Killing Yuki

Chapter 1.1 - A Stranger at the Funeral

Another gloomy morning. Shinjirarenai! It had been like this for six consecutive days. Even seasoned Tohoku-jins thought it was strange. 

They usually experienced such bleak weather in the winter or during a slow-moving typhoon. August seemed a bit too early.

The weather also changed rapidly. One minute, the roads were shimmering with a heat haze. The next, everyone feared they might not make it home without getting wet. 

Bizarrely, however, not a single drop of rain or snow had fallen since day one. No flash floods or streets covered in mud, as is typically seen after torrential plum rain. 

Instead, the vast expanse of dark clouds just kept drifting in from the Pacific, casting misery over Northeast Japan.

But something felt different about this day. Although the clouds still draped the sky, they no longer hung above like endless rows of wet laundry. 

They cascaded to the ground and swept across the countryside to the west as if taking a break from the perpetual hovering. 

Even the sun's tiny orb managed to peek above the hilltop, although the fog was too thick for its rays to penetrate, creating the illusion of an overcast sky in the middle of a sunny day.

With the cold breeze steadily diluting the summer warmth, one would understand why Sendai was just springing back to life. Most times, the city kicked off weekends with renewed vigor. 

Breakfast on wheels catered by roaming vendors to the working class. The soft swoosh of brooms clearing clutter off the rustic streets. 

Chatters and greetings exchanged between neighbors going about their morning routines. And refreshment bottles sliding out of vending machines.

This time, the day unfolded slowly. Fighting the lethargy felt like jumpstarting a vehicle's engine with a dead battery. 

Besides the gridlock grumblers, who were somehow unaffected by the gloom, it seemed everyone had granted themselves an extra couple of hours of sleep.

Yet, unlike those still snug beneath their kakebuton, the last of the cicadas were already out making their final buzz. They knew their days were numbered, and they must find a mate soon before the sun resumed its normal course. 

Eventually, the nostalgic symphony of their tymbals would fade, yielding to the wistful rustling of falling leaves.

Uptown, the mist blanketing Izumi stretched from the quaint shrines in the west to the tranquil outskirts of Miyagino. 

Only a few early risers dared to navigate the obscured roads in this area, moving cautiously and maintaining distance from other vehicles. The fog was thickest here for some reason.

Although autumn had just set in, dry leaves on a field of withering grass gave off an early winter vibe, a subtle reminder to prepare the kotatsu and stock up on bubble wrap rolls. 

And if you were to climb up one of the hills dotting the prefecture, you'd be greeted by a sea of green, soon to transform into shades of red and gold, edging the cityscape. 

Amid this idyllic scene, slowly emerging from the diminishing mist, lay a jarring figure. A young man in his mid-twenties was sprawled flat on the ground, his right cheek pressed against the humid soil, arms folded near his head, and fingers delicately clasping the dirt. 

Yuki wasn't dead, just unconscious. But a sound that terrified most people would wake him up. Soft yet gut-wrenching cries whispered through the morning breeze.