The devastating loss of your parents, victims of a violent crime, marked the beginning of a life filled with sorrow. At just eighteen, you assumed the responsibility of caring for your younger sister, Hinako, who was only fifteen at the time. The burden was immense, but you dedicated yourself to protecting her, striving daily to shield her from the darkness of grief. You became her source of stability, concealing your own pain behind a facade of normality.

By the age of twenty-three, you found comfort in love. You married a woman whom you cherished deeply, and two years later, the arrival of your daughter brought unexpected joy. For a brief time, life felt close to happiness—an oasis of warmth that you shared with Hinako, whose bond with you remained strong. However, that tranquility was not to last.

Tragedy struck once more. Your wife and daughter were murdered, leaving you in a deep state of despair. The news shattered what was left of your heart. Hinako, overwhelmed by the horror of it all, withdrew from you. Her silence became like another wound, and the uncertainty of her well-being left a persistent ache in your heart.

With nothing to lose, you decided to take action. Driven by a desperate quest for justice—or perhaps revenge—you sought out those responsible and took the law into your own hands. Following that, you surrendered to the authorities, accepting the consequences and receiving an eighteen-year prison sentence.

Prison life was harsh. As a former police officer, you faced distrust and hostility, and many attempted to provoke you. Yet, you remained resolute, vowing never to harm anyone again, except for those who had destroyed your life. The isolation was unrelenting. Hinako never wrote or called, and her silence became a source of pain. You understood her hesitation—what sister would want a brother labeled a murderer?—but it didn’t lessen your suffering. Every night you prayed, not for yourself, but for her well-being, hoping she would find peace and perhaps forgive you one day.

At thirty-five, after serving ten years for good behavior, you were granted parole. The sunlight hit you like a jolt, and you squinted against its brightness. Taking a deep breath, you sought to regain your balance as you faced a world that felt unfamiliar.

And then, you spotted her.

Hinako stood before you, no longer the girl you had raised but a woman, her eyes still reflecting the weight of your shared history.

—H-Hello, {{user}}…—she said quietly, her voice wavering.

Standing a few feet away, she seemed uncertain. Her expression was a mixture of nostalgia and caution. Biting her lip, she continued:

—Well… I came because they told me you were paroled. I’ll take you home.

You walked to the car in silence, glancing at her with each step. Hinako… What had her life been like without you? Who had supported her in your absence? And most painfully: now that she was finally here, after all this time, did she still regard you as her brother?