Distant thunder rumbles beneath a brooding, overcast sky.

“Big brother, look, it’s raining!”

Fresh from his shower, Jiang Yu was toweling his hair when he heard Umaru’s exclamation from the entryway.

“It’s raining?” Jiang Yu strode quickly to the window, his gaze deep as he looked out at the fine, drizzling rain.

To be honest, Jiang Yu had never liked rainy days. In the past, it was simply because rain meant carrying an umbrella, which was troublesome enough. Back in his previous life, having lived in one of the hottest cities of the Celestial Empire, he’d never once bothered with sunscreen or a parasol during summer outings.

Later, various events dulled his feelings for rainy days altogether.

Perhaps it was just that one day, the rain had been too cold, breaking through his battered defenses and leaving him utterly defeated and lost.

He chuckled self-mockingly, dragging himself out of the quagmire of his memories, and gazed out at the rain with restless boredom.

“Big brother still doesn’t really like the rain, does he?” Umaru noticed Jiang Yu’s absentmindedness and spoke softly.

Hmm? I’m not some notoriously timid gaming streamer who pretends to love rainy scenery; why should I have to like it at all?

“Well… it’s not that I dislike it, exactly,” Jiang Yu replied after a flurry of thoughts rushed through his mind, though in the end, his words were as vague as before.

“Mm… After all, Aunt passed away on a rainy day…” Umaru trailed off, as if realizing she’d said something wrong, and fell silent.

Rainy days, an aunt, and dislike?

All the clues strung themselves together, and the answer became clear.

Jiang Yu tapped his forehead, finally understanding why Umaru believed he disliked rainy days.

His predecessor’s mother had died in a car accident on a rainy day, leaving him to spiral into despair, eventually becoming obsessed with anime and shutting himself away from the world.

Thinking of her, Jiang Yu felt a genuine sense of longing and sorrow welling up within him.

The memories of his predecessor’s mother were all fragments of music lessons, outings together, her hands guiding his patiently, tasting her newly baked cakes, or clinging stubbornly to her back until he drifted off to sleep.

As these thoughts surfaced, his nostrils flared, tears welled up unbidden, and warm drops slipped silently down his cheeks.

I truly envy you, predecessor…

In his heart, Jiang Yu articulated each word with deliberate clarity.

“Ah—Big brother, I’m sorry, I… I…” Umaru, seeing Jiang Yu suddenly in tears, was thrown into a panic. Her hands hovered, wanting to wipe his tears, but she hesitated, withdrawing them at the last moment.

Finally, fat teardrops rolled from her eyes, crying alongside him.

Jiang Yu, startled by Umaru’s sudden tears, quickly wiped his own cheeks with a sleeve and, offering a gentle, comforting smile, drew out a packet of tissues. He caught Umaru’s hands—still busy rubbing her eyes—and with his free hand, carefully dabbed away the tears on her rain-streaked face.

It was as if he were guarding the world’s most precious treasure.

Though his own tears weren’t for the reason Umaru imagined, Jiang Yu still felt thoroughly the concern his little sister held for him.

Umaru gazed blankly at Jiang Yu’s gentle movements, feeling the warmth in his eyes. When she finally came to her senses, she blushed fiercely, covered her face with both hands, and fled to her room, diving straight under the covers.

Watching Umaru’s shy retreat, Jiang Yu shook his head with a smile and made no move to follow.

He picked up his laptop and entered his room, ready to finish the first volume of “Spring Story” as planned, so he could enter it for the Newcomer’s Prize.

Soon, the only sounds in the house were his fingers tapping the keyboard, blending with the light patter of rain outside, weaving a lullaby for the night.

…

After rain on an empty mountain, clear springs flow over stones.

Though Chiyoda in Tokyo is hardly a mountain wilderness, and there are no mountain springs, after last night’s gentle rain, the city’s air felt fresher, as if washed clean.

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Jiang Yu got out of bed and pulled open the curtains. The moist air, pushed in by the breeze, cleared his heavy head.

It’s worth noting that the alarm had rung for ages, yet still failed to wake Jiang Yu, who’d stayed up writing until around two in the morning.

This made for an especially rushed morning.

After a hasty wash, Jiang Yu threw together breakfast, roused the still-drowsy Umaru from bed, and dashed back to his room to change.

He wolfed down his meal, urging Umaru to hurry up and get dressed, eyes flicking to his phone every so often to check the time.

Realizing the urgency, Umaru soon emerged, ready to go.

They hurried off toward school, finding the streets—especially the usual throngs of students—noticeably thinner than usual.

At the crossroads, Jiang Yu reminded Umaru to be careful, then sprinted off toward Toyonoki High.

Umaru, taking a steadying breath, glanced at her phone, sighed helplessly, and set off unhurriedly toward Arayata High.

Hmm… What excuse should I use for being late on the first day of the new term?

Umaru frowned slightly, pondering inwardly.

…

Meanwhile, on Jiang Yu’s side, despite his best efforts, he was still five minutes late for the first class.

Punished to stand outside the classroom, Jiang Yu gazed up at the freshly washed blue sky, his mood gradually settling into calm.

For some reason, he remembered the only Japanese tanka he knew—a line made famous by a director who’d transitioned from indie films to the silver screen, winning both critical acclaim and box office success: Makoto Shinkai.

In one of his most renowned works, “The Garden of Words,” there is a tanka from the “Manyoshu” anthology:

A distant rumble of thunder,
Clouded sky.
If only the rain would come,
I might keep you here.

A distant rumble of thunder,
Clouded sky.
Even if no rain falls,
I will remain here with you.

It’s a dialogue between two lovers: one wishes for rain to keep the other close; the other replies that even without rain, they will remain.

Jiang Yu didn’t know who translated the phrase, “A distant rumble of thunder, clouded sky,” but from the moment he first read it, he was captivated by its depiction of the weather before rain—despite not being fond of rainy days himself.

And so, lost in a tangle of daydreams, Jiang Yu spent the first period.

Entering the classroom, he was greeted by the mocking gaze of Eya Aki and the curious looks of his classmates.

He silently flipped Eya Aki the bird in his mind, yawned, and shuffled toward his seat.

What an inauspicious start to the day…

The thought drifted through Jiang Yu’s mind.