Minato's Flashback – The Shadow
Trigger (present):
Minato sits on his apartment floor, organizing files on a
backup drive. A music track auto-plays from his speaker—one he hasn't heard in
years.
His hand freezes over the keyboard.
Flashback: Four Years Ago – Onabara Residence
A younger Minato, around 12, stood outside the venue for the
national youth programming finals.
The result sheet In his hand read: Second Place.
He stared at it without blinking.
A black car waited by the curb. Inside it, Shiori
Onabara—16, immaculate, arms folded—watched him approach.
He stepped in without a word.
The silence in the car was suffocating.
"You were projected to win,"
Shiori finally said.
Minato didn't answer.
"What happened?" she asked.
Still nothing.
She looked out the window.
"Being brilliant doesn't matter,"
she said calmly. "If you can't secure the outcome, you're just potential. Not
value."
Those words hit harder than any insult.
Later that night, he sat alone in his room, not eating
dinner. The silver medal lay on his desk. Still untouched.
Instead of sleeping, he rewrote the winning code from
memory.
Then optimized it. Then broke it down. Then made it better.
He posted the new version online under a pseudonym. Months
later, that version became the new standard template for the national comp.
No one knew It was him.
Not even Shiori.
Back to Present
Minato closes the folder, deletes the temp track, and
exhales.
He doesn't hate his sister.
But he never wanted to be her either.
"She mastered the world," he
mutters. "I'll rewrite it."
Tokai's Flashback – The Line Between Blood
Trigger (present):
Tokai opens a dusty box in his apartment. Inside: an old
photo. His mother, himself at 11, and a much younger boy—smiling, clutching a
toy gun.
Tokai stares at the boy.
Flashback: Five Years Ago – Furano, Hokkaido
A cold wind blew through the narrow alley behind their
apartment. Lad Tokai, 13, stood with his hands in his pockets, eyes bruised but
dry. His father's words still rang in his head:
> "Eighty-nine percent? That's pathetic. You're supposed
to be better than that."
He didn't argue. He never did.
Later that night, as he sat on the balcony with ice pressed
to his cheek, his mother joined him—her eyes tired but soft.
> "I can talk to him," she whispered.
Tokai shook his head.
> "Don't," he said. "He'll stop if I just get it right
next time."
She looked at him then—not as a boy, but as something
already breaking.
Inside, the living room light glowed over a younger
child—Lad Kanden, barely six years old, making sound effects with his toy gun,
pretending to shoot invisible enemies.
> "Bang! Bang! I'm just like Papa!"
Tokai watched him.
> "He shouldn't want that."
His mother sighed. "He doesn't know who your father really
is yet."
> "He will," Tokai said quietly. "And when he does… I
need to be strong enough to show him there's another way."
Back to Present
Tokai places the photo back in the box and shuts it.
He hasn't spoken to Kanden in two years.
He tells himself it's because of school.
But the truth is… he doesn't know what kind of man his
brother is becoming.
> "And if he's still chasing Father's shadow," Tokai
mutters, "then I have to become the light that breaks it."
Mia's Flashback – The Price of Brightness
Trigger (present):
Mia opens a box at the back of her closet, searching for old
notes. She finds a crumpled placement exam—age 10, full score, stamped with a
faded orphanage seal.
Her expression hardens.
Flashback: Nine Years Ago – Rural Orphanage, Yamagata
Prefecture
Mia sat alone on the stone steps, knees scraped, book in
hand. The other kids were laughing at the other end of the playground, too far
to hear—too loud to ignore.
Her math textbook had been thrown in the mud that morning.
Again.
The caretakers never stopped them. One even said:
> "Maybe if you acted normal, they'd stop picking on
you."
But Mia didn't want to be normal. She wanted out.
At age 10, she'd already memorized equations most teenagers
didn't understand.
And that made her dangerous.
Flash-forward: Age 12 – Private Study Room, Tokyo
A man stood across from her—sharp suit, sharper voice. She
didn't know why he chose her. She only knew he had.
> "You want things to be easy, Mia?" he asked her.
"Then you better make sure your future is bright enough to
burn everything that stands in your way."
She never forgot those words.
Because he didn't adopt her out of love.
He adopted her like an investment.
And from that day forward, she treated herself the same way.
Back to Present
Mia stares at the test in her hand. Then folds it
up—perfectly, neatly—and sets it on fire in her sink.
> "I don't need reminders," she mutters. "I need
results."
Niso's Flashback – The Weight of Love
Trigger (present):
Niso opens a drawer looking for a pen and finds an old
photo: her, her mother, and a man in a leather jacket—smiling, once. The image
curls slightly at the corners, faded but intact.
She holds it for a long moment, then closes her eyes.
Flashback: Several Years Ago – Before Everything Broke
The house smelled like stir-fry and fresh tatami.
Ten-year-old Niso sat at the table, humming as she helped
her mother set out plates. Her mother was radiant that day—laughing easily, her
favorite apron tied loosely, humming old Showa-era songs.
> "You'll be amazing someday," her mother said as she
wiped her hands. "I can feel it."
They danced in the kitchen after dinner. Just the two of
them.
Flash-forward: Two Years Later – A Different House, Same
Kitchen
It was raining.
Young Niso crouched beside her mother, trembling. Behind
them, heavy footsteps. A crash. The sting of a slap.
Her stepfather's voice, slurred and angry:
> "You call this dinner?"
Her mother, now gentler, quieter, but bruised, whispered to
her:
> "Don't cry, Niso. That makes you a target."
Later, when Niso asked:
> "Why did you marry him?"
Her mother hesitated—voice breaking:
> "Because I loved him. But love doesn't protect you,
baby. Being the best does. When you're the best, no one can step on you. No one
questions you."
She leaned close, eyes glassy but fierce.
> "Don't rely on feelings. Emotions are for the weak."
Back to Present
Niso opens her notebook and writes one sentence:
> "I won't cry. I'll rise."
She closes the photo in the drawer—and locks it.
A soft wind brushed through the city. Lights flicked on.
Tokyo hummed beneath them.
They didn't speak.
But across the city, four souls moved in silent synchrony.
Preparing.
Rebuilding.
Becoming.
Minato clicked through lines of old code.
Files filled with brilliance and fury. Fixes and rewrites no
one had ever seen.
He selected all of them. Hovered.
Then hit delete.
No backup.
Mia stared at her display shelf.
Awards, certificates, golden paper weights that never smiled
back.
She reached for one—the national championship trophy.
Wiped it clean. Put it in a box. Locked the box.
> "Achievements aren't armor," she muttered. "They're
just reminders."
Niso stood before her mirror.
She reached for a simple tie, gathering her hair back—not
sleek, not showy—just like her mother used to wear it when she cooked pancakes
and danced in the kitchen.
A quiet act of remembrance. And readiness.
Tokai's inner voice:
> "They don't see what built us. But they're about to see
what we've become."