CHAPTER 1: THE TALE OF TWO COINS
The hum of the dual-monitor setup filled the cramped bedroom with a cool, blue light. Outside the window, the neon glow of Kabukicho painted the rain-slicked streets of Tokyo in shades of crimson and violet.
Sixteen-year-old Ren didn’t care much for the nightlife downstairs. His fingers flew across his mechanical keyboard, executing a precise cut in CapCut. On screen, a frame-by-frame breakdown of a high-school football rebuild was coming together seamlessly.
“If you render that at 60 FPS, the laptop’s going to melt again,” a voice called out from the doorway.
Ren didn’t look back. “It’s fine, Kaito. I tweak the bitrate. It won’t overheat.”
Kaito, his twin brother, tossed a football lightly from hand to hand before catching it with one palm. Unlike Ren, who preferred the quiet solitude of video editing and code, Kaito lived on the pitch. His lightning-fast reflexes and aggressive forward runs had already made him a standout player for their high school team.
They were brothers, but to anyone looking closely, they shared something deeper than just blood—they shared a complete blank slate of a past.
Fifteen years ago, they had been found on the steps of a local shrine in Western Tokyo with nothing but two matching silver coins carved with an unfamiliar crest. They had no memory of their biological parents.
Instead, they were taken in by Aoi, a warm-hearted local baker and the mother of their childhood best friend, Hana. Aoi had raised the three of them under one roof in a cozy apartment above her bakery, treating the twin boys as her own flesh and blood.
“Dinner’s ready!” Hana’s voice echoed from downstairs, followed by the rich, comforting scent of homemade chicken katsu curry.
Kaito immediately tossed the ball onto his bed and bolted out the door. “First one down gets the extra cutlet!”
Ren chuckled, shaking his head as he saved his project file. But as he stood up, his eyes caught the small wooden box sitting on his desk. He reached out, sliding the lid back to reveal his silver coin.
For as long as they could remember, whenever they asked Aoi about where they came from, she would smile gently, hand them a warm plate of food, and tell them that family wasn’t about where you started—it was about who stayed by your side.
And for years, that was enough.
Until tonight.
Downstairs, the kitchen was warm and filled with laughter. Hana was already telling her mother about her latest photography project for the school newspaper, while Kaito was practically inhaling his second bowl of rice.
“Eat slower, Kaito, no one’s taking it from you,” Aoi laughed, pouring green tea into three small cups. Her hands were worn from decades of waking up at 4 AM to knead dough, but her eyes were always soft.
“Training was intense today, Auntie Aoi,” Kaito said through a mouthful of rice. “The coach is selecting the starting XI for the Tokyo Qualifiers next week.”
“You’ll make the cut,” Hana said confidently, snapping a quick picture of Kaito’s messy face with her vintage camera. “You always do.”
“Hey! Delete that!” Kaito protested, reaching across the table.
Ren sat down quietly, picking up his chopsticks. He watched the familiar scene—the steam rising from the curry, the soft hum of the rain against the bakery glass, the effortless warmth of the room. It was peaceful. It was home.
Then, a heavy knock echoed through the front door of the bakery downstairs.
The room went dead silent. The bakery had been locked since 6 PM.
Aoi’s cheerful expression instantly vanished, replaced by a sudden, rigid tension that Ren had never seen on her face before. She slowly set the teapot down.
“Stay here,” Aoi whispered, her voice dropping into a tone that left no room for argument. “Don’t come downstairs.”
She walked swiftly toward the stairwell, locking the wooden door behind her.
Kaito set his chopsticks down, his friendly demeanor vanishing in an instant. He looked at Ren.
Ren didn’t say a word. He reached into his pocket, his fingers wrapping around the cold silver coin, and nodded toward the hallway window that led to the fire escape.
The mystery of who they were had just knocked on their front door.
