The rain fell in gentle sheets over Karuizawa, turning the quiet town into a canvas of shimmering gray. Droplets tapped against rooftops and slid down the glass panes of cafés, where the scent of fresh coffee mixed with the damp earthiness of the morning.
The streets, lined with towering trees, glistened under the soft glow of streetlights that had yet to dim, their reflections stretching across the slick pavement. A mist clung to the air, weaving between the wooden lodges and elegant villas, lending the town a dreamlike serenity.
Somewhere in the distance, a train whistle echoed faintly through the drizzle, a lonely sound against the rhythmic pattern of rain. Few souls braved the morning storm—an old man with an umbrella, walking his dog along the drenched pathway, and a young woman in a beige coat, waiting under a bus stop, staring into the rain as if lost in thought.
The scent of pine and rain-soaked soil filled the crisp air, mingling with the subtle fragrance of blooming hydrangeas in a nearby garden. The world felt slower, as if the rain had lulled Karuizawa into a tranquil slumber, its usual vibrancy softened by the gray embrace of the sky.
The Hoshizaki household stood in quiet solitude, a traditional wooden home nestled among the towering pines of Karuizawa. Its dark, rain-slicked roof sloped gently, sheltering the veranda, where the scent of damp earth and aged timber mingled in the cool morning air. The rhythmic pattern of raindrops against the eaves was the only sound—a soft and steady melody that filled the stillness.
Sliding doors of shoji paper and lacquered wood remained closed, the dim glow of lanterns flickering faintly within. The tatami mats inside bore no sign of hurried footsteps, only the undisturbed hush of a home that had long embraced solitude. The faint aroma of green tea lingered in the air, a remnant of an earlier morning ritual.
Beyond the engawa, a small rock garden stretched out, its pebbles darkened by the rain. A lone maple tree stood at its center, droplets sliding from its delicate leaves, each falling soundlessly into the stillness. The world outside was alive with rain, yet within the Hoshizaki home, time seemed to move at its own unhurried pace, as if untouched by the changing seasons.
Taro sat cross-legged on the tatami floor, the crisp pages of the newspaper rustling faintly in his hands. The dim morning light filtered through the shoji doors, blending with the muted glow of the andon lamp beside him. Outside, the rain continued its quiet descent, a gentle rhythm against the wooden eaves.
The sliding door groaned softly, breaking the stillness. Takeshi shuffled in, his tousled black hair sticking up at odd angles, his red-rimmed eyes heavy with sleep. He rubbed at them lazily, stifling a yawn as he stepped onto the tatami.
"Mom hasn't come back yet from Tokyo." He mumbled, his voice thick with drowsiness.
Taro glanced up briefly before turning another page. "No, not yet," he replied in his usual calm tone. "She called me last night. She said she was tired from all the meetings." He folded the newspaper slightly, eyes scanning the weather section. "She'll take the Shinkansen in the morning."
Takeshi let out a small sigh, plopping down onto the floor. The rain continued its steady patter outside, as if mirroring the quiet waiting that had settled over the Hoshizaki household.
Taro set the newspaper aside with a quiet rustle and stretched his arms with a tired sigh. The faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mixing with the scent of rain drifting in from the half-opened window.
"The coffee is ready," he said casually, rolling his stiff shoulders. "Make an omelet from the eggs in the fridge." His tone was neither commanding nor particularly warm—just a simple statement, as if it were part of the morning routine.
Takeshi grumbled in response but dragged himself to his feet. As he shuffled toward the kitchen, Taro disappeared into his room to change. A few minutes later, he emerged, now dressed in his work clothes—a worn-out jacket, sturdy boots, and a straw hat hanging loosely from his back.
"I'll have lunch outside," he announced, slipping his hands into his pockets as he stepped onto the engawa. The rain had softened to a light drizzle, and the distant mountains were wrapped in morning mist. Without another word, he walked off toward the farm, leaving the house once again steeped in its usual quiet.
The soft hum of the television broke the morning silence, its screen flickering to life with muted colors. A cheerful jingle played, signaling the start of a morning variety show. The host, an overly energetic man in a bright suit, greeted viewers with exaggerated enthusiasm.
"Good morning, Japan! Today's top news—rainy weather continues across the country, so don't forget your umbrellas! And later, a special feature on Tokyo's hidden gourmet spots!"
Takeshi barely paid attention as he cracked an egg into a bowl, the yolk breaking with a satisfying plop. He whisked it lazily, the rhythmic clinking of chopsticks against ceramic blending with the distant voices from the TV. A brief commercial break played—a jingle for instant ramen, then a flashy ad for a new smartphone.
The frying pan sizzled as he poured the mixture in, the scent of butter and eggs filling the air. He reached for the spatula, flipping the omelet with a clumsy yet practiced motion. Outside, the rain continued its steady pattern, blending seamlessly with the warm, mundane atmosphere of the Hoshizaki household.
Takeshi stood by the stove, absentmindedly flipping the omelet as the television droned on in the background. Despite spending his weekdays helping on the farm, his body remained lanky and thin, as if the hard labor had simply passed through him without leaving a trace. His arms, long and wiry, lacked the muscular definition one would expect from someone working the fields.
He was smart—everyone knew that—but his grades never reflected it. He had a sharp mind and a natural ability to grasp things quickly, yet he lacked the drive to put in the effort. Teachers often sighed, calling him a wasted talent, while his father, Taro, rarely commented on it at all.
His name, Takeshi, meant "warrior," but he looked nothing like one. His frame was more suited for a bookish intellectual than a fighter. Whenever Taro's old friends visited and met him, they would chuckle and say, "Taro was just as skinny as you back in the day."
But that was hard to believe. Taro, with his broad shoulders and muscular arms hardened by years of farm work, seemed the complete opposite of what they described. The thought of him ever being thin felt almost ridiculous.
Takeshi scoffed to himself, shaking his head as he plated the omelet. Maybe one day, he'd grow into his name. Or maybe, he thought with a smirk, he'd just stay the way he was—skinny, smart, and uninterested in proving anything.
The rain had slowed to a mere drizzle when the front door slid open with a soft creak. Takeshi, still at the dining table, lazily picking at the remnants of his omelet, barely glanced up—until he saw the sheer number of shopping bags his mother carried inside.
Hina stepped in, shaking off the moisture from her coat before setting the bags down with a sigh. Her brown hair was slightly damp, strands sticking to her cheeks, but she still carried the composed air of someone used to long trips. The scent of department stores and city air clung to her, a stark contrast to the earthy smell of the countryside home.
"I'm back," she said, more out of habit than anything else.
Takeshi's eyes flickered toward the bags—high-end department store logos, boutique brands, and even a few fancy wrapped packages. His brows furrowed.
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "So… was the meeting's agenda just shopping?" he muttered, his tone laced with mild sarcasm.
Hina sighed as she removed her coat, giving him a tired look. "Of course not," she replied, kneeling to sort through the bags. "I just picked up a few things while I was there."
"A few things?" Takeshi eyed the pile skeptically.
Hina ignored his comment, instead pulling out a neatly wrapped package and placing it on the table. "I got you something," she said simply.
Takeshi glanced at the package, then at his mother, trying to gauge if this was a bribe or an actual gift. He sighed, deciding not to push the conversation further—for now. The rain outside had stopped, but a different kind of storm seemed to be brewing in his mind.
Takeshi's fingers worked slowly, peeling back the wrapping paper with deliberate care. Beneath the crisp folds, a brand-new Nintendo Switch lay nestled in its box, the glossy packaging reflecting the dim light of the room. His expression didn't change—no excitement, no gratitude. Instead, his brows knit together, his grip tightening slightly on the box as his gaze flickered toward Hina.
She was busy unpacking the rest of her shopping, casually placing high-end clothes, jewelry, and beauty products onto the low table. Department store bags with elegant branding surrounded her, their contents spilling out in soft folds of silk and lace.
Takeshi's suspicion deepened. A tour guide's salary wasn't supposed to cover luxury shopping sprees—at least, not on this scale. His mother had always been well-dressed, always took care of herself, but this was something else. He studied her face as she moved, her usual tired but warm demeanor unchanged. Was she pretending everything was normal, or was it really just him overthinking things?
He forced a small nod, muttered a half-hearted "Thanks," and set the console aside.
The moment Hina excused herself to take a shower, Takeshi quietly stood up, his heart beating a little faster than usual. He stepped lightly toward their room, pausing at the doorway to listen for the sound of running water before slipping inside.
The shopping bags sat in neat rows along the floor. Carefully, he rifled through them, pushing aside silky dresses, delicate perfumes, and accessories that screamed high-class. These weren't the kind of clothes a tour guide would need for work.
His pulse quickened as he moved to the cupboard. With careful hands, he slid it open. More branded garments filled the space, but what caught his eye were the more intimate pieces—lingerie sets in lace and silk, babydolls, even bikinis that seemed too extravagant for a simple vacation.
Takeshi's stomach churned. His mind raced with questions, with scenarios he didn't want to imagine. His fingers hesitated over the fabric, his throat dry.
What exactly was his mother doing in Tokyo?