"Rennnnn! You spacing out again?"
Celia's voice burst through his thoughts like a spark in the dark, pulling him back.
They were at Yomiuriland, a sprawling amusement park nestled on the edge of western Tokyo, not too far from Okutama by train. The skies were clear, the kind of summer blue that seemed to stretch forever, and the air smelled of sweet popcorn, frying batter, and too much sunscreen. Children darted between booths, couples took selfies under pastel banners, and roller coasters roared in the background like mechanical dragons.
Ren blinked, adjusting to the brightness. A moment ago it had been storming. Now the sun reflected off polished walkways and the ferris wheel turned lazily above.
Celia skipped up beside him, sunglasses propped on her head, her usual chaotic energy bottled into something almost manageable—almost.
"She's loving it," she said, nodding toward the spinning teacup ride. "Look at her go."
Yui sat in one of the oversized ceramic cups, spinning it as hard as her tiny arms could manage, laughing with reckless abandon. Her short hair flew everywhere. Her hands barely reached the wheel, but she wasn't letting that stop her.
Ren watched, quietly. She looked so small. A seven-year-old who'd watched her mother become something unspeakable, then watched her die. And now she was laughing, spinning in circles beneath a blue sky.
"She deserves this," he said under his breath.
Celia heard him anyway. "We all do," she replied, not looking at him. "Even you, moody boy."
He smirked faintly.
They strolled over to the fence, leaning against the railing as Yui's ride began to slow. She waved as soon as she spotted them, toothy and wide-eyed.
"She'll probably want to do that five more times," Celia said. "Just warning you."
"I'll survive," Ren replied.
A breeze picked up, tugging lightly at Celia's curls. She tilted her head back, eyes on the sky.
"It's beautiful," she murmured. "All that blue. We didn't have skies like this on my planet. Always murky, like the sky was holding its breath."
"Really?" Ren asked, glancing at her.
She nodded, still looking upward. "One of the things I want to do here—just once, maybe more—is lie under a sky full of stars. A clear one. No clouds. Just me, the stars, and the quiet."
Then, without missing a beat, she added, "So hey—when's your big Momotaro debut again? I wanna see Peach Boy brooding dramatically on stage. I'm bringing popcorn. And maybe a sign."
Ren groaned. "Don't."
"Too late. I'm designing it tonight." Celia's grin widened, the mischievous glint in her eyes practically blinding. "It'll say 'Essence King of Drama'. Maybe with glitter. No—definitely with glitter."
He sighed, rolling his eyes, but the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. He didn't have the energy—or willpower—to pretend her chaos didn't help.
A sudden squeal snapped his attention forward.
"Big bro! Big bro Ren!" Yui barreled toward them, arms flapping like she thought she could take off. Her hair was a mess from the ride, her cheeks red with excitement. "There's a pirate ship! A real one! It swings sooo high! Let's go let's go let's goooooo!"
Celia caught her with ease, grabbing her hand before she could tumble headfirst into a popcorn stand. "Aye aye, Captain Chaos. Permission granted."
Ren followed behind them, one hand in his pocket, the other shielding his eyes from the sun. The laughter, the scent of cotton candy and heat, the shrieks of fun—it all washed over him like warm seawater. Cleansing in its own loud, messy way.
That was several days ago.
Now, the auditorium was thick with heat and secondhand boredom.
Parents shifted in their seats, fanning themselves with flimsy programs that had already started curling at the edges. The auditorium buzzed with the low hum of disinterest.
"Another one of these school plays," a middle-aged man in a wrinkled polo whispered to the woman beside him. "I could be golfing right now."
"You think this one will have less crying than the bamboo flute solo?" a teen muttered, scrolling through his phone under the dim lights.
"Doubt it," his friend replied, yawning so wide it cracked his jaw.
Someone near the front coughed theatrically as the curtain creaked open for the main event: Momotaro.
Backstage, Ren adjusted the oversized hakama pants, trying to keep them from slipping any lower on his hips. His prop sword was too light and too long, and the headband someone made him wear kept sliding down his forehead like it had its own mission to embarrass him. He caught it just before it covered his eyes.
"The fog machine's busted," someone hissed from the wings. "Again."
Great.
Then came his cue. The curtain opened.
Ren stepped onto the stage—and immediately tripped on the edge of the mat. His body pitched forward, barely catching himself from face-planting. His sword clattered across the stage like a bowling pin, stopping only after it hit a stagehand with a loud thunk.
A unified gasp rippled through the auditorium. Ren froze, wide-eyed, already flushing red.
This was it. Public humiliation. But something in him, maybe the same thing that made him keep going when monsters were screaming in his face, made him commit.
"I—I am Momotaro!" he cried. His voice cracked like a preteen rooster. "I have come… to… fight the demons! And steal their… um… rice!"
A beat of pure, stunned silence. Then a laugh. Then two. Then a chorus.
From the second row, Celia let out an unfiltered howl of laughter, doubling over. Yui, seated beside her with legs swinging, clapped and yelled, "Big bro's so funny!"
Ren had no choice now. He kept going.
His delivery was all over the place—some lines he whispered like a noir detective, others he shouted like a lost game show host. At one point, he slipped into a pirate voice entirely by accident.
"I will take yer treasure, foul demons! And avenge… my grandma!"
The audience lost it.
Then came the "fierce warrior pose," where Ren planted his foot too hard, wobbled, and knocked over a paper-mâché sakura tree. His classmate playing the loyal dog panicked, tripped, and let out a panicked bark that was definitely not in the script. Ren tried to help them up and somehow managed to get tangled in the makeshift demon flag they were supposed to be fighting.
By the time the play lurched to its chaotic end, the auditorium was electric. Parents were crying with laughter. The same bored dad from earlier was now wiping his eyes, saying, "God, I haven't laughed that hard since the curry festival incident."
The teens who had been yawning before now filmed the final bow with their phones, posting clips online between fits of giggles. "Bro just gave us accidental comedy gold," one said.
Ren stood at center stage, panting, cheeks flushed, the lights baking him from above. He should've felt humiliated. But he didn't.
In the second row, Celia stood up and whooped. "That's my dramatic disaster boy!" she called, cupping her hands around her mouth. "Give that man a golden peach!"
Yui jumped up beside her, waving both arms. "Big bro was the best Momotaro ever!"
Ren gave an awkward bow, hand still gripping the slipping headband.
Backstage turned into a blur after that. Students patted him on the back. The dog-costumed classmate high-fived him with a grin.
Outside the auditorium, the warm buzz of laughter still clung to the air. Families lingered in the hallway, some fanning themselves, others animatedly chatting. Ren stepped out among them, adjusting the wrinkled costume still clinging to his shoulders.
And then—
"Hey, that was actually hilarious. Like, in a good way."
"You killed it, dude. That trip at the start? Iconic."
"Bro, that pirate line? I'm gonna quote that forever."
Even one of the teachers—stern, old, and usually allergic to any expression of joy—gave a rare chuckle as he passed. "Most fun we've had in years. You've got… unique stage presence, Kurose."
Before Ren could react, the crowd began to tighten around him—classmates he barely knew clapping him on the back, underclassmen asking if he'd be in next year's play, a few girls giggling and congratulating him through smiles. It was overwhelming. It was surreal.
It was… kind of amazing.
Celia and Yui stood to the side, watching with matching grins. Celia, arms folded, her weight leaned into one hip like she was guarding a secret, gave him a small, proud nod. Yui, with a juice box in one hand and a half-eaten snack in the other, beamed and tugged at Celia's sleeve.
"That's big bro," she said, awed. "He's famous now!"
Celia laughed. "Yeah, guess he is."
But they didn't push their way in. They let him have it. The applause. The praise. The moment.
Later that night, after the crowd had gone and the laughter had faded into memory, Ren walked beside Celia through the winding paths behind the town. Past the old train yard. Past the cedar trees swaying gently in the wind.
"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice hushed under the sky's growing darkness.
"You'll see."
They climbed a small ridge just past a barely used hiking trail, their shoes crunching softly against the dirt. At the top, Ren pushed aside a low branch and stepped into a clearing. The grass was wild, the trees surrounding it just enough to muffle the outside world. But above—above was open sky. Stars spilled out in every direction. Unfiltered, endless.
Celia let out a breath. "Whoa."
Ren dropped onto the grass and stretched out. "I come here sometimes. To… I don't know. Breathe."
Celia looked down at him, then laid beside him in the grass, close enough for their arms to touch.
"You always keep the good stuff to yourself," she teased.
"Not always," he said, voice softer now.
Outside the auditorium, the warm buzz of laughter still clung to the air. Families lingered in the hallway, some fanning themselves, others animatedly chatting. Ren stepped out among them, adjusting the wrinkled costume still clinging to his shoulders.
And then—
"Hey, that was actually hilarious. Like, in a good way."
"You killed it, dude. That trip at the start? Iconic."
"Bro, that pirate line? I'm gonna quote that forever."
Even one of the teachers—stern, old, and usually allergic to any expression of joy—gave a rare chuckle as he passed. "Most fun we've had in years. You've got… unique stage presence, Kurose."
Before Ren could react, the crowd began to tighten around him—classmates he barely knew clapping him on the back, underclassmen asking if he'd be in next year's play, a few girls giggling and congratulating him through smiles. It was overwhelming. It was surreal.
It was… kind of amazing.
Celia and Yui stood to the side, watching with matching grins. Celia, arms folded, her weight leaned into one hip like she was guarding a secret, gave him a small, proud nod. Yui, with a juice box in one hand and a half-eaten snack in the other, beamed and tugged at Celia's sleeve.
"That's big bro," she said, awed. "He's famous now!"
Celia laughed. "Yeah, guess he is."
But they didn't push their way in. They let him have it. The applause. The praise. The moment.