"Where Need-love is felt there may be reasons for denying or totally mortifying it; but not to feel it is in general the mark of the cold egoist. Since we do in reality need one another...then the failure of this need to appear as Need-love in consciousness in other words, the illusory feeling that it is good for us to be alone is a bad spiritual symptom; just as lack of appetite is a bad medical symptom because men do really need food."

— C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

Chapter Two: Moving On/Fixation

Naoto

22 April 2003

"I made a new friend yesterday," I said to Grampa as I sat at the kitchen table. Upon hearing those words, he put down his newspaper.

"Really? That's wonderful! Who is it?" said Grampa loudly. He seemed even happier about it than I was.

"His name's Yu. He's really cool and smart and likes the same stuff that I do," I said. Grampa nodded in acknowledgment.

"I see; I see," said Grampa, "Is he from your school?" asked Grampa. Truthfully, I had given up hope of ever making friends at school by that point. Part of it was because I was utterly incompetent at social interaction, and part of it was because my classmates did not really care for me. Most of the boys had not yet matured to the point that they were willing to associate with girls, and because my interests and tastes were not exactly typical for a young girl, most of the other girls turned their noses up at me.

"No. I met him at the shrine yesterday," I said.

"Interesting, interesting. Is he your age?" said Grampa, wanting to make sure that I wasn't consorting with strange adults.

"I think he's about a year older than me," I said.

"Okay. Well, I'm very happy for you," said Grampa, smiling.

"Grampa, I promised to meet him at the shrine today after school. Is that okay?" I said nervously.

"I don't see why not. Just be home at a sensible hour, okay?" said Grampa, much to my relief. After finishing breakfast, I headed for the door.

"Be sure to take your keys with you!" said Grampa. I checked my pocket and confirmed that I did indeed have my keys. I didn't want to lock myself outside for a second time.

"I've got them," I said.

"Good. Well, I hope you have a great time today!" said Grampa as I headed for the door.

Two thoughts were on my mind as I walked to school. The first was my meeting with Yu after school. For the first time in quite a while, I had something at the end of the day to be eager about. For as long as I could remember, I wanted someone outside of my family who I could spend time with. I wanted someone I who would talk to me and have fun with. No matter how hard I tried, however, I simply couldn't find anyone.

And yet I found Yu without trying at all.

The second of those thoughts was why Grampa was so happy when I told him that I made a friend. He wasn't merely pleased; he was positively elated. At the time, I just assumed that he was excited by the fact that the supreme introvert that was his granddaughter had found companionship in another person for the first time in her life. Looking back with perfect hindsight, however, I can tell that there was something more to it. To him, this was a possible indicator that our lives were achieving some semblance of normality after the catastrophe the rocked them last month.

The twentieth of March, 2003 is a date that will be burned deeply into my mind for the rest of my life. It was the day that the world as I knew it was shattered into pieces. It was the day the lives of the famous detective couple Katsuo and Kokoro Shirogane were snuffed out.

That day didn't start off much differently than any other day. My parents and I ate breakfast together, I hugged each of them before they went off to work, and I returned to my room to watch television and read. As usual, when the sun began to set, I returned to the living room to wait for my parents to return home from work like always. Thirty minutes passed. I didn't think anything of it; they had been busy with the high-profile murder case of a city council member lately. I grabbed a book from my room and returned to the living room. An hour passed. Then another. Then another. Then another. By the time the clock had struck three in the morning, I could no longer distract myself with the book. My eyes were heavy, but I forced myself to stay awake. This had never happened before; my parents had come home late in the past but never this late, and they always made sure to notify me when they had to work through the night. An overpowering sense of dread began to fill me. In the back of my mind, I began to suspect the worst, but I pushed those thoughts out of my head. Nothing bad could ever happen to the greatest two detectives in Japan, right? They were untouchable! Invincible! Surely, if I stared at the door for long enough, they would walk in, and everything would be okay.

It was about ten minutes before four in the morning when I finally heard the doorknob begin to turn. My energy returned to me in an instant and I was overcome with great relief. I sprang from my seat and headed for the door, but when it opened, I saw neither Father nor Mother; it was Grampa. The look on his face immediately told me that something was very, very wrong. My usually cheery and upbeat Grampa was wearing an expression that was a mix between horror and pure despair. Without a word, a knelt down on the floor and hugged me tightly. After about fifteen seconds, he released me and looked directly into his eyes. I could tell that he was trying with all his might to keep himself from breaking out into tears, multiplying my own anxiety many times over. He kept opening his mouth to speak, but he failed to produce any words. He was trying to think of something to say. He wanted to soften the blow of what was coming, but he couldn't figure out how. Eventually, I had to say something. I couldn't keep quiet any longer.

"Grampa, what's wrong?" I said worriedly.

Grampa broke eye contact for a brief moment and breathed in deeply. He looked back up at me at spoke at last.

"Your mother and father were in a very bad car accident," said Grampa slowly. He paused for a few seconds before continuing.

"They didn't make it," he said.

As soon as those words left his lips, I froze. I simply could not process the information that was just relayed unto me. The very idea was impossible for me to comprehend. It wasn't because I didn't understand the concept of death. It was because my mind was unwilling to accept it as fact. I wanted to believe that it was a mistake or some kind of cruel, cruel joke. Try as I might to deny it, however, it was very clear that what Grampa was the grim truth of the matter. Once that had finally sunk in, I cried longer and harder than I ever had in my entire life with Grampa holding me tightly in his arms the whole time.

Mother and Father's deaths were all over the news the next day. On every channel and in every newspaper, the story of my parents' tragic demise was being told to the nation. A new lead on their case had been unexpectedly discovered, requiring them to stay at late extra late without warning. It was nearly midnight by the time they were finally able to return home. When they were about fifteen minutes from our house, a drunk driver smashed into the right side of their car at over 150 kilometers per hour. My father and the drunk both died on impact. My mother died as she was being taken to the hospital. For a day, the entire country of Japan was in deep despair over the deaths of two of its most brilliant and celebrated detectives, but as fast as it began, the public's brief period of mourning ended. Everyone carried on with their lives as usual. Everyone except for Grampa and me.

In the days following the funeral, Grampa did everything in his power to make me comfortable. He couldn't stand to see me so brokenhearted. He wanted to help me move on as quickly as possible, but progress was slow indeed. All it took was one look at the two urns and the two framed photographs placed side by side atop the mantel to remind me that things would never be the same ever again.

And yet there I was, just a little over a month later, telling him that I made a friend. After what seemed like an eternity spent in a pit of purest sorrow, things were finally looking up for the both of us.

I arrived at school, and the day carried out as it always had: dully. Not a single teacher I had ever had the misfortune of being taught by had ever learned to teach a lesson in a manner that was even mildly engaging. Everything they taught could be explained better, more quickly, and more interestingly by a book. That being said, I didn't want to earn the disapproval of my educators, so every day I put a great deal of effort into making it appear as though I was paying close attention when in reality I spent most of my time in class daydreaming. It worked most of the time. I get the feeling that some of my teachers saw through my deceptions because they always seemed to call upon me a disproportionate number of times, but I always answered every question correctly and performed flawlessly on every assignment, so no one could deny the fact that I was a good student.

I had about two hours before my scheduled meeting with Yu, but my overwhelming excitement drove me to rush over to the shrine the second that I exited the school. As was the case yesterday, the shrine was utterly devoid of life. I sat on a bench and waited for Yu to arrive. Whereas school seemed to fly by that day, the wait at the shrine seemed to drag out forever. I passed some time by doing my homework, but I still had an hour to go once I was done. A single hour might sound insignificant, but to my seven-year old self, it tested my patience tremendously. I entertained the idea of going to Book On to purchase the Detective Doyle book that came out the previous day, but I didn't want to leave the shrine; I would have felt terrible if I had gotten stuck in the crowds of Iwatodai Station and left Yu waiting for me at the shrine all by himself.

It was about ten minutes before four when an immense wave of excitement washed over me as I saw Yu in the distance heading towards the shrine. Without even thinking, I shot up from my seat and waved towards in him in such a way that called as much attention to myself as possible. Honestly, I was making such a spectacle of myself that it would have embarrassed me to no end had we not been the only two people sight. It was impossible for him not to notice me. With a panicked look on his face, he stopped and walking and looked down at his watch and then back to me. When he began moving again, he was visibly faster than he was before he had spotted me. Once he reached me, he began apologizing profusely.

"I am so sorry, Naoto! My watch must be wrong. How long did I keep you waiting for?" he said, a bit out of breath.

"No! No! You're on time! I just came early; that's all," I said, hoping to reassure him.

"Oh. Well, that's good," he said. He let out a nervous chuckle, trying to alleviate a bit of the awkwardness.

"How was your day?" I asked. He frowned.

"Same as usual," he said. Judging by the tone of his voice, he found school as about as interesting as I did.

"I understand," I said.

"Hey, I've got something I think you might like," he said, perking up. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a box. It was a kit containing all the parts necessary to make a scale model of the titular robot from the show Jumbo Robo. The show had ended more than two decades before I was born, but reruns aired all the time, and I watched them at every opportunity I had the chance to. What I found particularly curious about the kit was that it was obviously old, but it looked pristine. Where did he obtain such a perfectly preserved piece of memorabilia? I wanted to ask so badly, but my curiosity was overshadowed by my excitement.

"I thought it might be nice to have something to work on while we talked. What do you say?" he said.

"Yes! Thank you so much!" I said. We sat down on the picnic table and began assembling the model. To some, it might sound like the most tedious thing imaginable, but even when I was a kid, I enjoyed working with my hands. I loved taking apart things and putting them back together. I loved building new things from the scraps of older things. From think look on his face that day, Yu did too. Just like the previous night, our conversation jumped from topic to topic with little rhyme or reason. One minute we were talking about Jumbo Robo, and with no provocation whatsoever, we switched over to his recent attempts into teaching himself origami and to Grampa's and my newfound interest in watchmaking. Neither of us minded. We both had a lot to say, and we were both genuinely fascinated by what the other had to say.

"I finished up The Nation of the Monks this morning. It wasn't worth the wait at all. You should save your money," he said after I asked for his opinion about the book he was reading yesterday. He wiped a bit of excess glue off of the parts he held in his hands.

"That's a shame," I said as I put another sticker on the model. I looked up from our half-finished model and saw just how low in the sky the sun was. I must've lost track of time. I looked down at my watch. Grampa would be home in less than an hour.

"I have to leave now," I said hurriedly.

"Oh! Did I make you late?" said Yu, interpreting my urgency as a sign that I was about to be in trouble.

"No! No! Grampa just expects me home soon, that's all," I said. Grampa probably wouldn't punish me for arriving home after him, but he had been in a precarious position emotionally for obvious reasons, and the idea of making him worry about me just did not sit right with me.

"Ah. That's fine," said Yu as he started carefully packing the multitudinous pieces of the unfinished model back into the box.

"I still have a little time. Do you need help with that?" I said.

"No, I can do it. Can we meet again tomorrow?" said Yu.

"Sure! See you at five?" I said.

"That works for me. See you then," said Yu, smiling at me. I started to walk off, but a thought crossed my mind, and I just had to ask.

"You know, that looks like it could take a while. I really can help if you need it. I don't want you to get in trouble with your mom and dad," I said. Yu seemed to have no qualms about staying out this late. It worried me to think that he would make his parents fear for his safety.

"It's fine. It's not like they would even notice," said Yu. His disposition changed immensely as he said that. He seemed very sullen and resentful for a moment.

"Anyway, have a great night!" said Yu, suddenly snapping out of his brief bout of melancholy. His change in mood and quick return to normal made me a little concerned, but I brushed it aside. The issue of his parents was clearly a sensitive one, and given my circumstances, I wouldn't have reacted much differently if he had asked me about my parents. I decided it would be best if I didn't press him on the issue.

I returned home, and for the first time in a month, my eyes didn't dart over to the mantle.

11 April 2011

All it took was one bad day to put an end to the career I had worked so hard for.

I was assigned to the Genocide Junko case on the third of January. My superiors undoubtedly did so for no other reason than to keep me busy. To them, I was just a middle schooler who didn't belong anywhere near a criminal investigation. They wanted to give me an impossible task so that I'd stay out of their way, and if I failed at it, it would give them justification to get rid of me. It didn't matter how useful I was to them. After all the cases that I had been instrumental in solving, they still wanted me gone. Even though I knew their true motives, however, I was absolutely ecstatic when I received the assignment. Even the most seasoned of Japan's detectives had given up hope on cracking the case. If I could succeed where they had failed, I would finally receive the respect that I deserved. I could finally show the world that I was a worthy inheritor to the Shirogane name.

Genocide Junko was the nickname assigned to the unidentified serial killer who had brutally slaughtered over seventy people in Sapporo over the course of six years. One would think that there would be piles upon piles of evidence left behind, but Junko had left behind so little meaningful evidence behind that not even a single potential suspect had been identified. Few were willing to admit it, but most of my colleagues had resigned to the fact that Junko would most likely never face justice. I, however, would not accept that. I spent night after night after night pouring over police reports, crime scene photographs, and witness testimonies. I examined and reexamined the case from every conceivable angle. Eventually, my relentless toil began to bear fruit. Progress was being made for the first time in years. It was around this time that I began to notice changes occurring at the station. More specifically, the attitude of my co-workers toward me had begun to shift. It was noticeable only through very subtle cues. My superiors' tones of voice became less condescending. People were asking for my input more often. My coworkers looked genuinely interested when I was speaking. For the first time in my career, I felt like my work was appreciated. For the first time, I felt wanted. The feeling was intoxicating, and it did not take long for my initial enthusiasm to mutate into a crippling obsession. I began to neglect sleeping and eating so that I could spend more time working. By the middle of February, I was receiving, at most, twenty hours of sleep and ten meals per week. It did not take long for my negligence toward my physiological needs to take its toll on me. I lost at least ten kilograms of body weight and was in a constant state of fatigue, but the rapid deterioration of my health did not matter to me. The only thing that mattered to me was solving the case. I was dead set on proving my mettle as a detective, and I was thoroughly convinced that nothing would stop me. On the tenth of March, however, my body made it clear to me that it would withstand no more of my abuse.

I had managed to formulate a list of potential subjects. Needless to say, this was a huge breakthrough. I was to present my findings before the entire prefectural police department that morning. I looked out in front of me and saw that all of Sapporo' detectives were looking at me with rapt attention. Even my harshest critics seemed eager to hear what I had to say. The moment I had waited so long had finally arrived. Tragically, that joyous occasion quickly took a turn for the worst. I was accustomed to feeling sore, weary, and nauseous by that point, but as my presentation wore on, my malaise intensified beyond anything I had ever experienced. I had been speaking for only ten minutes when I began to notice that something was very, very wrong. My speech became so slurred that my words were incomprehensible even to myself. I began sweating so profusely that my clothes looked as though they had been doused with a fire hose. A numbness spread across my entire body. Eventually, everything faded to black. The last thing I remember was a sharp pain that came after my head made contact with the side of a desk as I fell to the floor.

I awoke several hours later in a hospital room. The sight I was greeted with as my eyes fluttered open was that of Grampa leaning over my bed. When he noticed that I had regained consciousness, he breathed a deep, deep sigh of relief. It was evident from the redness of his eyes that he had been crying. It was our first face-to face meeting in nearly three years. Shortly after I began my career as a detective had begun, he had retired to the town of Inaba. I looked at the clock on the wall and did the math in my head. For him to be here, the moment he learned that I had been hospitalized, he would have had to drop everything that he was doing so that he could drive all across the length of Japan. Our time apart had made forget just how much Grampa valued me.

Grampa did not leave my side for the rest of the night. At around noon the following morning, I was permitted to leave the hospital, for aside from a bruise on the left side of my head, I had sustained no real damage. After a stern talking-to from the physician about the importance of a proper diet and sleep schedule, my Grampa and I left the building. The second that the doors of the car closed, Grampa's demeanor changed drastically. Before then, he had been his usual warm, loving self. During the car ride, however, he abruptly became cold and distant. I attempted to converse with him, but he refused to even acknowledge my presence.

Fifteen minutes into the drive, Grampa sped past my apartment. I didn't sense that anything was amiss at first; he wasn't overly familiar with the streets of Sapporo, so it seemed like an honest mistake. When I informed him of this, however, he continued to ignore me. For several more kilometers, I repeatedly told him to turn around with increasing urgency in my voice. It was then that a horrible thought dawned on me. With each turn that he made, it became increasingly apparent to me that he had no intention of returning me to my apartment. He had no intention of allowing me to continue to live and work in Sapporo. He was putting an end to my career; I was going to live with him in Inaba.

When I came to this realization, I immediately began to panic. I tried to reason with him. I told him that I had learned the dangers of obsession and that it would never happen again. When that failed, I begged him to let me stay a detective in a most undignified fashion. It didn't matter what I said, however; my words still failed to reach him. It was not until we had reached the city limits that he finally acknowledged me, and he did so with the most vicious haranguing I had ever received in my life.

Never in my entire life had I seen Grampa as angry as he was as he gave me the scolding of a lifetime. His usual eloquence and composure had vanished utterly. He rained condemnation after condemnation upon me for being so unwise to put my health in jeopardy. Throughout his entire tirade, I wanted to interject. I wanted to defend myself from his attacks; nevertheless, I kept quiet. It was partially due to how shocked I was by Grampa's abrupt descent into a state of pure fury, but it was mostly a result of the guilt I was feeling. I had put him in that condition. The shakiness of his voice and the tears streaming down his face made it clear that his anger was born of worry, not hatred. His diatribe persisted for a remarkable three hours with only a few interruptions for him to catch his breath. Silence fell upon the car. I finally had the opportunity to say something, but his verbal onslaught had left me so stunned that I was unable to articulate a coherent response. The silence persisted for about five minutes before he let out a deep sigh and spoke once again.

"It pains me very deeply to have to say this, but I grossly overestimated you. You're still too much of a child to be a detective," said Grampa.

When he said those words, something snapped inside my mind. Those two sentences affected me more deeply than everything he had said about me up to that point combined. The guilt I felt disappeared instantly. I could no longer hold my tongue; the blind rage I felt would not permit me to do so. I launched into my own diatribe that was very much unlike his. Whereas his was a well-deserved admonition for my actions, mine was little more than a series of insults and attacks on his character. I had no real expectation that anything that I could've said would have changed his mind. I merely wanted to hurt him in the same way that he had hurt me. I grew increasingly strident as my rant progressed, but Grampa remained completely unfazed. Not a word managed to reach him. Hours passed, but I did not relent for a second. My voice had become so strained that my speech had degenerated into barely comprehensible squeaks by the time that we had reached Inaba. He pulled into the driveway of a large house and exited the car.

"The last room on the left is yours. There's food in the refrigerator. I'm going to bed," he said loudly, making eye contact for the first time in hours. Without another word, he entered the house, and I followed, continuing to rave at him. When he reached his room, he locked the door behind him. This did not deter me from continuing my polemic. I banged on his door continually as I hurled more and more verbal abuse, but it didn't matter how much noise I made; Grampa never responded. I persisted until my throat was so sore that I couldn't even manage to utter a single syllable. My right hand had several very visible bruises from the beating I had delivered to the door. I had completely exhausted myself. I had no option but to retire to the bedroom that Grampa had provided for me for the night.

When I awoke in the morning, I was supremely disappointed to find that the events of the previous day were not merely a bad dream; it was my new reality. I was no longer the Detective Prince; from that day forward, I was to be just another ordinary student. As I laid in bed, absorbing that information, my anger began to fade into a deep depression. In a vain attempt to salvage the situation, I dialed up what few people I considered dependable in the field of law enforcement, hoping that they could do something for me. I was not expecting them to be overly welcoming of me, but I did not expect to be greeted with as much scorn by the people that I called that day as I was. Every person I spoke to treated me with utter contempt. Most of the calls ended with my contact hanging up on me. It didn't take me long to figure out why. Grampa had got to them before I had. Even after his retirement, the name of Masaru Shirogane was held in the highest possible esteem. When he spoke, people listened, and he had used his influence to ensure that nobody in Japan would let me work again until he gave the go-ahead. It was official; there was nothing that I could do. After the last call had ended in failure, I returned to bed. It wasn't because I was tired. I had slept for over twelve consecutive hours. No, it was because in that moment I was unable to motivate myself to do anything other than stare at the ceiling as I wallowed in self-pity.

I had not eaten since breakfast of the prior day, so by seven o'clock, the hunger gnawing at me finally allowed me to summon the energy to leave my room. I was hoping to grab a small meal in the kitchen and make it back to my room as quickly as possible, but much to my chagrin, as soon as I entered the dining room, I was met with the sight of Grampa sitting at the table. As soon as he heard me enter, he looked up from his dinner.

"Hello, Naoto! It's nice to see you!" he said with a wide smile on his face. My first instinct was to assume that he was mocking me, but there was no smugness or sarcasm in his voice. He was being entirely sincere. He was genuinely pleased to see me. As far as he was concerned, our argument was over and done with. There was nothing left to discuss. He was moving on. In less than twenty-four hours, he had successfully managed to put all of that unpleasantness behind him. I, however, was not able to handle the situation quite as gracefully as he had. I ignored his words and averted my gaze from him. Grampa did not seem especially bothered by this.

"I was worried that you'd never get up, but I can understand why you'd be tired. Anyway, dinner's in the kitchen. I made your favorite," he said cheerfully. I wanted nothing more than to turn my back and leave, but the growling in my stomach would not permit me to do so. Grudgingly, I grabbed a plate of food and sat at the table to eat. I made sure to keep looking away from Grampa.

"It's still warm outside. You should take a walk. Get acquainted with the town. Inaba's a nice place. I'm sure you'll be very happy here," he said. I looked up and gave him the most disdainful glare that I could muster. After a few seconds, Grampa frowned and sighed deeply.

"I know that you're upset, but surely you can understand why I did what I did," he said. To be entirely honest, I did understand. It was only natural for him to be protective of his last living family; however, I simply could not accept it. I had the choice of either hating myself for my mistakes or hating Grampa for his response to them, and the latter was much easier for me than the former. After a brief period of silence, Grampa spoke again.

"Very well. I can see that you don't wish to speak with me right now," he said. He was no doubt thinking that eventually I would come around. He was thinking that I'd move on if given enough time. I was too stubborn to allow that to happen, however.

The ensuing days followed a predictable pattern. I would spend most of my time locked away in my room sulking. Whenever I left my room, I did everything I could to avoid Grampa. Whenever we did meet, he would try to converse in an attempt to get through to me. He repeatedly offered to show me around Inaba. I would have none of it. In the rare occasions that I actually talked to him, I used as few words as possible and deliberately spoke in a bored, disinterested tone of voice, and I refused to leave the house for any reason. I was incredibly bitter, and I wanted to make that clear to him. It was petty. It was stupid. The whole time, my logical side kept telling me that I was accomplishing nothing and that I should just let it go, and my conscience constantly screamed at me, telling me that I should be ashamed of how coldly I was acting toward the man who had treated me with nothing but kindness for my entire life. In spite of this, I kept at it. I thought that by hurting him, it would make me feel better, despite all evidence to the contrary. Through it all, Grampa had been incredibly patient with me. Though his granddaughter's distance wounded him, he kept trying to reach out to me. Of course, even Grampa's patience has its limits, and those limits were exceeded on the eleventh of April, a full month after I had begun living with him again.

"Are you excited about starting high school?" he asked enthusiastically.

"Not really," I replied, still gazing out the window of the dining room.

"How's the coffee? I've been experimenting with Catimor beans lately. Would you say that it's better than the usual stuff?" he asked.

"It is acceptable," I said.

"You know, you should probably check out Yasogami High today. I'd be happy to drive you there," he said.

"I'll pass," I said. Grampa didn't say anything more for quite a while. I was almost finished with my food when I heard the sound of glass breaking. I looked over at Grampa and discovered that he had set his cup down on the table with so much force that it had shattered upon impact. I can't say whether it was intentional or not. Grampa looked furious, and it wasn't because of the broken glass or spilled coffee around him.

"For God's sake, Naoto, how long do you plan on acting like I child?" he asked, raising his voice at me for the first time in a month. His outburst had caught me completely off guard. He had finally snapped.

"This tantrum of yours has gone on for a month now; wouldn't you say that that's just a tiny bit excessive?" he said tauntingly. Once again, I felt rage begin to boil up inside of me. I opened my mouth to deliver a retort, but he continued onward.

"You're almost an adult, but you're acting like an immature brat who had their toys taken away! It's becoming very clear to me that I made the right decision last month!" he said. "I'm curious, Naoto. What makes you think that this sort of behavior is appropriate for someone your age?"

Whatever words I had for him had escaped me. I wanted so badly to say something, but his words had left me in such a state that my brain was unable to devise any sort of salient response.

"What are you hoping to accomplish? Do you really believe that if you pout for long enough that..." he began before I cut him off.

"I'm going for a walk," I said, trying and failing miserably to keep my voice from shaking. I ran from the room, through the hallway, and out the door, slamming it behind me. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me until Grampa's house was well outside of my field of vision. From that point, I began to walk quickly down the sidewalk. I didn't know where I was going to go, and I paid very little attention to my surroundings. The only thing I was focused on was devising some sort of comeback to give to Grampa the next time I saw him. I was angrily muttering all the words that came to my mind under my breath. The people who saw me that day must have thought that I was a violent lunatic. Eventually, I had stumbled my way into the town's shrine without intention. By this point, my legs were so weary from the laps I had done around the town that they could no longer support me. I sat on the ground beside the offering box. My mind began to clear. There was no one around. Nobody could hear or see me, so I did something that I had been holding back for a long, long time.

I cried.

It was the most embarrassing thing possible for me. I was ashamed to do it even in front of Grampa. It was a sign of weakness, and I had sworn to myself years prior that I would never, never show weakness, for I could not afford to, but I could not bottle it up any longer. Deep down, I knew that every accusation that Grampa had leveled at me was true. I was acting like a petulant child. I was the only one to blame for my situation, and I hated it. I did not move from my position for some time. I refused to let anyone see me in that condition. I was eventually able to compose myself and stood up. I hoped that if I kept my head down, nobody would notice how red my face was. As I walked away from the shrine, I noticed someone approaching, and the events of the day immediately left my mind.

He was a boy of about my age. His gray hair and eyes were immediately recognizable, but I still would not let myself believe it. I tried to convince myself that he was just an eerily similar stranger and that it was just a case of mistaken identity. As the seconds wore on, however, it became increasingly clear who I was facing. He was evidently just as astonished as I was. We stood there in total silence for quite a while. I wanted to say something but could not find the right words. What should you say to someone who you haven't seen in seven years? I was hoping that he'd be the first to speak, but from the looks of it, he was hoping that I would speak first. It took a while, but he was finally able to break the silence.

"Hi Naoto," he said.

"Hi Yu," I said, stuttering, "It's good to see you again."

"It's nice to see you too," he said. He looked like he wanted to say something else before we were interrupted.

"Hey, where'd you run off to?" cried out a male voice in the distance. Yu looked away and then back to me.

"I have to go now," he said, before pulling out his cell phone from his pocket, "Do you mind if I have your number?"

"Sure, sure!" I said, still stuttering. I pulled out my phone. My hands were shaking so badly that I nearly dropped it. After we exchanged numbers, here merely nodded his head and walked away. For several minutes, I just stood in place, looking at my phone. I still had quite a bit of difficulty swallowing what had just taken place at the shrine. I wanted to call him right then just to confirm that it wasn't just some extremely lucid dream or hallucination. I rehearsed what I wanted to say over and over and over again, but I could not bring myself to make the call. After several failed attempts at summoning the courage to call Yu, I slipped the phone back into my pocket and started walking again. I began walking in the direction of Grampa's house, but as soon as I realized what I was doing I turned around. I knew that the most appropriate course of action from both a logical and moral point of view for someone in my situation would be to rush home and start begging Grampa for forgiveness; however, I still could not quash the feelings of anger and resentment I felt toward Grampa. I needed to give myself time to cool off. Since I had to get acquainted with the town if for no other reason than to find my way to and from school, I decided that that time would be best spent familiarizing myself with the area.

Despite living in Inaba for a month I had never seen any of it beyond Grampa's house. As I took in the sights and the atmosphere, I began to regret my self-imposed seclusion. Grampa was not lying about Inaba being a nice place. The peace and quiet that was utterly absent in big cities was abundant here. Upon arrival, I viewed Inaba as a prison, but after taking the time to actually experience it, I felt freer than I had in a long, long time.

When night fell, I began the trek back home dreading what was ahead. No matter how much I wanted to delay a meeting with Grampa, I had to return sooner or later. I did not know what I would say to Grampa. I did not even know if there was anything that I could say. I mentally prepared myself for whatever punishment he deemed appropriate for me. Curiously, when I arrived at the house, I found a note taped to the door.

"I'm deeply sorry that I lashed out at you today. It was totally uncalled for. I can understand if you don't want to see me. Just leave a note saying that you're okay. I'm going to bed. Dinner's in the refrigerator. I love you," read the note. It filled me with deep guilt that he was apologizing to me while I was still unwilling to face him. After eating dinner, I grabbed a pen and a notepad and tried to compose a suitable apology to Grampa, but I couldn't find the proper words. I tried over and over to write the note, but before I could even complete a single sentence, I tore the piece of paper from the notepad and threw it in the trash. It sounds like such an easy thing, but in that moment, I simply could not bring myself to do it. Once my pen began to run out of ink, I settled for a simple "I'm home." I decided that it would be best if I avoided the matter until I was fully prepared to deal with it. I slipped the note under his door and headed to my room.

Even though I was extremely tired, I could not fall asleep that night. Thoughts of the day's happenings kept buzzing around in my head, and no matter how hard I tried, I could not suppress them. First, there was the matter of what I would say to Grampa. I'd have to speak with him eventually, and I couldn't just pretend that nothing had happened. Second, after seven years of no interaction whatsoever, Yu had made his way back into my life with no warning. I wanted to talk to him, and he ostensibly wanted to talk to me, but it seemed as though neither of us wanted to make the first move.

"Today could have gone better," was the last thought that entered my mind before I was finally able to drift off to sleep.

Author's Notes:

Well, this took longer than it should have. To be honest, I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, and that's probably because it is so heavy on exposition, but a lot was necessary to establish why Naoto was A) in Inaba from the beginning rather than coming in later and B) why she wasn't working with the police in this story. The good news is that with all the necessary exposition behind us, we can move on to more interesting things.