Welcome back. You’re twelve years old again—the youngest child. The distant year of 2009 is quietly approaching.

Outside the window, winter reigns, and soft snowflakes fall lazily from the sky. The house is empty—your parents have gone out together for a walk. You sit by the window, tracing silly patterns on the fogged-up glass with your fingertip, your breath leaving a fleeting, warm blur on the cold pane.

In the next room, your older brother is playing on his laptop.

Seventeen years old. A high schooler. Practically an adult. But still the same fool—obsessed with video games, his room cluttered with countless tapes and cartridges. And somehow, your cherry-red childhood spins and glows around those very quests, around his laughter, around the hum of an old console.

The air smells like something forever gone—and forever yours.