Satoshi Iragawa woke with the half light of the sunrise carrying through his window. He considered the strands of red and gold appearing on his wall and he smiled softly at them. They looked blurry with his waking mind, but they reminded him of what was to come. The rising of the sun and the dawning of a new day. A sign of hope in his eyes.
He sat up, took a moment to pause and consider who he was and what his intentions were for the day, and then he got up. His movements were swift and directed, he knew what the next step of each of his actions was. Roll up the futon, put it away, retrieve his uniform for the day, go into the bathroom. Everything was done with mechanical efficiency, like someone who is cleaning an instrument, ready to put it to use, either for war or for music.
He looked at himself in the mirror and gave himself a little longer to consider his own face. It was small. That was the description he would put to it, despite the fact that his face was perfectly proportional to the rest of his body. He was handsome, he could see that, the soft slope of black hair across his head, the sharp nose and gentle, but still visible cheekbones gave the impression of someone who had been designed to look good. Yet the expression he wore was one of judgment and denial. He wasn't sure about his physical appearance, which made his physical appearance unsure of him. He noticed the gaunt eyes, not the firm cheekbones. He noticed the imperfect skin, rather than the symmetrical form.
Still, he knew how to take care of it, so he did and quickly forgot about the damnation he placed on himself.
He checked through his bag, examining the contents and assuring himself that everything was there. It was easy to see if the bag was full, considering that everything else had been cleaned away from every other surface in the room. He had completed his homework last night and had put the books into the bag. He always did that. If the books weren't on the counter, it would be in the bag. There was no other possibility.
He checked his phone for full charge, did one sweep of his eyes through the kitchen, looking for any mess that he may have left from last night's dinner. He saw none and was satisfied. He picked up his bag, went to the door, took a breath as he did one last mental look over his room, and opened the door to leave.
The shining sun was now fully in the sky, and he could see and sense the movement of morning warmth carrying through the concrete corridors of their danchi apartment complex. The familiar sounds of morning drifted from behind closed doors: the gentle hiss of rice cookers releasing steam, the soft murmur of NHK morning news, the careful shuffle of slippers on tatami mats. He walked directly towards the stairs, examining the doors around him, each marked with small nameplates in careful kanji. Through the opening leading to the courtyard, he could see the sun streaming across the precisely maintained communal garden.
He saw a door open and Suzune-san emerged, already dressed for her morning shopping trip, a small wheeled bag in one hand and her purse clutched carefully in the other. She noticed him and bowed slightly.
"Ohayo gozaimasu, Satoshi-kun," she said warmly.
"Ohayo gozaimasu, Suzune-san," he replied, returning her bow with practiced precision. Her smile was genuine, but he could see the slight concern in her eyes—the same look he'd been getting from the neighbors lately. The unspoken question about his mother's continued absence from community gatherings, from the seasonal cleaning days, from the simple rhythm of apartment life that bound them all together.
"Such a diligent student," she added, nodding approvingly at his pristine uniform and carefully organized bag. "Your okasan must be very proud."
The words were kind, but they carried weight. In the space between what was said and what was meant, Satoshi heard the gentle probe that characterized so much of Japanese conversation. She wasn't asking directly about his mother, but she was creating an opening for him to share if he chose to.
"Arigato gozaimasu," he replied, keeping his voice respectfully neutral. "Please take care on your shopping trip." It was a polite deflection, neither confirming nor denying, and she accepted it with a small nod. She understood the boundaries of their exchange.
He made his way down the stairs at a steady pace, not too fast, not too slow, but directed and intentional. He had done this plenty of times, and he knew how to do it again. There was no critique he could pass on himself that he would find justified. It was a sense of satisfaction he felt as he got to the bottom of the stairs intact.
He made his way through the lower level, his eyes examining his surroundings. He took a few moments to watch and admire the carefully maintained plants in the communal garden. They were green and glowing with nearly transcendent light, and they brought Satoshi joy. The garden was a point of pride for their building, residents took turns caring for it, a small act of collective responsibility that bound their community together. He wondered if he could have made bushes as beautiful as these, if he could have created something so glorious through patient, communal effort rather than through the raw power that set him apart. He then considered the dirt which was strewn about the concrete planters they were held within. That glory needed the mundane.
"Ohayo gozaimasu, Minato-san," Satoshi smiled and bowed respectfully. "I was admiring your work. The azaleas are particularly beautiful this year."
"Ah, you noticed!" Minato-san's face lit up with genuine pleasure as he looked up from his work. "I've been trying a new fertilizer. Though I must say, gardening is much more enjoyable when there are people to appreciate it." He paused, wiping his hands on a small towel. "I was thinking of organizing a small gathering in the courtyard this weekend. Nothing elaborate, just some of the residents sharing tea and enjoying the autumn colors before the leaves fall completely. The maples are particularly beautiful this year. It would be wonderful if you and your okasan could join us."
The invitation was gentle, but Satoshi could hear the deeper purpose. "That sounds lovely, Minato-san," Satoshi replied carefully. "I'll certainly attend. As for my mother..." He paused, choosing his words with precision. "She's been very busy with her work lately. You know how it is with international business—the timing is often difficult."
It wasn't entirely a lie, but it wasn't entirely truth either. Minato-san nodded understandingly, though Satoshi caught the slight furrow in his brow.
"Good, good," Minato-san smiled warmly. "Well then, I look forward to seeing you this weekend. And perhaps your okasan will find time to join us another time."
Satoshi bowed and walked away from the interaction, turning it over in his mind as he made his way through the quiet morning streets. The conversation had been perfectly polite, perfectly appropriate, and yet laden with so much unspoken meaning. This was the dance of social interaction—the careful balance of expressing concern without overstepping boundaries, of offering support without causing embarrassment, of maintaining harmony even when problems existed beneath the surface. He enjoyed it for what it was, but he felt that hollow nature to it as well. He ignored it and walked onward.
The familiar blue and white sign of the FamilyMart caught his attention as he approached the corner. He needed to pick up breakfast—something simple he could eat on the Keio Inokashira Line. The electronic chime welcomed him as he pushed through the glass doors. "Irasshaimase!" called the clerk from behind the counter, the automatic greeting echoing slightly in the small space. The store was busier than usual for this time of morning, with several customers lingering near the newspaper stand instead of making their purchases and leaving.
"Such a shame about the weather forecast," Saito-san was saying to the young clerk as she selected her usual morning milk bread. Satoshi recognized her from the neighborhood—a kind woman who often shared stories about her tabby cat, Maru. "Rain all week, they're saying."
"At least it's good for the flowers," the clerk replied, but his voice carried a distracted quality. His name tag read "Matsuda," and he kept glancing toward the newspaper headlines between customers.
"My Maru refuses to go out when it's raining," Saito-san continued with a small laugh. "He sits by the window looking personally offended by the whole situation. As if the weather exists specifically to inconvenience him."
A middle-aged salaryman folding his morning paper chuckled softly. "Cats have the right idea sometimes. Stay home, let someone else deal with the world's problems."
"Oh, but we can't all be cats, can we?" Saito-san replied warmly. Satoshi selected a salmon onigiri and a bottle of green tea, but found himself listening despite his usual preference for quick, anonymous transactions.
"That's the thing about community," Matsuda said as he rang up Saito-san's items. "Animals understand it instinctively. They know who belongs to their group, who needs help."
"Yes," the salaryman agreed, but his tone had grown more serious. "Makes you wonder how someone can live in a city of millions and still feel so... disconnected."
The unspoken reference hung in the air. Satoshi looked up at them, but kept his intention low. He wasn't trying to disrupt or disturb, simply to pass through. Saito-san's expression grew troubled. There was a deep sadness in their movements, an understanding of problems too large for them to solve.
Matsuda nodded as he bagged her purchases. "My grandmother always said that when people stop feeling like they matter to anyone, that's when dangerous thoughts can grow. It's not just about being alone—it's about feeling invisible."
Satoshi approached the counter, his movements careful and controlled. This conversation wasn't about him, and it didn't concern him. He had no reason to be worried. They spoke of loneliness like it was something you could name, control, regulate. He looked at them with an angry bitterness, but let it quickly fade as soon as he entered the social aura of the group.
"Good morning," Matsuda said as Satoshi placed his items down. "Same breakfast as always, I see."
It was a small attempt at normal interaction, the kind of gentle familiarity that develops between regular customers and staff. Satoshi appreciated the effort, even as it reminded him of how few such connections he allowed himself.
"Consistency has its merits," Satoshi replied politely, placing exact change on the counter.
"You're a student at that school in Shibuya, right?" Saito-san asked, having overheard. "Such a clean uniform—your mother must take good care of you."
The assumption was natural, part of the social framework that expected young people to be embedded in family structures. Satoshi felt the familiar weight of maintaining his carefully constructed independence.
"I take care of it myself, actually," he said. "But thank you."
"Ah, a responsible young man," she smiled approvingly. "That's wonderful to see. Though I hope you have people looking out for you too. Everyone needs that, especially at your age."
He nodded, and agreed, but casually tried his best to get out of there quickly. He had to get back on his route, and make sure he made it to the station in time. He was sure that He would be late if he wasn't. Still, the thoughts came to him in steady succession, and as soon as the internal situation resolved itself, he took a breath and looked around, sensing the growing crowd and the pulsing of life all around him.
He paused beneath the elegant white facade of a nearby office building, its clean lines and perfect symmetry offering a moment of visual peace. The building was glorious, beautiful in the ways that mattered—individual elements working together to create something beautiful and functional. Which was why he turned to enjoy the sounds of the awakening city surrounding him: the rumble of trains in the distance, the gentle murmur of morning greetings between neighbors, the soft whisper of bicycle wheels on asphalt. These were the sounds of community, of people connected to each other through countless small interactions and shared responsibilities. It was beautiful, and it was exactly why he had come back here.
"Satoshi!"
The voice cut through his contemplation like a familiar melody. He turned to see Kenji jogging toward him, school bag bouncing against his hip, that characteristic slightly disheveled appearance that somehow made his uniform look more approachable than regulation. Even at this early hour, Kenji's energy was infectious, his smile genuine in a way that seemed to light up the morning around him.
"You're early today," Satoshi observed as Kenji fell into step beside him, slightly out of breath.
"My mom's been on this whole campaign about 'responsibility' and 'setting a good example,'" Kenji said, making air quotes with his fingers. "Plus, I knew you'd be taking this route. You're nothing if not predictable—which I mean in the best possible way."
"Predictable?" Satoshi raised an eyebrow. "Says the guy who once showed up to our math exam wearing his gym uniform because he forgot it was test day."
"Hey, that was one time! And I still passed," Kenji grinned. "Besides, at least I'm not the one who brings backup pens to backup pens."
"Preparation prevents problems," Satoshi replied with mock seriousness, then couldn't help but smile.
They walked in comfortable rhythm, the morning energy of Tokyo beginning to pick up around them. Street vendors were setting up their stalls, the smell of grilling fish and brewing tea mixing with the exhaust fumes. Satoshi felt some of the morning's tension ease in his friend's presence—Kenji had always had that effect, drawing him into the warmth of easy companionship even when his mind wanted to drift into darker territories.
They paused at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. Around them, the morning crowd was thickening—salarymen in identical dark suits moving with purposeful efficiency, students in various school uniforms chattering quietly in small groups, elderly people heading to market with their small wheeled bags. It was a visual representation of Japanese society: individuals functioning as part of larger patterns, personal needs balanced with collective movement.
"Look at that," Kenji said, gesturing toward a group of elementary students crossing with their yellow safety caps, all walking in perfect formation.
"It's been so long since those days," Satoshi murmured, watching the children with a mixture of fondness and something deeper, more complex.
The light changed and they crossed, their conversation flowing around the morning sounds of the city. A train whistle echoed in the distance from the Keio Inokashira Line, reminding them both of their destination and the rhythm of daily life that connected them to thousands of other students making similar journeys.
"Your parents still overseas? Still trying to convince you to join them?"
Satoshi's steps remained steady, but something in his posture shifted almost imperceptibly. "They understand why I chose to stay. I'm old enough to make my own decisions."
"Yeah, but you're alone," Kenji said, concern creeping into his voice. "Your family's hours away, your parents are an ocean away. Don't you ever get lonely?"
"I have friends," Satoshi said simply, glancing at Kenji. "I have the students I tutor. That's enough."
"Is it?" Kenji pressed gently. "Sometimes I worry about you, Satoshi-kun."
Satoshi looked at him with eyes that seemed to carry more weight than any high school student should bear, but his voice remained calm. "I manage."
They moved in silence up to the station, along with the rest of the natural flow out from the homes and shops all through the district. Again, it was a rare sunny day, this early in june, the beautiful pearl blue and the wispy white clouds were wonderful for Satoshi to watch and enjoy just for a few moments while he waited for Kenji to catch up and for them to find their usual bench and wait beside it until the train arrived.
Kenji was about to say something before something caught his attention. A commotion where a tourist was arguing with a station attendant. He was a father, a stranger in a strange place who was worried about the speed and rapidity and enjoyment of the trip he was supposed to be on. He was frustrated by the language barrier and the complexity of the ticket system and both Kenji and Satoshi felt a twinge of empathy for the man's desperate struggle.
"Someone should help him," Kenji said immediately, already starting to move forward. "I mean, we all speak enough English? It's not fair to just let him struggle."
Satoshi caught his arm gently. "The station staff will handle it. There's a protocol."
"But we could help right now," Kenji insisted, his natural empathy pulling him toward the struggling tourist. "It would take two seconds."
"And then what? Do you help every confused tourist?" Satoshi's voice was quiet but firm. "Sometimes the system works better when everyone stays in their role and does what they need to do"
Kenji studied his friend's face, seeing something there that he couldn't quite name. Kenji relented his compassion and returned to stand next to his friend, watching the scene unfold. Satoshi relaxed, watching, waiting, for the natural systems of the world to take care of things before they had to get involved.
As if to prove his point, a station attendant had stepped forward to help the tourist, and within moments the situation was resolved peacefully. They continued waiting, but Kenji's expression remained thoughtful.
"Ah well, I guess you were right" Kenji sighed. "Still, we should have done something" Kenji sneered slightly. "I hate being powerless, like the earthquake a few months back...I mean...there's nothing anyone could do, but it makes you wish..." His thoughts trailed off. "I don't know. We should have done something, that's all I'm saying"
"Like what?"
I don't know exactly. Just... if I could…I'd want to help everyone. I'd want to fix all the things that hurt people I'd want to save people from disasters." He turned to Satoshi with eyes bright with conviction. "I mean, just a thought" He sighed. "Wouldn't you? If you could really help people in meaningful ways, wouldn't you want to try?"
The question disturbed Satoshi. A bitter thought carved through his chest before he could stop it. He wanted to believe in Kenji's vision, how desperately he wanted to believe that simple goodness could heal the world's wounds. But he'd seen too much, carried too much darkness to accept such beautiful naivety.
"Yeah," Satoshi said, his voice rougher than intended, edged with something that might have been anger or might have been grief. "Of course I would."
He could feel a weight pressing against his ribs. He almost sneered at the idea, wishing that Kenji hadn't asked it, but he knew that this was Kenji's role, and the reason why they were friends. Kenji still had that hope in him, that relentless hope that people needed from time to time.
Despite that, he looked to the city. Around them, the daily miracle of Tokyo's morning rush continued, albeit with a lifeless, puppeted quality. Millions of individuals choosing to follow shared patterns, to subordinate their immediate desires to collective needs, to trust that the system would work if everyone played their part. It was beautiful and fragile, like the silence of an audience watching a play. It was utterly dependent on people choosing connection over isolation, cooperation over individual dominance.
Kenji belonged to this flow naturally, his spirit reaching out to connect with every person around him, his optimism unshakeable even in the face of tragedy. But Satoshi stood slightly apart, watching it all with eyes that saw too much, carried too much, understood too deeply the weight of choices that others would never have to make.
He was one with all and part of none of it. He had chosen his isolation, chosen his burdens, chosen to lie even to the people he cared about most. He looked at Kenji once more, yearned deeply for the simple faith his friend carried, and then followed him toward the platform where the train would take them into the scheduled routine of their daily lives.