Lunch was brief and silent. Cold, like the house that held them. Neither Masahiro nor Lisa felt hungry; they chewed absentmindedly on the little they had prepared, then stood up almost in unison, without a word, and quickly cleaned up. There was no desire to linger. Not in there.
Masahiro seemed more tense than usual. His gaze was fixed, his brow furrowed in a way that hardened his face. He walked briskly, driven by something even he couldn't quite explain. Lisa followed close behind, visibly uneasy. Her face didn't just show concern for him, but a growing unease. There was something about that house, about the air itself, that made her feel out of place. Like an intruder.
Inside her, a thought was slowly taking shape: maybe they should leave. Leave the house, book a room in town, sleep somewhere normal, somewhere far from all this. It was a simple idea, almost obvious... but it was starting to sound like a necessity.
They stepped outside. In silence, they walked the two hundred meters or so to the neighbors' house—Mr. and Mrs. Yoko. Masahiro moved quickly, as if each step might bring him an answer, or at least something to hold on to. Lisa trailed just behind him, watching everything with growing unease.
When they reached the front door, everything was still. Unnaturally still, especially for just after noon.
Masahiro knocked. Hard.
Nothing.
"Masu… I don't think anyone's home," Lisa murmured.
He didn't answer. He was too caught up, too consumed. Emotion was pounding in his head, clouding his thoughts.
"This can't be. They were just here a few days ago for my dad. And now they've vanished? No way. I don't believe it."
The Yokos had always been there. For as long as he could remember. An elderly couple, childless, kind. They had looked after him many times when his parents were away. Fed him, kept him company, helped him with schoolwork. They cared about him. Or at least, he had always thought so.
He knocked again, harder. "Mr. Yoko! It's me, Masahiro! Masahiro Kuni! Takeshi Kuni's son!"
Still nothing.
He knocked again, now with anger.
Lisa gently placed a hand on his back. She was scared, but she didn't want to leave him alone in that moment.
Masahiro slowly lowered his arm, then his gaze. He clenched his teeth hard, shaken by a mixture of frustration and disbelief.
"Shit…"
Then, a creak.
The door moved, just a few centimeters.
Masahiro's head snapped up. He turned to Lisa, needing confirmation that he hadn't imagined it.
"You saw that too, right?"
"Yes… they must've left it ajar. But it doesn't look like anyone's home, Masu. Maybe we should just let this go. Why don't we find a ho—"
She didn't finish her sentence. Masahiro was already inside.
Lisa hesitated at the threshold.
Inside, the house was empty. Completely.
No furniture, no chairs, no pictures. Nothing. Not a single sign of life. And yet, it didn't feel abandoned—no dust, no decay. It was clean, orderly, like someone had removed everything on purpose. Carefully. As if to erase all traces of ever having lived there.
Masahiro moved like an automaton. He opened doors, looked into bare rooms. With every step, the sense of unreality grew.
"They're gone," he muttered at last. "They disappeared... and didn't even tell me. Nothing."
He walked back outside, slowly, empty. He stopped next to Lisa, eyes lost.
"They left, Lisa. They left without even saying goodbye. As if I never existed."
The anger had faded. In its place, a quiet sense of betrayal.
Lisa gently cupped his cheek. In that moment, she was all he had left to keep from sinking. A warm presence in a murky sea. Lisa was hope.
"They hadn't seen you in years, Masu. Maybe they didn't think it was necessary. I don't think they meant any harm. You're shaken, and tired. Everything's hit you at once. Why don't we head downtown, find a room, and get some rest? Let today go. Tomorrow, we'll deal with everything else."
Her voice was always the same—soft, steady, like an anchor. And once again, she helped him breathe just a little easier.
Masahiro gave her a faint smile. "You're right, as always. Let's get out of here."