[Year: 2014 | Location: Shizuoka, Japan | Ren: 7 y/o, Grade 2 | Haruto: 8 y/o, Grade 3]
The gentle morning sun spilled through the windows of the Akihara household. A quiet suburb in Shizuoka was waking up to the sound of cicadas, birdsong, and the distant hum of passing bicycles.
Haruto Akihara, age eight, sat hunched over a math workbook at the kitchen table, tapping his eraser in frustration.
Across from him sat Ren Akihara — seven years old, one year younger. His posture was calm, his eyes focused as he glided his pencil across the page with eerie precision.
"Haruto, are you done yet?" Ren asked, his voice light.
"Still trying! I don't get this question," Haruto groaned.
Ren leaned over and pointed. "You forgot to carry the one here."
Haruto blinked, then looked again. "Ah! You're right... thanks."
"You're really smart, Ren," he added with a grin.
Ren just nodded and returned to his own page. No smile. No glee. Just a silent acknowledgment.
From the stove, Ayaka Akihara stirred a pot of miso soup. "Lunch will be ready soon. Don't argue, boys."
"We're not!" Haruto said, mouth full of pride. "Ren helped me."
Ayaka laughed softly. "You two really are like real brothers."
Ren didn't say anything. But his lips curved — ever so slightly.
Later that day, the boys slipped on their sneakers and stepped into the warm afternoon sun. Azaleas bloomed along the narrow streets, and the air carried the crisp scent of spring.
Haruto ran ahead, dribbling a soccer ball.
Ren followed close behind, mimicking his every move like a shadow. They passed the neighborhood candy shop, where the old lady waved from inside. Both boys bowed in unison.
"Let's go to the park!" Haruto called.
"Okay," Ren answered.
From the outside, everything looked normal.
Two brothers.
A peaceful weekend.
No one — not even Ren himself — knew that this peaceful picture would one day crumble into something unimaginable.
Because right now…
Ren Akihara looked just like any other child.