Chapter 7 - A Life That Almost Was
Morning had returned to Tokyo, but the city didn't feel awake.
The air was thick, gray, and heavy, as though the night's fire had scorched the sky itself. The smoke from the explosions still hung low over the rooftops, mingling with mist and exhaust. Sirens had come and gone through the early hours, but now there was only a strange, unsteady quiet—a city pretending nothing had happened.
Inside the pharmacy, the world seemed smaller. The rhythmic ticking of the old wall clock was the only sound that dared to move.
The shelves had been restocked, the counters wiped clean, but there was no disguising the truth: this place was no longer simply a shop. The pharmacy was a mask stretched over a wound. And every soul inside it could feel the pulse beneath.
Misaki sat near the back room door, cradling a cup of untouched tea. Yamataro leaned against the far wall, eyes hollow but alert. Raka was pacing—measured steps that left faint creaks on the floorboards. Hikata slouched on a crate, trying and failing to look casual, while Akazuchi cleaned a knife that had seen too much work the night before. Rumane typed quietly, monitoring transmissions that no longer came. Yasahute stood by the window, a sentinel watching the street below.
When Akio entered, they all looked up.
He wasn't wearing his white coat. He didn't need it anymore. Everyone could see who he was without it—the calm center, the one who always stood when the world fell apart. But something in his expression had changed. His eyes looked older, like the fire had burned through too much of him.
He stood for a moment without speaking. Then, quietly, "I need to tell you something."
No one interrupted. They knew this wasn't about strategy or missions. This was something heavier.
He walked to the center table—the one scarred by burn marks and coffee rings—and rested his palms against it. His fingers trembled slightly, but his voice didn't.
"I told you how I became what I am now," he began. "The experiments. The drug. The syringe that turned me young again. But there's a part of that story I never told you. Something I buried so deep I thought maybe it would stay gone."
He looked up, meeting each of their eyes in turn.
"It's time I told you about the life I had before all of this."
The Kid in Saitama
The rain began again, soft and steady, tapping against the window.
"When I was a kid," Akio said, "I used to spend every afternoon at my uncle's pharmacy in Saitama. It was small—barely room for four customers at once. The kind of place where people came more for comfort than prescriptions. There was always the smell of mint and plaster, and my uncle humming along to old enka songs on the radio."
He smiled faintly at the memory.
"I used to sit on the counter and watch him work. He had this way of talking to people—gentle, patient. Like every question mattered. I remember him once spending half an hour explaining how to take an antibiotic to an old person who could barely hear him. Most people would've given up. But not him. When the gramps left, smiling, my uncle just said, 'Healing begins when someone listens.'"
Akio took a slow breath. "I used to think he was a wizard. Turning pain into peace. Turning confusion into trust. I wanted to be like that. I wanted to make people feel safe."
Misaki smiled softly, a tear already forming. "That sounds like you."
"Not always," Akio said. "Back then, I was just a kid with a dream. I studied hard. Got into a decent university program. It wasn't the top school, but it was mine. For a while, I thought I was exactly where I was meant to be."
He laughed once—quiet, almost bitter. "Then life reminded me it doesn't wait for dreams."
Collapse
The room felt smaller now. Even the air seemed to lean closer.
"My parents… they fought a lot. My father left when I was sixteen. My mother tried to hold everything together. She worked two jobs, slept maybe three hours a night. I wanted to help, so I took night shifts. Convenience stores. Gas stations. Cleaning offices. I kept telling myself it was temporary—that I could handle it. But eventually, something had to give."
He looked down at his hands as though they still held those years.
"The first time I failed an exam, I laughed it off. The second time, I told myself I'd catch up. The third time… I realized I'd run out of excuses."
A long silence stretched through the room. Even the storm outside quieted.
"I remember coming home one night. My mother was at the kitchen table, staring at a stack of bills. She was crying, quietly. She didn't even see me come in. That sound—it broke something in me. I dropped out the next morning. Told myself I'd reapply next year. But next year never came."
He rubbed his face, his voice cracking slightly. "I got a job in an office. A temp position, answering phones, filing papers. I told myself it was just for a while. But 'a while' turned into five years. Every morning I took the same train, saw the same faces, smiled the same fake smile. And every night I told myself I'd start again tomorrow."
He swallowed. "Tomorrow never came either."
The Dream That Almost Vanished
Raka crossed her arms, her voice low. "You thought the dream was gone."
Akio nodded. "I stopped believing in it. Dreams were for people who could afford them. I just wanted to survive."
Then, softer, almost like he was afraid of his own words, he said, "Until I met her."
Misaki leaned forward slightly.
"She was a writer," Akio continued. "Wild hair, wild ideas, wild laughter. She came into the office one day to interview our manager for some dull article, and by the end of the day, she had everyone smiling. She used to say life was too short to live in grayscale. She made me believe that maybe… even the broken could still make something beautiful."
He smiled faintly. "We got married. Not a big wedding—just us, a few friends, and my mother crying happy tears. We lived in a small apartment that always smelled like coffee and printer ink. It wasn't much, but it was home."
He paused, looking at the floor. "And then our daughter was born. The best thing that ever happened to me. She had her mother's eyes—curious, sharp, always looking for stories in everything. I used to tell her bedtime stories about a magical pharmacy run by a sorcerer-pharmacist named Papa. She'd laugh so hard she'd hiccup and say she wanted to help me brew dragon cough syrup one day."
His voice faltered. "And then… she was gone."
The air broke.
"It was a bombing," he said. "Random. Wrong place, wrong time. I was supposed to pick her up that day, but I stayed late at work. A ten-minute delay that became a lifetime of regret."
He pressed a hand over his eyes, trembling. "My wife couldn't bear it. She left. Said my grief was too heavy. Maybe she was right. I lost my job. Stopped caring. Started drinking. I was a ghost haunting my own life."
No one moved. Even Rumane, usually the pillar of composure, had tears sliding down her cheeks.
Akio drew a shaky breath. "That's when they found me. The people from the lab. They said they could give me a new chance. That they could make me strong again. I didn't care what they meant. I just said yes."
He looked at them—his friends, his family of survivors. "And that's how I died the first time."
The Second Birth
The room was utterly still. The rain outside turned to wind, brushing against the glass like ghosts knocking to be let in.
"When I woke up… I was fourteen again. My body, my voice, everything. I thought it was some kind of nightmare. I ran for hours through streets I didn't recognize. I broke into a building and sat there till sunrise, trying to make sense of it. Then I saw myself in the mirror—a child with the eyes of a person who had lost everything."
He gave a bitter laugh. "I thought it was a curse. That fate was mocking me. But then… I remembered the kid who sat behind the counter in his uncle's pharmacy. The child who wanted to heal people. The one who believed that listening could save a life. And I realized—maybe this wasn't punishment. Maybe it was a second chance."
He looked up, his eyes bright now, fierce. "So I built this place. This pharmacy. Not just as a business, but as a promise—to the people I lost, and to the person I used to be."
He gestured around the room. "And then I met all of you. Misaki, who taught me that compassion can be a weapon. Yamataro, who reminded me that knowledge is strength. Hikata, who never lets darkness steal his laughter. Raka, who believes in truth even when it hurts. Rumane, who turns chaos into order. Akazuchi, who finds honor where no one else can see it. Yasahute, who fights like silence itself. You all gave me back something I thought I'd buried."
He took a deep breath, his voice trembling with emotion. "You didn't just help me reopen a pharmacy. You helped me finish the story I thought would never end."
The Family Reborn
For a moment, no one moved. The sound of rain filled the silence between heartbeats.
Then Rumane stood, walked across the room, and pulled Akio into a fierce hug. "You idiot," she muttered against his shoulder. "You brave, stubborn, kind idiot."
Raka followed. She didn't speak, just placed her hand on his arm—firm, grounding. Hikata shuffled forward, holding a can of soda like a peace offering. "I don't know how to comfort people, so… here. Fizzy sugar bomb?"
That earned a laugh—wet and shaky, but real.
Yamataro adjusted his glasses, eyes shining. "We knew you were carrying something. We just didn't know it was this heavy. But you're not carrying it alone anymore."
Misaki wiped her tears, reached out, and took Akio's hand. "You gave all of us a second chance, Akio. It's time we gave one back to you."
Akazuchi nodded, arms crossed but eyes soft. "You'll have to tell the others too. Everyone. No more hiding who you were. We'll stand beside you when you do."
Akio tried to speak, but the words dissolved into tears. For the first time in years, he let himself cry—truly cry. Not as a leader or survivor or soldier, but as a being who had finally stopped running.
The others surrounded him, not with pity, but with understanding. The kind that only people who had walked through hell could give.
Outside, the rain slowed to a whisper. The lights flickered once, twice, then steadied. Somewhere in the street, a stray cat meowed and darted into the shadows.
Inside, warmth lingered. Not from the heater or the tea—but from something human. Something enduring.
This was the life that almost was. A dream buried under ashes, reborn in fire, and finally—finally—allowed to breathe.
And for the first time since the raid, Akio smiled without sorrow.
[Next: Chapter 8 (Volume 3 Finale) — Echoes on the Wind!]