SUB ROSA | Wind Breaker

Arc 1 || 1. Ghosts in The Rearview

The car shuddered to a stop in front of a crumbling building, its chipped walls and sagging roof out of place in the world Akame had known. The streets were a mess of rusting cars, cracked sidewalks, and litter, the air thick with the stale scent of gasoline and cigarettes. It was nothing like the tree-lined streets and pristine homes of their past.

Akame stared out the window, her gaze distant. Her hands, small and pale, clutched the fabric of her skirt in her lap as if it was the only thing tethering her to the moment. Her long, white hair spilled over her shoulders, framing her hollow expression. Those dark blue eyes of hers, once full of life, were now vacant, a reflection of the grief weighing on her.

Beside her, Yuta sat rigid, his shoulders tense and jaw tight. His dark eyes scanned the neighborhood, sizing it up like a threat. His messy black hair fell over his forehead, but even that casual disarray couldn't hide the strain written across his face. He was always the strong one, always the protector—but this place, this moment, made even him uneasy.

"We'll get through this," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the weight it carried.

Akame didn't answer. Since the accident, she hadn't said much at all. The silence had become her constant companion, just as much as the grief that felt like it was suffocating her. Her grip on the seat tightened until her knuckles turned white.

If only I hadn't asked them to come to my recital. The thought gnawed at her, haunting her every waking moment. The recital that had changed everything—the night her parents had died.

The driver opened the door, snapping Yuta out of his thoughts. He stepped out first, his movements deliberate and cautious. His tall frame blocked the light as he turned back to help Akame, his touch careful, protective, like he feared she might shatter with one wrong move. She let him guide her out, her head bowed, eyes still on the ground.

Before they even reached the front door, it swung open with a creak. Their uncle stood there, looming in the doorway—a hulking figure with greasy, unkempt hair and a permanent scowl etched into his face. He looked them over with narrowed eyes, the corner of his mouth lifting into a sneer as he leaned against the doorframe, a half-empty bottle of beer hanging from his hand.

"Well, well, look who it is," he grunted, his voice slurred. "The golden children. Thought you were too good for us, huh?"

Yuta's jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. The bitter words didn't surprise him, but that didn't make them sting any less. He had learned to keep his emotions in check, to not let men like this get under his skin. But Akame—this was different for her.

Akame flinched, her entire body tensing as if trying to make herself smaller, to disappear from the hostility radiating from their uncle. She curled in on herself, the weight of his disdain crushing her.

Their uncle laughed bitterly, taking a long swig from his bottle. "You think I wanted you here? Ha. You're only here 'cause your rich family didn't want to deal with you. Left you here to rot, just like your old man did to me."

Yuta bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to hold back. There was no point arguing, no point defending his father's name. Their uncle had always been bitter, jealous of their father's success, and no amount of reasoning would change that.

"Come on, Akame," Yuta murmured, his voice tight with controlled anger. "Let's go inside."

The house smelled like stale alcohol and decay. Inside, the walls were dark, the wallpaper peeling in places, and the furniture was mismatched and sagging. Every surface seemed to be coated in dust and grime, and the air was thick with a stench that made Akame's stomach turn. She swallowed hard, her gaze flicking around the room as reality pressed down on her.