Chapter Text
13 years later
Gen'emon threw open every door in the house, a strange tugging sensation beginning to tighten in his chest. His footsteps echoed through the entire Tsushima residence, but he no longer cared about being quiet enough not to wake his children, Reiji and Ben. He traversed another hallway, glancing here and there, before pausing for a moment to look at the full moon outside the window.
"Three in the morning," he thought. He had been searching for Tane around the house for over half an hour now.
Gen'emon froze when he noticed a sliver of light leaking from the crack of a door—a room that always remained locked in this house.
He approached with caution and slowly pressed down on the handle. He didn't want to go in.
Inside was a simple, traditional bedroom made of dark wood. In the center lay a dusty futon; on the wall, a modest window overlooked the back of the house, and a lit fireplace crackled softly.
Against the wall opposite the door, a small television sat on a traditional low table. In front of it sat Tane, dressed in her nightgown, her hair completely disheveled, swaying back and forth as if cradling something in her arms.
She looked exactly like a madwoman, just as everyone said.
Gen'emon stepped forward, a bit hesitant, and cleared his throat to announce his presence.
Tane didn't blink, giving no sign that she had heard him. So he approached cautiously and placed a hand on her shoulder. However, she didn't startle as he had feared. Instead, she turned her face toward him, revealing eyes bloodshot from weeping and cheeks soaked with tears.
Gen'emon looked up at the glowing television screen and saw what was playing: a brief recording repeating on an endless loop. The camera had captured, for just a few seconds, a dark-eyed boy with brown hair who was reading a book, so deeply focused that he didn't even look up.
It was a painful sight for the two people watching that footage thirteen years later.
Gen'emon didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to comfort his wife as she despaired at the sight of their boy.
"We should go back to sleep" he said simply.
Tane turned her gaze back to the television, acting as if he weren't even there.
"Sleep? And how am I supposed to sleep?" Tane asked, her voice laced with irritation. "I want to stay here with Shūji a little longer."
For her, the conversation was over; she waved her hand in the air as if shooing away a bothersome fly and returned to focusing entirely on the old recording.
There was nothing Gen'emon could say or do now to get a reaction out of her. He sighed and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. He continued walking down the corridors until he returned to their bedroom and got under the covers of their Western-style bed—they had abandoned futons a few years ago.
It wasn't the first time he had woken up in the dead of night to find Tane missing from his side. Sometimes she had nightmares, and to make them pass, she would hide somewhere in the house to watch old clips of Shūji, breaking down in tears. He went looking for her every single time, but he had never entered that room before.
No one went in there anymore.
Gen'emon had even thought the key had been lost.
Who knew how many times Tane had sneaked inside—she, who had been the first to declare that no one should ever cross that threshold again.
It didn't matter, anyway.
That room—Shūji's room—weighed like a heavy burden on one's chest, whether one entered it or not.
It was probably the same for Tane: the woman he saw weeping at night and the one who stood before him and the others during the day were almost two distinct people.
When the sun rose, his wife would return to being the composed, rigid woman she had always been.
Gen'emon did not like the night; there were too many ghosts wandering through the house.