Saturday, August 2nd, 2005.

Tokyo city, Japan.

The morning sun cast long shadows across the bustling streets of Tokyo.

The city was bustling with several million people, each hurrying toward their own destination, dressed decently and respectably.

Yet among this sea of people, one figure stood apart like a sore thumb.

A young boy, no more than ten years old, struggled against the weight of what appeared to be too heavy for his small size; however, he surprisingly could move it.

His clothes, that were once probably shades of blue, had faded to a brown color, patched and re-patched at different angles.

The shirt hung loose on his thin shoulders, too large for his questionably slender frame, as if he got it from some charitable individual or perhaps, a dumpster.

The cart he dragged behind him was sticking out just like him, given that such was becoming rare these days.

It was a wooden box designed for horses, with iron wheels that were already rusty.

It groaned with each rotation, the sound echoing loudly in the narrow alley he had chosen for his route. Smart boy, isn't he? He knew to avoid the too busy areas where his presence would draw more than just whispers and pitiful glances.

It was quite surprising that someone so young could be in such apparent poverty at this young age, and in the beautiful city of Tokyo.

But even here, in the bustling city of Tokyo, he could not escape entirely.

"Poor child," an elderly woman murmured to her companion as they passed, their shopping bags swaying as they moved, making the little boy's tummy grumble.

Her friend shook her head and responded, "Where are the authorities? In my day, children like this would be taken to an orphanage."

Another voice also commented from somewhere behind him, "Where are his parents?"

The boy's shoulders tensed at that last comment, his grip tightening on the cart's handles as he suppressed himself. Of all the things the passersby could have said—expressions of pity, demands that he move out of the way—it was always the mention of parents that struck him the deepest.

Among all the comments, the only one that managed to get to him was the statement where his parents were mentioned.

"You're half right about that," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. "My father is an irresponsible jerk."

'The kind I can never take as role model,' he added silently, because some thoughts were too dangerous to voice aloud, being a child of the Nakamura family.

As he moved within and then away from the bustling city, the horizon gradually gave way to greenery, cleaner scents of earth and plants.

Here, at the southern edge of Tokyo, the further he went, the more the buildings grew smaller, more scattered, until eventually there were no more. All that was left was a large expanse of land with tall trees and plants.

This was the Shakujii Forest Reserve, or at least that's what the faded signs stated. There were quite a number of notice boards stating warnings like "do not trespass," and "danger of wild animals."

Most citizens of Tokyo knew to respect these boundaries, and not to venture into this region, but this kid wasn't among them.

The boy paused at the forest's edge, letting the cart's handles drop as he wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve.

The creaking tire of the cart came to a halt and the boy had finally reached his destination.

"The snow must be taking a break," he observed to no one in particular, his voice carrying relief. "A well-deserved break."

'I would have been frozen to death if not,' he added silently.

Right. Today was one of the few days where he worked for just a short time — the only other exceptional time was when he was ill.

The cart's contents would wait. Today was one of those rare occasions when he allowed himself to work shorter hours. Not from laziness, never that, but from necessity. Today was family day, though it wasn't exactly right to refer to it as that.

Meeting his parents was never pleasant to him, but at the very least, he could regroup with his brother, and all his step-siblings.

He walked into his hut and opened the door, just to shut it quickly after. Today was exceptionally bright and warm, but the fact that it was winter remained.

"No need to bathe with warm water today," he murmured, still continuing his observations.

Behind the hut was a well. He'd discovered it during his first week here a few years ago, overgrown and forgotten but still producing clean water— how lucky.

The water was shockingly cold against his skin, contrasting the day's warmth like every other well.

Being poor didn't mean being dirty, he'd decided early on.

He fetched some water and had his bath quickly outside, pausing all his rambling.

He couldn't go as far as bothering about being seen; all that could possibly see him were animals after all.

No human in his right state of mind would venture into a dangerous forest like he did, except only a few he knew, just as crazy as him.

Whether he was seen or not, a ten-year-old like him who was living in such poverty couldn't care. He had more reasonable stuff to care about, such as food and all that.

Just as he put on his clothes inside his hut, his senses barely functioning as he was lost in his mind, he suddenly heard a rustling sound.

The sound came briefly and ended.

The forest had gone quiet. Not the natural quiet of creatures going about their business like the squirrel and the chirping bird, but the watchful silence that meant something was wrong. Something was different.

He stretched out his limbs as he reached out for one of his weapons hanging on the wall of his hut, particularly a spear.

With the patience of a predator, he waited. Even now, when he knew without a doubt he was no predator, he still didn't falter.

A quite remarkable character any kid could have.

But then the sound came again, closer this time, and with it the unmistakable crack of a branch being stepped on by something much larger than a squirrel or bird.

And then...

*"Raaaaaarrrrr!"*

The roar was childish, exaggerated, and—most importantly—completely human. More than human, it was familiar.

However, his body reacted before his mind could process the recognition. The spear left his hand in a perfect arc, its point aimed toward the source of the sound.

It was only as the weapon sailed through the air that his brain finally caught up with reality, that the voice, he recognized, that the playful nature of the "roar".

"Yuki!" The name came from his throat in a cry of horror, but it was too late to call back the spear. All he could do was watch in frozen terror as his weapon streaked toward the one person in the world he would never, ever want to harm.

But Yuki, wonderful Yuki, simply tilted his head to the side casually. The spear whispered past his ear and buried itself in the trunk of a massive oak tree outside.

"*Gasp!*"

Satoru's hand flew to cover his mouth, his eyes wide with the terrible realization of what had almost happened. "I'm so sorry, Yuki! I... I..."

But Yuki just smiled—that same warm, genuine expression that he had known for as long as his brain could remember.

"Hey, cheer up, will ya?" His voice carried the easy confidence of someone who had never doubted, not for a single second, that his little brother would never actually hurt him. "Have you forgotten the fact that you're stubbornly predictable?"

He puffed out his chest with exaggerated pride, striking a pose that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else but somehow suited him perfectly. "Even with my eyes closed, I could dodge ten more. I'm your big brother, after all, aren't I?"

The effect of Yuki's arrival on Satoru was immediate. All the carefully maintained emotions that had developed, crumbled in an instant. His face cracked into a smile, and tears—the first tears he'd allowed himself since Yuki's last visit—began to stream down his cheeks.

"I missed you, brother." The words were barely a whisper, but they carried quite some weight.

He closed the distance between them in three quick steps and threw his arms around Yuki in a hug.

Yuki's face flushed red in embarrassment as Satoru hugged him tighter, as if he would never let go again.

"Come on, don't act younger than your age." He pushed Satoru away in a playful manner only after he had enjoyed the warmth and welcome of the hug to his satisfaction.

"Have you forgotten we are supposed to act the same way adults would?"

And just like that, the spell was broken. Satoru's expression shifted from his soft character to rage within a heartbeat.

"Heyyy!" he yelled, his voice carrying enough force to send several small birds fleeing from nearby branches. "Drop that crap already! No one gets to tell me how to live my life!"

"Besides, what the hell are you doing here in the first place!" He continued yelling with his ears practically steaming and his red pupils glaring like a warning sign. "Didn't your parents issue a restraining order against all their children to not mingle with one another?"

"They are your parents too and yeah, they did, but I'll live my life the way I want to. That's what adults would do."

"Arrrgggggghhhhh." Satoru growled as he brought his head closer, his eyes staring daggers at Yuki.

Yuki mimicked Satoru, growling and bringing his head closer till their foreheads were pressed against each other.

"Why the hell did you visit me in the first place?" Satoru barked. "Go back to where you came from, you scumbag."

"If the distance wasn't so far, I would have already left long before you asked."

"Humph." Satoru scoffed as he turned away, blowing out steam from his nose, then continued dressing.

Yuki, meanwhile, was taking in the appearance of the unchanged surroundings with the wide-eyed amazement of someone who had never quite understood how far his brother had fallen.

"Dang it, Satoru," he said, his voice carrying distress. "You're still suffering from poverty! You don't even have a couch yet!"

"Obviously," Satoru fired back, pulling on his worn shirt.

"I hope this poverty isn't contagious," Yuki continued, but there was something in his tone that made it sound like he wasn't entirely joking. "Because if it is, I wouldn't mind bolting from your sorry excuse for a shelter."

Satoru turned to face his brother with a smile that carried pure malice, his eyes narrowing into slits that made him look genuinely terrifying despite his small stature.

"Ohhhhh, how unfortunate," he began, his voice dropping to a whisper that somehow increased the menace. "My poverty is highly contagious."

"I think," Satoru continued, his grin widening to show teeth, "you're already infected."

"*Ahhhhhhhhhhh!*" Yuki's scream was purely dramatic, a sound that echoed through the forest like the cry of some dying bird.

Tears of laughter streamed down his face as he stumbled backward, clutching his chest in an exaggerated manner. "No! Not the poverty! Anything but the poverty!"

Satoru could barely hold himself back as he fell on the bare floor, laughing hysterically.

"How are you even older than me, brother?" he managed to gasp out between giggles. "You're such a wimpy little punk!"

"Heyyy!" Yuki protested as he was still wiping tears from his eyes. "Show some respect, will ya! I'm older by two whole years! Two years!"

This was why he'd missed his brother so desperately. Yuki was the only person left in the world who knew him well enough to see through his defenses, and who cared enough to keep trying even when those defenses were at their strongest.

As his laughter finally subsided, Satoru got back to his feet and brushed the dirt and leaves from his clothes. The morning's work clothes would have to do for the journey ahead.

He had no intention of impressing people like his parents after all.

"Let's go," he said, gesturing toward Yuki and took the lead.

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