warmth he hadn't felt since his grandmother left. He wanted to say thank you, wanted to say how much Sae's presence meant to him.
But what came out of his mouth was something different.
"Does that include sleeping together?"
Silence.
Sae froze. Her face, which had been full of worry, turned bright red in an instant. Her eyes widened, her mouth half-open, and for a few seconds she truly lost her words.
"Y-YOU IDIOT!!"
Her voice screeched in the silent living room. She hit Tobio's arm—not hard, but enough to make Tobio sway a little on the sofa.
Tobio laughed. A small, nearly silent laugh, but enough to dispel the darkness hanging in the room. For a moment, everything felt normal. He wasn't a child with strange eyes who had just lost his grandmother. He was just Tobio.
Sae was still blushing, but at the corner of her lips was a small smile she was trying to hide. "Still able to joke, means you're still okay."
She turned, tidying the food basket she had placed on the table. "I've put the food on the table. Don't forget to eat."
Sae walked to the door, but stopped at the threshold. She glanced back once more, watching Tobio sitting on the sofa with wide eyes staring in her direction—even though she knew Tobio couldn't really see her face.
"I'm leaving now."
"Thank you, Sae." Tobio smiled. "I'll rest later."
Sae nodded, then stepped outside. The door closed with a soft click. Her footsteps faded on the wooden porch, then disappeared behind the sound of crickets beginning to be heard.
Tobio sat alone in the dark living room.
His smile slowly faded.
"I have to push myself," he muttered into the silence. "To be able to faint. So my consciousness can rest for today."
He closed his eyes. The 360-degree world immediately opened around him—energy in the house, thin electric flow from the wires, faint auras from his grandmother's keepsakes. Everything visible. Everything feeding into his brain without pause.
It's not night yet, still evening. Not now.
He opened his eyes, stood up, and walked to the dining table. His hands groped briefly until they found the food basket. Warm rice, miso soup in a thermos, a few pieces of fried fish. He ate slowly, savoring each bite even though his tongue barely tasted anything.
After finishing, he washed the dishes in the kitchen. Water from the hand pump felt cold on his fingers. He washed with automatic movements, his mind wandering elsewhere.
'Grandma... is there something you left for me? Something that could help?'
He dried his hands, then walked to his grandmother's room.
The bedroom door opened with a soft creak. The room inside was dark, dusty, and felt empty—empty like the day he found his grandmother sitting in the chair by the window, not breathing. Tobio pushed that image from his mind.
His eyes scanned the room and in the corner of the bottom cabinet, he saw something. A small hidden drawer, with a thin stream of blue energy emanating from inside.
He knelt, pulling the drawer open slowly. Inside, on a black velvet cloth, lay a clear crystal the size of a chicken egg. Inside the crystal, blue light moved slowly like small waves in a calm sea.
An artifact.
Tobio carefully lifted the crystal. His fingertips touched the cold, smooth surface. And at that moment of contact, the blue light inside the crystal began to pulse faster.
Then, the voice came out.
"For Tobio."
Tobio froze.
"If you're hearing this... Grandma is likely no longer here."
That voice. The same voice that woke him every morning. The same voice that soothed him when he had a fever. The same voice that said "welcome back" every time he came home from school.
Tears flowed silently.
"The truth is, you were expelled from the Himejima Clan. Grandma raised you." Ageha's voice in the recording was gentle, as gentle as when she was alive.
"I can't tell you why you were expelled from the clan. But... don't hold any grudge."
Tobio bit his lower lip. His hand gripped the crystal tightly, as if letting go would make the voice disappear forever.
"I'm worried that when I'm gone, you'll care even less about yourself." Ageha's voice trembled slightly at the end of the sentence. "Getting hurt. Using power without knowing the risks. And..."
The recording paused for a moment. There was a soft sigh—a sigh Tobio recognized as the sigh his grandmother always made when arranging difficult words to say.
"You remain my one and only beloved grandchild. And I hope when you're grown... you'll value your life more than sacrificing yourself."
The recording ended.
Silence returned to the room. The crystal in Tobio's hand had dimmed, its blue light fading like dusk slowly swallowed by night.
Tobio sat on the floor of his grandmother's room, his back against the wooden cabinet. Tears still streamed down his cheeks, but he didn't notice. What he noticed was how heavy those last words were.
'Value your life more than sacrificing yourself.'
"I'm sorry." His voice came out hoarse, almost inaudible. "I'm a selfish child. Hard to manage."
He stared at the crystal in his hand, though his eyes only saw the remaining blue energy.
"This power doesn't exist without reason. Besides..." His breath caught for a moment. "I don't want to be destroyed as long as Trihexa exists."
He stood slowly, carrying the crystal to his room. Each step felt heavy, as if his feet were sinking in mud. He sat on the edge of the bed, placing the crystal on the small table beside it.
Tobio took a long breath. Let it out slowly.
Now. Time to rest.