# Chapter 1 — The Woman Who Used to Be My Brother’s Fiancée

The year my brother died, I was a second–year in high school.

It was early April, the season when cherry blossoms paint the streets and their petals begin to fall.

The cause of death was illness—in concrete terms, pancreatic cancer, which is rarely found in someone so young.

My brother left us at twenty-four. They say it’s exceedingly uncommon in your twenties.

Pancreatic cancer is notorious for having almost no symptoms early on, making it hard to catch. He was no exception; by the time they found it, it was too late.

They discovered it last December. The doctor gave him four months.

Even throwing everything at treatment, they said, might at best buy him a year.

The way I’m phrasing this—“they said,” “I heard”—makes it sound like I knew nothing about his condition.

And that’s the truth: I didn’t know he was sick until shortly before he died.

He hid the cancer and kept working. Only after he finally told us did he go into the hospital—and a month and a half later, he was gone.

Why didn’t he choose treatment first? Why work to the very last moment?

He kept smiling to the end, brushing everything off with a light touch.

But the reason is obvious: we didn’t have parents.

When I was three, our parents left my brother and me with relatives; on their way home, they were killed in a car accident.

After that, our uncle took us in. When my brother graduated high school and found a job, he rented an apartment and the two of us moved in together. We haven’t been in touch with our uncle for nearly six years.

In other words, there was no one else to rely on—so my brother kept working for the sake of the one left behind: me.

If he didn’t have long, he wanted to earn as much as he could before he died, and leave it to me.

I believe how you spend the time you have left is your own choice.

Even so… even one more day—I wanted him to keep living.

Of course, because he was my only family. But more than that, for the sake of the woman who cherished him. Even if there was no cure, I wished he’d taken proper treatment and stayed with us a little longer.

Even now, standing at this final goodbye, that feeling hasn’t changed.

“Minoru…”

The mourners have gone.

In the quiet of the vigil room, a gentle voice calls to me.

“Did you say your goodbyes to Ken?”

I turn. A grown woman stands there in mourning black.

Her name is Shiho. She was my brother—Ken Nanase’s—fiancée.

No… to be precise, she used to be.

She was the only one who knew about his cancer, and the one who stayed with him through the end.

When he died and I couldn’t face reality, she handled all the paperwork and arranged the funeral in my place, thanks to which we were able to see him off like this.

And yet—

“It feels like a lie…”

The words spill out before I can stop them.

“He just looks like he’s sleeping—so peaceful. It’s like he could wake up any minute… but he’ll never open his eyes again. I’ll never hear his voice again…”

My head understands, but my heart refuses. None of it feels real.

His face didn’t look like someone who had battled a disease; it was too clean. I know that’s thanks to the mortician’s work, but I still half-expect him to open his eyes, flash that guileless smile of his, and talk to me like always.

His face was so beautiful—so terribly cold.

“I really can’t believe it…”

Maybe it’s because I’m denying the fact.

It’s been three days since he passed, and I haven’t shed a single tear.

They say when your body suffers a heavy injury, the flood of adrenaline numbs the pain. If grief grows too great to bear, does the heart go numb too?

It’s like my heart has flatlined—no feeling at all. I even have the illusion that the dead one isn’t him, but me. My thoughts have lost their warmth; the blood in my veins feels replaced by cold water; the chill crawls over my whole body.

I’m afraid that if I close my eyes, I won’t wake again—that I’ll drop into an endless, lightless pit.

Since he died, I haven’t really slept.

“The moment I accept my brother is gone… I’ll be all alone—”

It’s the first time since his death that I’ve said the word “die” out loud.

Emotion surges up; my chest feels strangled; my voice comes out ragged.

A heart shouldn’t have nerves, and yet it hurts unbearably.

It’s a pain I can’t name, a crush of every dark feeling at once, pressing until I feel I’ll shatter. I squeeze my eyes shut and hold on. And then—

“It’s okay.”

A warm, steady voice reaches me.

“I won’t let you be alone, Minoru.”

Heat gathers across my back, like sunlight filtering through leaves.

It feels as if the washed-out world has taken on color again.

I slowly open my eyes to find Shiho hugging me tight from behind.

It felt like she was holding my heart as tightly as she held me.

“From now on, I’ll stay by your side in Ken’s place.”

“Shiho…”

I couldn’t help clinging to her arm, like I’d found something to anchor myself to.

“We’ll be okay. I’ll look after you for Ken—so don’t worry.”

It’s okay—those words kept repeating at my ear, and the ice that had locked my heart began to thaw.

Then the taut thread of my self-control snapped, and I couldn’t hold back what surged up from deep inside.

Before I even realized it, tears were racing down my cheeks; the moment I knew I was crying, I couldn’t stop. Emotion burst like a broken dam and spilled into sound, filling the room.

It was the first time in my life I’d cried in front of someone.

✽

A week after my brother’s funeral, Saturday morning arrived.

I actually got up early—to clean the living room.

After he died, I was buried in one thing after another, and then drifted through days in a fog. The result was a living room so messy it hurt to look at.

Clothes I’d taken off were strewn across the floor, and empty plastic bottles lay wherever they’d been dropped.

The laundry I’d hung outside was still out there and would have to be rewashed. Even the trash I wanted to toss hadn’t been sorted. The kitchen was just as bad, the sink crammed with dishes soaking in water.

Even I could only call it a disaster zone.

Because I usually keep things neat, the contrast made it look even worse.

“No one would believe I let it get like this…”

I wasn’t about to justify myself to anyone, but looking at the place, I couldn’t help trying to come up with excuses.

I used to watch those TV shows where they help people clean their filthy rooms and wonder how anyone let it get that bad. Now I understand exactly how they felt.

When you’re under crushing mental strain, you really can’t bring yourself to do anything.

“Still, I can’t keep living like this.”

I’d explained things to my homeroom teacher and taken a full week off to rest at home.

My brother died on April 5—before the opening ceremony—so I hadn’t actually set foot in school since moving up to my second year. If I kept taking time off, it would start to mess with my school life.

I wanted to use the weekend to get the place in order and settle back into a routine.

“Time for a full-on deep clean…”

I pulled myself together and decided to use the momentum to tackle the other rooms too.

I grabbed a jumbo trash bag and started shoveling in everything in sight.

Normally, no matter how messy it got, cleaning wouldn’t take a whole day. But honestly? Even if I gave it the entire weekend, I wasn’t sure I’d finish.

There were two reasons. First, I had no drive, so I was slow.

Second, the place itself was huge—a two-story, three-bedroom apartment.

Maybe it sounds excessive for two brothers, but when we rented it, my brother and Shiho were already engaged, and the plan was for the three of us to live here after they married.

We chose three rooms so everyone would have their own. But—

That new life for three never happened. From now on, I’d be here alone.

“From now on… I’m living in this big place by myself?”

The moment I murmured it, the apartment’s emptiness hit me again, and loneliness swept in.

No—don’t think about it, I told myself, hard. But the more I warned myself off, the more my mind chased it. Grief came like waves, one after another, eating at my heart again.

I’ve lost count of how many times it’s swallowed me like this.

I shook my head hard, trying to fling those feelings off.

Just then, the doorbell rang and snapped me back to the present.

“…A visitor?”

I glanced at the clock on the living room wall—just past nine.

Who would come this early? Puzzled, I went to the entryway and slowly opened the door.

“Morning, Minoru!”

I squinted—either from the sunlight pouring in or from that dazzling smile.

“…Shiho?”

There she was, backlit by the morning light, beaming.

To reintroduce her: Shiho, my late brother’s former fiancée.

Her long hair fell to her back, and her smile was bright and warm—a striking, grown-up kind of woman.

She’s three years younger than my brother—twenty-one. Back when he worked at a local newspaper, they met through a junior colleague named Yūka, who’d been Shiho’s high school classmate, and dated for a year and a half.

They’d planned to marry this October, on their second anniversary, and move in together.

“Sorry to drop in like this. Were you still asleep?”

“No, I’m up…”

“Good.”

She let out a tiny breath of relief and tucked her hair behind her ear.

On the ring finger of her right hand, the engagement ring my brother gave her still caught the light.

“What brings you here so early?”

“I’ll explain in a minute. First, let’s get the stuff inside.”

“Stuff?”

“If the truck sits there too long, it’ll bother the neighbors.”

Before I could ask what she meant, she turned around.

“Thanks for waiting! Please bring it all in!”

she called out in a clear voice to the people outside.

Baffled, I stepped out to see a large truck parked in front of the building.

When I saw the lettering on the side, a thought flashed through my mind.

Not much of a “maybe”—“Moving Company” was written in huge letters.

“H-hey, wait—!”

I said it, but of course they didn’t stop.

Shiho chatted with the movers and walked in like she owned the place.

Which made sense. When my brother was alive, she came over practically every week.

And when we were apartment-hunting, the three of us hit every real estate office we could. We planned to live together, after all. It took ages to find a decent place.

Hard to believe it’s been almost half a year since then… feels like another life.

No—this is not the time for nostalgia.

“Shiho—”

I hurried after her inside.

She froze the moment she took in the state of the living room.

“Oh wow, Minoru, you let it get this bad? That’s rare for you.”

“…Sorry.”

She wasn’t scolding me, but the apology slipped out anyway—like a kid caught misbehaving.

“I’ll help. While they’re hauling boxes in, let’s get this place cleaned up.”

Shiho rolled up her sleeves, grabbed a trash bag, and started gathering garbage.

I still had a hundred questions, but making a fuss wouldn’t change anything now.

So I did as she said and started cleaning with her.

In less than an hour, all the boxes were in.

“Lots of cartons, but no fridge or washer—easy job!” one of the movers said. Pros move fast.

For the record, the living room still wasn’t clean.

We kept at it after the movers left, but the end was nowhere in sight. Still, we’d wrangled the living room into shape, so I figured it was time to ask what this was all about.

I had a vague idea, but I wanted to hear it from Shiho herself.

I went to the kitchen, brewed two cups of black tea, and came back to the living room—

—and found Shiho seated in front of the small household altar (butsudan) in the corner.

It was the household Buddhist altar—set up after Ken started working, so he could honor our late parents. Now, alongside theirs, it bears Ken’s memorial portrait, and beside it sits a paulownia-wood box holding his ashes.

“……”

Shiho lit a stick of incense, closed her eyes, and pressed her palms together.

Gone was the innocent, sun-bright smile from a moment ago; in profile, a quiet resolve settled over her features, and I found myself staring.

Shiho is usually lively and warm—like the sun itself, the kind of woman who makes everyone around her smile without thinking. But sometimes, a different side surfaces: a calm, mature poise that’s worlds apart from her usual image.

A childlike spontaneity—and a woman’s steady, understated beauty.

Ken used to say that this effortless contrast was exactly what made her so captivating.

“Thanks for waiting.”

When she finished paying her respects, Shiho turned back to me.

The ethereal grace from moments before faded, and her everyday smile returned.

“I think I get it… You’re planning to move in, aren’t you?”

“Bingo. As sharp as ever, Minoru—just like Ken.”

I handed her a cup of tea as I asked, and she answered without a shred of hesitation.

The playful look on her face made me want to bury my head in my hands.

It feels rude to say, but my first thought was, Here we go again.

Because this wasn’t the first time Shiho had decided something on a whim.

Like announcing in the middle of the night that she wanted ice cream, or proposing a morning walk the second she woke up because the weather was nice, or planning a spur-of-the-moment hot springs trip for the weekend—only to realize on the day of that she hadn’t actually invited anyone else.

Her creed seems to be: “Life’s short. If something sounds fun, do it now.”

Ken was easygoing too—the “as long as we’re having fun, it’s fine” type—and honestly, they were alike that way. He’d happily go along with her spur-of-the-moment ideas, and I was the one who kept getting dragged along in their wake.

Looking back, even when I grumbled, I think I was pretty happy.

So more than surprise, what I felt now was, She really hasn’t changed.

“Let me just ask… are you serious?”

“I told you, I’ll be by your side from now on, didn’t I?”

The memory of her holding me tight at the funeral welled up.

“You did say that—but at least tell me before you move.”

“I tried. You never replied, and your phone wouldn’t connect.”

“Ah…”

Come to think of it, I couldn’t even remember where I’d left my phone.

It was probably dead and buried somewhere under a pile of stuff.

“I rang your doorbell a bunch of times, too.”

I do remember hearing it a few times.

I just couldn’t bring myself to answer. So it was Shiho, after all.

…Yeah. I didn’t really have the right to complain.

“And if I hadn’t opened up today, what then?”

“I was going to use the key Ken left me.”

She fished our old apartment key—Ken’s key—out of her pocket and showed me.

“...Sigh.”

I couldn’t help it.

I was grateful she worried about me. I really was.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t live with you.”

Even so, I couldn’t accept this as-is.

I tried to explain carefully, so she’d understand.

“If you and Ken had already married, that would be different. We’d be family in name, at least. But you didn’t, so you have no obligation to take care of me. I’m glad you worry, but you have your own life to live.”

It’s odd for someone younger to say it, but Shiho’s still young, with every door ahead of her.

Maybe she can’t picture it now, but someday she’ll meet someone new. If she’s living with her late fiancé’s kid brother when that happens, it could close that door.

Even if the odds are one in ten thousand, I don’t want to be the reason her future gets smaller.

“Ken had insurance, thankfully. What he left will cover me until I’m an adult. You don’t need to worry about me. Please—live your life.”

And living with me, her late fiancé’s brother… she might never be able to let go of Ken.

“Minoru, you’re so earnest—earnest and kind.”

Kind—the word pricked like a thorn.

“No… I’m not kind at all.”

Because everything I’d just said applied to me, too.

Just as I worried that living together would keep her from moving on from Ken, if we lived under the same roof, I’m afraid I’d keep clinging to him as well.

Yes, I was thinking of her future—but I was also protecting myself.

I hid that truth and dressed it up as concern for her. There’s nothing kind about that.

“No, you are kind.”

She said it anyway.

“Maybe there’s no ranking for grief, but you lost your only family. That has to hurt more than I can imagine. And you’re still thinking about my future… How could that not be kindness?”

It was like she’d read me clean through.

“I know you’re saying this for my sake, and I know you have your own feelings. But the truth is, I decided to stay with you even before Ken passed.”

Her voice was gentle and steady, but firm.

In her eyes, I saw a resolve that wouldn’t waver no matter what I said.

And then she said something I never saw coming.

“It isn’t just my decision. It’s something Ken asked of me.”

“Ken… asked you?”

I couldn’t help repeating it.

Shiho nodded slowly.

“He asked me to stay by your side.”

Ken asked… The words wouldn’t leave my head.

If you didn’t know the details, “an older brother with little time left asks his fiancée to look after his kid brother” would sound like a touching story. Even facing death, he’s thinking of his brother—people would be moved by love like that.

You could probably find a drama or two with that exact plot.

But what rose in me wasn’t moved tears. It was doubt.

I couldn’t believe that’s what Ken really wanted.

“You’re saying he wanted you to take care of me in his place?”

“He did. He wanted me to be your support when he couldn’t anymore.”

I covered my mouth with my hand, at a loss for words.

Seeing my reaction, she probably thought I was weighing the idea of living together.

“Sorry to spring it on you. But I really do think it’ll be easier if we share a place!”

She ticked off reasons on her fingers, nodding as she went.

It’s not safe for a student to live alone; we could split the chores; she’s an early riser and can wake me up; she can drive me when I need a lift—on and on.

Maybe she figured enthusiasm would win me over. She pressed her advantage like a salesperson who knows this is the moment to close.

“And besides, you’re still a minor. Living by yourself comes with a lot of hassles. For example, this apartment’s lease—Ken anticipated what might happen, so he transferred it into my name while he was alive.”

When did he…?

Thinking it through, she wasn’t wrong.

Beyond the lease, there would be plenty of things where I’d need an adult’s signature.

I do still have relatives, technically, so I’m not completely alone in the world. But at this point, after they couldn’t be bothered to show up for Ken’s funeral, the last thing I wanted was to lean on them. Even if I ran into trouble, I wouldn’t want to ask them for help.

Still, as a minor, there are problems you simply can’t handle without an adult.

Maybe Ken saw all that coming—and entrusted me to Shiho because of it.

“And if you live with me, you get a bonus: home-cooked meals.”

“Your cooking is great… that is a tempting perk.”

By the end, she was pitching it like a limited-time offer, sweetening the deal with “added value.”

“Or, starting today, you can call me onee-san.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

“O-oh… okay.”

I deadpanned, and her shoulders slumped in instant defeat.

Jokes aside… what should I do?

Sharing a roof with my late brother’s fiancée isn’t some unspeakable scandal. Ethically awkward, sure—but not illegal.

Which means it all comes down to what I want…

“By the way, did you already terminate the lease on your place?”

“I’m handing it over this evening, so… if you tell me to move out right now, I’d be in a bit of a bind. And it’s still a little chilly to sleep rough this time of year.”

At last, she seemed to realize she’d jumped the gun.

A nervous, sheepish smile crept in as she watched my face.

That anxious look almost made me laugh—and tempted me to tease her. But tossing her out to spend a night on the street would be cruel, so I let the impulse go.

I don’t get my kicks from making women suffer.

Even so, a warning was in order.

“Please don’t go charging ahead like this again.”

“‘Again’? So you mean…!”

Her troubled expression bloomed into a smile, bright as a flower opening.

We were still discussing serious things, but of course—her best look is a smile.

“For now, let’s treat it as a trial period. I need time to think. Decision pending.”

“Thank you! Then starting today the two of us will—huh?”

Just as she cheered, the blanket on the sofa twitched.

We both turned to look—and a cat poked its head out.

The cat sauntered onto Shiho’s lap and let out a low, disgruntled sound.

“Sorry, sorry. Our household isn’t two people—it’s three.”

Apologizing, Shiho scooped the cat up.

Her name is **Chikuwa**, our house cat.

When my brother and I first moved in together, he found her abandoned in the company parking lot and brought her home. We tried to find her a new owner, but no luck—so she stayed. It’s been six years.

Back then she was barely weaned; now she’s grown and filled out—a proper adult cat.

As for the name, Ken said her white-and-brown coat looked like tasty chikuwa, so… Chikuwa it was.

Setting aside my brother’s, uh, “unique” taste in names, I felt bad for her at first—but whenever we called, she’d trot over, pleased as can be. I guess she likes it.

These days she’s fonder of Shiho than of me or Ken ever since, which—yeah—stings a little.

Maybe there’s some mysterious wavelength only grown-up women share?

Anyway, if I’ve managed to maintain even the basics of human life in this wreck of a home, it’s because I still had to take care of Chikuwa. With the living room in that state, I’d been keeping her in another room lately. She must have caught Shiho’s scent and come out.

“Chikuwa, let’s get along from now on, okay? ♪”

Chikuwa answered with a rumble like a motorcycle idling.

Watching them rub their cheeks together, I let out a small sigh. Maybe it was the morning’s nonstop bustle, or maybe because things finally felt a little more settled, but my stomach growled.

Shiho must have heard, because she turned and stared straight at my belly.

No way to blame that one on the cat.

“...Aren’t you a little hungry?”

It was the first real pang of hunger I’d felt since Ken died.

Shiho stood, still holding Chikuwa. “I’ll make lunch—just give me a minute!”

She headed to the kitchen and froze the instant she opened the fridge.

“Oh wow…”

Can’t blame her. It was completely bare.

“Sorry… I haven’t gone shopping in a while.”

“No worries—I’ll drive out and get groceries now!”

She set Chikuwa down, grabbed her bag, and headed for the door—calling back, bright as ever, “I’ll pick up something for Chikuwa too!”

When she returned, she was humming as she started on lunch.

I offered to help, but she waved me off—“Leave it to me”—so while she cooked, I kept cleaning with Chikuwa perched on my shoulder and waited for lunch to be ready.

An hour later, the table was covered in dishes.

There was even a special plate on the floor—fancier than usual—just for Chikuwa, who was instantly smitten.

I pressed my hands together in thanks and took a bite—so good I nearly cried.

How long had it been since I’d eaten a meal someone else cooked? Without meaning to, I found myself picturing that evening before Ken was hospitalized, when Shiho made dinner and the four of us—me, Ken, Shiho, and Chikuwa—ate together.

Those days are gone. But right now, there’s still someone willing to sit and share a meal with me.

Maybe that, by itself, is enough to call happiness.

And so, I ended up sharing a roof with the woman who used to be my brother’s fiancée.

At some point, I realized the pain that had been gnawing at me like a slow poison had eased—just a little.