As Iwanaga Asaichi stood on the genkan (entrance hall) of his home, he said, “I’m home.” But there was no reply. How long had it been? The atmosphere in the Iwanaga household had become heavy and stagnant.
When Asaichi’s parents died in an accident, and he was taken in by his maternal uncle, they may have been cautious with each other at first, but they were still family. Throughout middle and high school, they got along well enough.
Asaichi climbed the stairs from the entrance and stopped in front of the room at the end of the hallway.
“I’m home, Koba.”
He knew there would be no reply.
Koba, who had become a recluse, no longer wanted to speak to him. It was inevitable. It was his fault that Koba had ended up like this.
No matter how much he regretted it, it was something he couldn’t undo.
That’s why he thought to himself:
“I’ll definitely get you out of here.”
There was no reply.
“I don’t know what you think, but even if it’s just out of obligation, I’m still your older brother.”
There was no sign of life from the room. Perhaps Koba was asleep.
Asaichi walked toward his own room at the back.