Prologue
Life had not been kind to Saito Daichi. Nevertheless, it was two o' clock on a Tuesday morning in the middle of June and he was satisfactorily numb. Three bottles of cheap saké will do that to a man.
Yes, he was satisfactorily numb, he thought, but the numbness would never dull the pain. He was too old, too jaded for that relief.
He thought of his wife. His daughter.
His old home, Iwate.
The old mine.
The explosion.
The excruciating agony.
They all said he was lucky. Seventeen men had been killed in the blast. But those seventeen men didn't have to suffer endless misery and medical bills. Nor did they have to endure the humiliation having to learn to walk again, to talk again.
They didn't have to watch their toddler grow from their bed; so close and yet so very, very far. They didn't have to watch their wife struggle to provide for their family.
By the time the physical wounds had healed, the memory was still too raw. There was nothing left. Not in Iwate. And so they moved to Karakura Town, a small but growing city to the west of Tokyo.
It worked for a while. He got a job at a local canning factory, Su-Mei was busy as a seamstress, and Hisana was getting on well at the local school.
But times change. Technology advanced. The recession hit hard. The factory closed, and with it, another chapter of his life.
The drink, however? The drink was a constant companion. The drink could dull what his wife would never understand.
His wife.
Kami, how he loved her. Truly, he did…
She would go on. She was a fighter. She was still young and beautiful and perfect. She would live. She would thrive. She would move on.
Hisana.
That precious angel. His precious angel. She would forgive him. In time.
The tears caught in his throat as he thought back to the days she would host imaginary tea parties on his bed. If he couldn't come down to her, she would come up to him. Those big violet eyes staring at him as she asked him how he liked to take his tea. Or maybe he'd prefer coffee. Or hot chocolate. She could make those, too. In her magical café.
Magical.
She was.
She'd like the view from up here. So many colours. Dancing.
She loves colour. She loves to dance. So big and so bold. So beautiful.
She'd like the view from up here…
The water. The lights. Reflecting.
A ballet in the abyss.
She'd forgive him, in time. They both would. Maybe even forget. He didn't mind. They deserved so much. So much more than he could give.
He should go now. Before the pain gets too much. His bones. His body. Weary. Aching. Cold.
He liked the view from up here.
But he wanted to go home now.
He liked the view.
He wanted to go.
The view.
Go.