Chapter 5 - The Kid Who Remembered Tomorrow
Lanterns in a Distant Memory
Morning light poured through the pharmacy's windowpanes, turning dust motes into floating stars. The scent of green tea, ground herbs, and faint antiseptic lingered in the air. Tokyo, in that fragile hour before the world roared awake, was a softer place.
Akio Hukitaske leaned against the counter, watching steam rise from his cup. His reflection in the tea surface looked calmer than it once had — the furrows on his brow softened, the ghost behind his eyes quieter. For a moment, he could almost convince himself that peace was a natural state and not something earned through fire and ruin.
A flyer pinned to the community board caught the corner of his vision. Its colors were too bright for the modest wood of the shop — reds and golds bleeding into one another, printed characters large and proud:
"Come See the Light: The Nihonmatsu Lantern Festival Returns This Weekend."
He froze. That name, Nihonmatsu, was a bell rung from another lifetime.
As a kid, he'd kept a dog-eared magazine with photos of the festival. Lanterns like constellations pulled through the streets, towering wooden floats burning in the night. His mother once promised they'd go together. But life happened — her illness, his schooling, then the collapse of the family after the early pharmaceutical trials that would one day tie him to the regression serum.
The promise faded.
And yet, seeing it again — here, now, after everything — felt like something beyond coincidence. Maybe the universe was returning a lost memory to him, not as punishment, but as an invitation.
He lifted the flyer, stared at it for a long time, and whispered to himself, "After all these years… maybe I can still go."
A Gentle Stirring
Lunch at the pharmacy was always chaotic. Hikata was arguing with Rumane about whether the drying herbs should be hung near the window or in the storage room. The kettle was whistling in protest. Mochi, the cat, was attempting to claim a chair as her throne.
Akio entered with the flyer in hand.
"You two ever been to the Nihonmatsu Lantern Festival?" he asked casually.
Rumane's head tilted. "Once, as a kid. My dad used to say it was where wishes went to rest. Why?"
"I've never been," Akio said. His tone was softer than usual — almost shy. "Always wanted to. I think I want to go this time."
Hikata blinked. "You? Taking a day off? That's… terrifying."
"Terrifying?"
"Yeah. What if the world ends because you actually relaxed?"
Rumane grinned, leaning on the counter. "Then we'll end it surrounded by lanterns. Better than invoices."
Akio laughed — a real laugh. "Alright then. We'll close the shop for one night."
"Lanterns over cough syrup," Rumane declared.
And just like that, it was decided. The laughter lingered long after the kettle quieted.
Preparations and Ghosts
The week stretched in warm anticipation. Flyers for the festival appeared on every street corner. Vendors began stockpiling skewers, candied fruit, and paper masks. Children practiced their chants for the procession.
But inside Akio's heart, anticipation came with something else — a slow unease. Each night, when the shop closed and the others went home, he found himself drifting toward the storage room.
There, in a drawer beneath a stack of medical journals, he kept a box labeled Before. Inside were fragments of his forgotten life: a cracked watch, a bloodstained armband from the early experiments, and a small, faded photograph.
The photo showed a kid with black hair, grinning beside his parents. He held a paper lantern painted with messy cherry blossoms. On the back, written in his mother's looping script:
"Next year, we'll see the real thing."
Akio traced the handwriting with his thumb.
"Guess I'm a few decades late," he murmured.
For a long moment, the silence of the shop pressed against him — not heavy, just familiar.
Then he folded the photo carefully and slipped it into his coat pocket.
The Town Awakens
Festival day arrived beneath a copper sunset. The streets of Nihonmatsu glowed like the inside of a dream. Rows of paper lanterns hung from wires overhead, swaying gently in the summer breeze. Vendors called out, offering grilled yakitori, red bean cakes, and bottled ramune.
Children wore cotton yukata, their laughter rising above the drumbeats that echoed from the main square. The air smelled of incense and roasted barbecue.
Akio, Rumane, and Hikata arrived just as the first float emerged from the shrine gates.
"Yoisa! Yoisa!" the pullers shouted as the ropes tightened.
The float was enormous — a carved wooden dragon coiled around a tree of golden orbs. Each lantern flickered with a painted story: ancestors, harvests, storms, rebirth.
Rumane's eyes widened. "This is unreal."
Akio barely heard her. The light reflected in his eyes like memory itself.
A child tugged on his sleeve. "You're the pharmacist who helped during the quake, right? My grandma says your medicine saved her."
Akio blinked, startled. "Ah… yeah. I guess I did."
"Thank you!" the child said brightly before running off into the crowd.
Hikata chuckled. "You're famous, you know. Small-town hero."
"Don't start."
"Too late," Rumane teased. "Next thing you know, they'll build you your own float."
Akio smiled, shaking his head. "Please don't give them ideas."
But inside, he felt something he hadn't in years — not guilt, not duty, but belonging.
The First Float and the Little Painter
As the procession grew, the crowd swelled around the main street. Firelight rippled across faces, creating a river of gold. Akio stood near the edge, his eyes tracing the intricate patterns of each lantern.
Then — a bump. A tiny child stumbled into him, holding a small lantern painted with pink petals.
"Sorry, mister!" she said, bowing quickly.
He knelt down. "That's a beautiful lantern. Did you paint it yourself?"
"Mm-hmm! For my sister. She's sick, but Mama says if I send this one, she'll see it from home."
Akio's throat tightened. "She will," he said gently. "Lanterns travel farther than we think."
The kids grin could've lit the night by itself for Akio. "Thanks!"
She disappeared into the crowd, her little lantern bobbing like a star finding its place.
Rumane approached quietly behind him. "You okay?"
"Yeah." His voice was low. "Just… reminded me of someone."
The Parade Grows
The chants deepened as more floats entered. Some told legends of dragons and phoenixes, others of lost fishermen guided home by ancestral spirits. Fox-masked dancers weaved through the streets, their bells jingling in time with the taiko drums.
Akio and his friends joined in the chant:
"Yoisa! Yoisa!"
Their voices merged with hundreds of others — a tide of sound, old as the land itself.
For a brief, dizzying moment, Akio felt time unravel. The faces in the crowd blurred — he saw his younger self among them, standing beside his parents, lantern in hand. The years between them collapsed like folding paper.
He blinked, and the illusion vanished. Only light remained.
Rumane nudged him. "You're glowing, you know."
"Must be the lanterns," he said, smiling faintly.
"Sure. Or maybe you just remembered how to live."
The River of Names
As night deepened, the crowd moved toward the riverbank. Tables were set up with brushes, ink, and paper lanterns for people to write their messages.
Akio hesitated at first. Then he took one. The paper was thin, delicate — almost transparent when held to the lantern flame.
He wrote slowly:
To the ones I lost, and to the self I left behind. I remember you.
When he released the lantern into the water, it drifted gently downstream, joining hundreds of others. The river became a galaxy.
Beside him, Hikata whispered, "You think the dead can see these?"
"I think the living need to believe they can," Akio replied.
And that was enough.
The Tomorrow Star
The final float appeared — The Tomorrow Star. It was massive, shimmering with a thousand small lanterns shaped like stars. Each one bore a wish written by the townspeople.
Once every ten years, they built it anew, carrying the dreams of the community through the streets before releasing the lanterns into the sky.
The head priest raised his hands. "For the tomorrows we hope for, and the yesterdays we cherish!"
Akio felt something stir deep inside — that strange echo of purpose. Without thinking, he stepped forward and grasped one of the ropes. Hikata and Rumane followed suit.
They pulled together. Step by step. The crowd cheered as the float began to move.
A child's voice rang out: "Thank you, Hukitaske!"
Akio blinked, startled — but this time, he didn't deflect it. He simply smiled.
When the float reached the center of the square, the lanterns were released.
Thousands of lights ascended at once — drifting, swirling, becoming constellations against the dark.
Akio watched them rise, a strange peace settling into his bones.
The Light Within
Later that night, the three of them returned to the pharmacy. The streets were quiet again, scattered with petals and the faint echo of drums.
Akio placed a single paper lantern on the counter and lit it. The glow spread softly across the room.
Rumane leaned against the doorframe. "Who's that one for?"
He smiled. "This one's mine."
She tilted her head. "For what?"
"For remembering what it means to be alive."
They stood there, watching the flame flicker.
The world outside was vast and uncertain, but in that small shop — surrounded by medicine, memories, and the hum of distant light — Akio felt complete.
He had spent so long trying to rewrite his life, to erase mistakes, to perfect the unfixable. But the truth was simpler: he didn't need to start over. He just needed to remember who he was.
And so, as the lantern's light painted soft gold on the wooden walls, Akio Hukitaske finally stopped running from his past.
He wasn't chasing relife anymore.
He had arrived.
[Next: Volume 4, Chapter 6 — The Mirror That Wept]