Four days.
Four days until the Academy transport arrived, and I still hadn't figured out what to do about Mina.
The Village Administrative Hall felt larger and more intimidating than usual as I sat across from Clerk Yamamoto and Elder Tanaka. Official documents covered the wooden table between us, each one outlining the "proper procedures" for Academy enrollment.
"I understand your concerns, Kaito," Elder Tanaka said gently, "but Academy policy is quite clear. Students must focus entirely on their training without external distractions."
"She's not a distraction. She's my sister."
"And she'll be well cared for," Clerk Yamamoto added, adjusting his spectacles as he consulted another document. "The Sato family has excellent credentials. Yuki would be delighted to have a younger sister figure, and Elder Sato could provide excellent educational guidance."
"You don't understand—"
"I understand perfectly." Elder Tanaka's voice carried the weight of someone who'd dealt with difficult situations before. "You're worried about leaving her behind. But Kaito, this is the opportunity of a lifetime. You can't let family obligations interfere with your future."
Family obligations. As if taking care of Mina was some burden I'd chosen instead of the most important thing in my life.
"There has to be another way," I said desperately. "Special arrangements, exceptions, something—"
"The Academy system doesn't work that way," Yamamoto said firmly. "Rules exist for good reasons. Students who try to maintain family responsibilities inevitably fall behind in their training."
"But—"
"The decision is final, Kaito." Elder Tanaka's tone suggested the conversation was over. "Mina will stay here where she's safe and loved. You'll go to the Academy and make something of yourself. That's what's best for both of you."
"What's best for both of them," said a new voice from the doorway, "is staying together."
We all turned to see Captain Izuma standing in the hall entrance, his Academy uniform marking him as someone whose opinion carried considerably more weight than village administrators.
"Captain Izuma," Elder Tanaka said, rising quickly. "We weren't expecting—"
"I was passing by and overheard the discussion." Izuma stepped into the room with casual authority. "There seems to be some confusion about Academy policy regarding dependent siblings."
"No confusion," Yamamoto said, though his voice had grown noticeably more respectful. "Standard policy requires alternative care arrangements for family members who cannot accompany students."
"Standard policy, yes." Izuma moved to the table and glanced at the documents with professional interest. "However, there are provisions for exceptional circumstances."
"Exceptional circumstances?"
"Advanced placement candidates with demonstrated special abilities and unique family situations." Izuma's tone was matter-of-fact, as if discussing routine paperwork. "Particularly when security considerations suggest that separation might create unnecessary risks."
Elder Tanaka frowned. "Security considerations?"
"Recent Akuma activity has shown increasing intelligence and target selection capabilities. Students with advanced abilities may face elevated threat levels." Izuma's eyes flicked briefly toward me. "Academy security protocols recommend keeping potential targets within protected environments when possible."
"You're saying Mina could be in danger?" I asked.
"I'm saying that Academy grounds offer considerably better protection than isolated village settings." Izuma pulled out an official scroll bearing multiple seals. "I'm authorized to approve modified enrollment arrangements for cases involving strategic security interests."
Yamamoto leaned forward to examine the scroll. "This is... legitimate?"
"Completely. As the investigating officer who recommended Mr. Hayashi's advanced placement, I have discretionary authority over his enrollment conditions." Izuma's smile was professionally pleasant. "I'm recommending supervised dependent accommodation."
"What does that mean exactly?" Elder Tanaka asked.
"Miss Hayashi would live in secure housing near Academy grounds. Not as a student, but as a protected dependent of an enrolled candidate. She'd receive appropriate education and care while remaining under Academy security oversight."
"And this is... acceptable under Academy regulations?"
"Not only acceptable, but recommended given the circumstances." Izuma made notes on his scroll with practiced efficiency. "The arrangement serves multiple strategic purposes."
I felt hope building in my chest for the first time in days. "So she can come with me?"
"If you both agree to the terms and conditions, yes."
Elder Tanaka and Yamamoto exchanged uncertain glances, clearly out of their depth when faced with Academy authority.
"Well," Elder Tanaka said finally, "if Captain Izuma believes this is the best arrangement..."
"I do," Izuma confirmed. "Transport will arrive in four days as scheduled. Both candidates should pack light—Academy housing is fully furnished."
After the officials finished their paperwork and Izuma departed, I walked home through village streets that felt different somehow. Lighter. The weight of an impossible choice had been lifted from my shoulders.
Mina was waiting on our front steps when I arrived, her face bright with curiosity.
"How did it go?" she asked.
"Pack your things," I said, grinning widely. "We're going to the Academy together."
Her delighted squeal echoed across the village square, drawing smiles from nearby shopkeepers and passing neighbors.
"Really? They said yes?"
"They said yes."
She threw her arms around me in a fierce hug, and for a moment everything felt perfect. We were staying together. We were both going to be safe. The future stretched ahead with possibilities instead of separation.
Then the rain started.
Light drops at first, pattering against the ground with gentle insistence. But within minutes it had grown to a steady downpour that sent us running for cover under our narrow roof overhang.
The sound of rain on wooden shingles triggered something deep in my memory. Suddenly I was seven years old again, standing in the doorway of our mother's room while storm water drummed against the windows.
She'd been so small.
The memory hit with startling clarity. Mina hadn't been seven like she was now, or even a toddler. She'd been barely three months old—tiny and fragile and completely helpless in my arms.
Our mother had been dying for days, growing weaker with each hour despite the village healer's best efforts. Complications from childbirth, they'd said. Sometimes women's bodies just couldn't recover.
I'd tried to understand, but at seven, death was still an abstract concept. Something that happened to other people, in other families. Not something that could reach into our small house and take away the most important person in my world.
The rain had been falling that night too, heavy drops that turned the dirt roads to mud and made everything feel cold and final. I'd been holding Mina awkwardly, the way the healer had shown me, trying to keep her from crying while our mother fought for breath.
"Kaito." Her voice had been barely a whisper, forcing me to lean close to hear. "Come here, sweetheart."
I'd approached the bed carefully, baby Mina still cradled in my arms. My mother's hand had felt paper-thin when she reached up to touch my face.
"I need you to promise me something very important."
"Mama, you're going to get better—"
"Promise me, Kaito. No matter what happens, no matter how hard it gets, you take care of your sister. You keep her safe. You don't let anyone separate you." Her eyes had been so serious, burning with an intensity that scared me. "Promise me you'll stay together."
I hadn't understood the full weight of what she was asking. Hadn't comprehended that she was placing the responsibility for another human life into the hands of a seven-year-old who still needed help reaching the high shelves.
But I'd promised anyway, because she was my mother and she'd asked me to.
"I promise, Mama. I'll take care of her."
She'd died three hours later, while rain continued to fall and I sat in the corner holding a baby who would never remember the woman who'd given everything to bring her into the world.
The memory faded, leaving me standing under our roof overhang with tears mixing with rainwater on my face. Mina was looking up at me with concern, her earlier excitement replaced by worry.
"Kaito? Are you okay?"
I looked down at my sister—seven years old now, bright and curious and brave in ways that constantly amazed me. No longer the helpless baby I'd held that terrible night, but still the person I'd promised to protect.
"Yeah," I said, pulling her close as thunder rumbled overhead. "I'm okay."
"You're crying."
"Happy tears," I told her, and it was mostly true. "I just... I'm glad we're staying together."
"Me too." She hugged me tighter. "I was scared you were going to leave me behind."
"Never," I said, the word carrying the weight of a vow made in rain and grief and desperate love. "I'll never leave you behind."
Four days. In four days, we'd leave the only home we'd ever known for a future we couldn't imagine.
But we'd face it together, just like we had everything else.
Just like I'd promised we would, on a night when rain fell and everything changed, and a seven-year-old boy learned that some promises reshape your entire life the moment you speak them.