It was now December.
Winter's first snowfall had already cloaked Tokyo in a hush of white, the air brittle with frost. Streets shimmered under the pale glow of streetlights, and every exhale came out in puffs. At Momiji High, the final exams loomed on the horizon, just two months away.
Inside the warm apartment, 18-year-old Hikaru Kagawa sat at his desk, a textbook flipped open beside him but long forgotten. Numbers and equations lined the pages, but his mind wandered elsewhere.
"Ugh," he groaned, pushing the book aside. "This is too easy."
With a few taps, he opened up Rocket League, slipping seamlessly into the digital arena. Soon, he was soaring through the sky in-game, scoring goals like a seasoned pro. It wasn't just Rocket League. Roblox, Minecraft, Valorant—he mastered all of them. He had just hit SSL rank in Rocket League last week. His reflexes were frightening, his strategy sharp, and his hand-eye coordination impeccable. Renji and Souta often played with him, though Souta usually grumbled about always being the lowest scorer.
After a couple of hours, Hikaru collapsed onto his bed, switching over to a rom-com anime. The kind where the characters had hopeless crushes and endless misunderstandings. He chuckled when the male protagonist tripped over a rice cooker and somehow ended up confessing to the wrong girl.
Then, the doorbell rang.
He sat up, a little surprised. Yuki wasn't home. Maybe she forgot her keys?
"Coming!" he called, shuffling to the front door and opening it.
It wasn't Yuki.
"Oh... hey, Mom. Dad," he said, blinking.
Mr. and Mrs. Kagawa stepped in, brushing snowflakes off their coats. They rarely came unannounced. His mother, dressed sharply as always, looked around the apartment. His father remained silent but observant.
"Where's your sister?" Mrs. Kagawa asked, her voice stiff but slightly softer than usual.
"She went to her friend's house," Hikaru replied.
There was a long silence.
His mother glanced toward Yuki's room. The door was slightly ajar. She walked in and looked around. Everything was in place. The bed made, some of Yuki's books on the desk, a poster of a cat hanging above her headboard.
"Hikaru," his father said, slowly. "You know, don't you? With your intelligence, there's no way you don't. You just don't want to accept it."
Hikaru's expression stiffened. But he didn't react. Not yet.
"Father," he said, quietly. "You are the one who doesn't get it. Yuki is... real."
His mother returned from the room. "Then why don't you call your friends? Ask them if they've seen her. You're the only one who talks to her."
He didn't respond.
His mother stepped closer, voice trembling. "You never had a little sister, Hikaru. Yuki... Yuki was never real."
It didn't sting the way they probably expected. It wasn't a shock. But it felt like being stabbed slowly with a dull knife.
"You're wrong," he said sharply. "She exists. She has friends. I have memories."
"Made up by you," his father interrupted, his tone suddenly colder.
"They weren't!" Hikaru snapped. His voice rose. "You think I imagined everything? Our trip to Hokkaido? Her school?"
His parents didn't answer. That silence told him everything. They truly didn't remember. Or worse—they never knew.
After a while, his father said gently, "Please, think carefully, Hikaru. Go through your memories. You'll see."
And with that, they left.
Hikaru sat in the center of the living room, hands gripping his hair.
"What the fuck is going on with me..."
He picked up his phone. Tried to call Yuki.
No response.
He dug into his memories, searching for proof. And then—he found one. A day he had buried. Two years ago.
---
He was 16. Yuki, 13.
It was one of those cold winter nights. They had made hot cocoa, piled blankets on the sofa, and picked the worst horror movie they could find.
"Don't try to scare me," Yuki whimpered, already hiding under the blanket.
"Hikaru said. "You said you were brave now."
"Brave in daylight! This is emotional manipulation!"
"Big words from someone hiding like a burrito."
The movie was laughably bad. A haunted toaster or something. The moment the toaster popped out blackened bread with a screeching sound, Yuki screamed.
"IT HAS EYES!"
"You're scared of bread?"
"That bread had teeth!"
"I'm scared for your logic."
Yuki peeked from under the blanket, trying to look dignified. "Tell me when day comes."
"This isn't Game of Thrones."
Then—a real jumpscare. The screen flashed red. The toaster exploded.
Yuki screamed again.
"Why do you make me watch these?!" she shouted.
"You begged me!"
"You could've said no!"
He turned to look at her—but she was gone.
The blanket was empty.
Confused, Hikaru stood up. "Yuki?"
Silence.
He checked her room. Bathroom. Kitchen.
Nothing.
He called her number. No answer.
Panic surged in his chest. He ran outside. The snow was falling harder.
No Yuki.
He called his mother.
No answer.
That night, his parents returned. He rushed to them.
"Have you seen Yuki?!"
They exchanged confused glances.
"Who's Yuki?" his mother asked.
He froze.
"She's your daughter. My sister!"
"Hikaru... you don't have a sister."
He studied their expressions.
They weren't lying.
No hesitation. No flicker of memory. Nothing.
He ran. Out into the streets. He tried to call her friend. Her number was gone.
He called his father. "Did we go to Hokkaido last year? Yuki begged for it."
"Hokkaido? No, we never went."
He hung up.
He sat on the icy sidewalk. Crying. Whispering.
"Why... me?"
He had lost everything once. His friends. His dignity.
Now, her.
---
For days, he didn't move. Didn't go to school.
He stayed curled on the floor. The apartment silent. Empty.
His heart cracked with every beat.
"I don't want to forget her."
"Please... someone... bring her back."
Then—
A soft voice.
"Brother, why are you crying?"
He looked up.
Yuki was there.
Her hair slightly tousled, pajamas wrinkled. Just as he remembered.
"Are you okay, brother?"
He stared, wide-eyed.
"...Yuki?"
She nodded. "You look awful. Did the horror toaster get you?"
He laughed.
And cried.
And for a brief moment, the winter night felt warm again.
But in the corner of his mind, a question lingered:
Was she real?
Or just the last part of him that refused to let go?