Chapter 12: Memorial (Battle-Ready)

Early March.

The cold had begun to ease, and the plum blossoms were just starting to bloom.

The kettle on the stove hissed with rising steam as I sat listening to the endless, quiet chant of the sutras.

The living room, with its sliding doors removed to create more space, was now filled with people dressed in black.

The old Japanese house, full of drafts, let the chill cling to our legs, forcing me to rub mine to keep warm.

It was my grandfather’s third death anniversary.

I hadn’t seen him often, and since he’d been hospitalized for a long time, no one had been particularly shocked when he passed. I remember how the rituals had proceeded calmly and methodically back then.

Today had the same subdued air, moving along without delay.

It must’ve been my mother who organized everything.

I caught a glimpse of her familiar, straight-backed figure near the priest and sighed.

I should leave before she spots me.

I stood the moment the chanting ended, but just as I stepped into the quiet hallway, she was already there—waiting.

“Heading out already?”

“Yeah. I’m in the way, aren’t I?”

“Of course not. This is your home too.”

She wore a plain black kimono and looked at me with mild exasperation.

We hadn’t seen each other in two years—since the first anniversary of Grandpa’s passing.

She glanced toward the garden, her now slightly fuller frame twisting with the motion, then frowned.

“Still riding that thing, are you?”

Her gaze landed on the motorcycle I had quietly parked in the corner.

She had always disapproved of me riding. Partly because my father once had a serious accident on a bike, but mostly because, to her, motorcycles were “for men.”

“I just worry about you. You know what happened to your father. And you're not a kid anymore—you should find someone nice and start settling down.”

“… I'm leaving.”

I turned my back on her before she could keep going.

She wasn’t a bad person. I was grateful for how she raised me. But sometimes, it felt like she couldn’t stop meddling in her grown daughter’s life.

Still, could I really dismiss her concern so easily?

No steady job. Just spending time with a younger student.

Sometimes, even I felt like I was wasting my life.

That sense of guilt made it hard to ignore her voice when she called out more firmly.

“You know the Ogata family next door? Their second son works at city hall. No transfers, steady income, mild personality. I think you two would be a great match. Won’t you just meet him?”

So this was the real reason.

I let out a bitter laugh.

It was a neighborhood thing. Rejecting the idea outright would be a blow to her pride.

I wasn’t in the mood to argue, so I gave in with a reluctant nod.

“… If it’s just one meeting, fine.”

“That’s great. I’ll set something up for next weekend, so keep it open.”

“Okay.”

As soon as I agreed, she quickly returned to the gathering.

Left alone, I changed out of my funeral clothes and back into my touring leather jacket, then pulled on my thick gloves.

This was why I hated coming home.

Even if it was inevitable, next weekend already felt like a burden.

I wheeled the bike to the road and mounted it in one smooth motion.

The sky was heavy and gray.

By the time I was halfway home, the clouds had grown darker, and a light drizzle had begun.

Reluctantly, I pulled off the highway and stopped at a convenience store to put on my rain gear.

When I got back on the road, it had turned into a downpour.

I hated the rain.

It made the tires slippery and narrowed my vision. That’s why I had a rule: no highways in the rain.

Knowing I'd have to finish the rest of the trip on local roads was already making me miserable.

The weather forecast had said cloudy, but lately, forecasts seemed more like guesses than science. Not that complaining now would change anything.

I carefully took corners, watching every painted line like it was a trap, pushing on for hours.

It was late enough to call it midnight.

The residential streets were silent and still.

There was no moon, but the white glow of the streetlights bounced off the puddles, making everything strangely bright.

The rain had weakened, but my soaked gear was already clinging to me, chilled through to the bone.

When my apartment building finally came into view, I sighed in relief.

My stiff hands eased off the throttle, fingers curling around the clutch as I downshifted one gear at a time.

I just wanted a hot bath.

My brain was foggy from the long ride, so when I heard the sound of gear shifting—distant, mechanical—and noticed the deep ditch near the entrance to the apartment, my reaction was too slow.

By the time I thought _uh-oh_, it was already too late.

The front tire dropped into the ditch, and the bike lurched violently, crashing with a loud clatter that echoed through the silent street.

By some luck, I twisted my body in time to avoid getting pinned.

“Ugh, seriously…”

Every biker drops their bike at some point.

I’d done it before, but never had it hit me this hard.

I didn’t even care that I was sitting in a puddle.

My clothes were already drenched. Another bucket of water wouldn't make a difference.

I didn’t want to move.

Lying on its side, the bike looked just as defeated as I felt.

It was almost funny how alike we were in that moment.

I pulled out my waterproof phone case and checked my messages.

A few texts from Serina. All small talk.

The last one was from about two hours ago.

Was she still awake?

I hoped I wouldn’t be disturbing her, but my fingers moved on their own.

The soft pulsing sound of the call trying to connect filled the air.

“… Hello?”

Before I could even think of what to say, her familiar voice came through.

Slightly nasal, slow—like she’d just woken up.

“Did I wake you?”

“Just a little…”

She didn’t sound like her usual self.

I figured it was best to end the call.

“Sorry. It’s nothing.”

“… Are you outside? Where are you?”

“In front of my apartment. That’s all. Bye.”

“Wait, wait—what do you mean?”

I could hear her mumbling—half words, half groans.

Eventually, she found her rhythm again, and her voice sharpened.

“You had a memorial today, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing sitting outside your apartment?”

“Just sitting.”

“… It was raining today, right?”

“Still is.”

I heard her sigh on the other end. I couldn’t help but chuckle.

I knew I was being a burden.

If she hung up now or just went back to sleep, I wouldn’t blame her.

But then—

“Whatever happened, do you need me?”

The words were blunt.

Maybe that’s why they hit so hard.

I hesitated, then answered.

“… Maybe. Help me.”

“… Give me ten minutes.”

The call ended, and I was alone again.

The rain still hadn’t stopped.