Part 1 — "The Boy Who Collected Sky"
Keya Village, Northern Okinawa — Three Days Before the Flicker
All characters use Level 2 Sojo Okinawa dialect.
The morning wind in Keya always smelled like salt, hibiscus, and stories too old for grown-ups to retell properly. Ryota inhaled all of it at once as he hopped down the narrow concrete steps of his family's wooden house, his bare feet slapping the cool ground.
"Ryōtaa, chibariyo! Gakko nu jikan chikai yo— hurry it up!"
His mother's voice carried from the kitchen window, thick with that comforting rural Okinawa lilt, the one that made even scolding sound like a lullaby.
"Haiyaa… wakattun do!" Ryota shouted back, his tiny backpack bouncing as he ran toward the front gate. "Maa, kyou wa osoi shina yo!"
"You are slow!" she yelled. "An' don' forget ya bento!"
"I won't!"
He already had—he always had—but his mother came out anyway, sliding the little cloth-wrapped box into his hands.
The box felt heavy, full of rice balls and bits of tamagō like sun-colored treasure. "Arigatou, kaa-chan!"
She ruffled his messy black hair. "Fiiyaa, ya hair all wild again. Shakashaka like a typhoon."
Ryota grinned, wide and unabashed. "Typhoon hair makes me run fast."
She snorted. "Aa? Then you run faster to school. Go!"
He bolted down the narrow hillside road. The house sat slightly elevated, looking out toward the distant line of turquoise sea that framed Keya village like a postcard someone forgot to send.
He didn't watch the road.
He watched the sky.
Because today — like every day — Ryota was collecting colors.
Not real objects, not bottles of dye, but sky-colors he stored in his head. The soft peach near the horizon. The sharper blue stretching above. A streak that looked almost silver if he squinted.
One day, he thought, he would show them to someone important. Someone who knew why the sky always felt like it was about to say something.
He ran past the sugarcane fields, their leaves whispering like gossiping aunties.
"Ryōta-yaa," called an old man sweeping his stone driveway. "Michi abunai yo! Watch where ya goin'!"
Ryota shouted back, "I'm watching the sky, oji-san!"
"Haiyaa… sky not gonna trip ya, road will!"
The man laughed, and Ryota kept running.
At School
Keya Elementary was small, with only two classrooms and a playground that was half sand, half stubborn grass. The fence leaned in places, like it had given up arguing with the coastal wind.
Ryota arrived panting.
His best friend, Yuu, waved from under the banyan tree. "Oi, Ryōta! You late again! Sensei gonna get ya!"
Ryota puffed his cheeks. "I'm not late! Not yet!"
"Close enough!" Yuu teased, pulling on Ryota's sleeve. "Come on!"
Their teacher, Kayo-sensei, rang the bell by tapping a shell against the metal pole outside. Everything in Keya had that handmade feel.
As the children took their seats on the tatami mats—today was "floor learning day"—Ryota kept stealing glances out the open window. The clouds looked different today. A little sharper. A little more…intentional.
Kayo-sensei noticed.
She always noticed him.
"Ryōta-kun," she said gently but firmly, "ya eyes outside again. What color you collecting this morning?"
The other kids giggled.
Ryota bowed his head sheepishly. "Um… umi-gairo, but the sky side, not ocean side… It's like… like if blue had cold and warm at the same time."
Kayo-sensei paused.
Her expression softened, almost proud.
"Mm. Interesting. Then make sure you study math with same passion, ne?"
"Yes, sensei…"
Class went on, but Ryota couldn't shake the feeling in his gut, a little twist like when you feel someone looking at you — except it was the sky doing the looking.
After School — The River Path
Ryota and Yuu trudged home along the river path, kicking pebbles and jumping over roots that snaked across the earth.
Yuu said, "Ya know, tomorrow the whole class gotta make paper airplanes. Sensei said whoever flies longest gets extra jelly at lunch!"
Ryota lit up. "For real?! Then I'll win, I promise!"
Yuu raised a brow. "Why you so sure?"
"'Cause I've been studying the sky," Ryota said seriously, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I can feel how the wind moves."
Yuu rolled his eyes. "Ryōta… wind not magic, ya know."
"It feels like magic sometimes."
They walked until the road branched—one path toward Ryota's house, the other toward the village center.
"See ya tomorrow!" Yuu said.
Ryota waved. "Ashita ne!"
He took the steep path up the hill. Halfway up, he paused. The sky had shifted again.
The colors weren't wrong but…different.
Like a layer had been peeled back.
Ryota stared so long he forgot to breathe. A faint shimmer rippled across the blue, so subtle only a child who spent every morning chasing sky colors would notice.
It felt like the world blinked.
He whispered, "Nande…?"
Then the shimmer vanished.
At Home — Evening Quiet
His father returned late from the fishing harbor. The door slid open and closed with a low kachan that Ryota always found comforting.
"Okaerinasai," Ryota said, peeking out from behind the door frame.
"Tadaima, Ryōta," Papa replied, voice low and deep like slow tide. His Okinawan dialect was thicker than Mama's, full of old island tones.
Papa removed his straw hat, shaking out a few stray droplets of seawater. "Kyou nu umi… chotto hen datta yo."
Ryota perked up. "Hen? Like weird?"
Papa nodded, wiping sweat from his neck with a hand towel. "Currents shifted funny. Fish swimming unusual directions. And sky colors… hm." He gave Ryota a sideways look. "You saw it too, ne?"
Ryota's heart jumped.
He didn't think grown-ups noticed things like that.
"I… I saw something," he whispered.
Papa lifted him easily and set him on the kitchen stool. "Sonna kao shinchoo. Sky always movin', always talkin'. But when ya small, you hear it louder. That's all."
Mama served steaming goya chanpuru and rice.
As the three of them ate, the cicadas droned outside like a heavy blanket of sound.
Papa asked, "School fun today?"
Ryota nodded through a mouthful of rice. "Sensei said we make airplanes tomorrow!"
Papa smirked. "Aa, then you fly good. Ya always look up anyway."
Mama sighed. "He gonna hit a pole one day 'cause he too busy lookin' up."
Ryota puffed his cheeks again. "I won't!"
Papa chuckled. "Just don't fly yourself."
Night — The Whispering Sky
Ryota lay on his futon, the room dark except for moonlight cutting thin lines across the tatami. Crickets chirped. Something hooted far away—maybe a night bird, maybe just wind.
He couldn't sleep.
The shimmer still pressed against his mind like a dream he hadn't finished having.
He slipped out of bed, tiptoed to the sliding door, and eased it open. Night air rushed in, cool and smelling of grass.
Outside, the sky was enormous. The Milky Way smeared across the darkness like spilled sugar.
Ryota whispered, "Are you trying to say something…?"
He didn't expect an answer.
But the stars seemed to vibrate for a moment — a tiny, soft pulse — like the sky was clearing its throat, preparing to speak in a language no adult would ever believe.
A warm breeze brushed his cheeks, and suddenly he felt something impossible:
The sky was watching him back.
Not threatening.
Not frightening.
Just… aware.
He pressed a hand to his chest. His heartbeat fluttered.
"Wakaran yo…" he murmured. "But… I feel you."
A distant rumble of thunder echoed, even though the night was clear.
He shivered.
Something was coming.
He didn't have words for it.
He didn't have the age to understand it.
But he knew this:
The world was winding up to a change, like breath before a shout.
And he knew another thing:
When it happened, he would be in the middle of it.
Part 2 — "The Wind That Forgot Its Name"
The morning sun spilled through the shutters before Ryota even opened his eyes. His hair, predictably, had gone full shakashaka again — puffed up like palm leaves after a storm.
Mama took one look at him and groaned dramatically.
"Haiyaa, Ryōta… did ya fight with a tornado in your sleep?"
Ryota rubbed his eyes. "Tornado lost."
"Looks like it won, actually," she said, grabbing the comb. "Sit down."
"Noooo! It hurts!"
"It only hurts 'cause you fight the comb! Ya hair wild like jungle."
Ryota tried to squirm away, but Mama held him steady with the strength of every mother who had ever wrestled a stubborn child into neatness. Finally, the worst of the shakashaka was subdued into a semi-respectable poof.
"There. Good enough," she declared. "Now go eat."
Ryota chomped down breakfast quickly — miso soup, a melon bun, and half of Mama's omelet when she wasn't looking. Then he dashed out the door with his backpack bouncing like a second heartbeat.
"Don't forget your lunch!" she called.
"I won't!"
He forgot yesterday. He forgot the day before.
He forgot today too.
Mama sighed loudly behind him. "Haaah… that boy…"
The Paper Airplane Competition
The schoolyard shimmered with heat rising off the sand, but the students didn't care. Today was sacred. Today was legendary.
Today was Paper Airplane Championship Day.
Kayo-sensei stood holding a basket of neatly cut paper squares. "Alright, minna— fold your best! Winner gets extra jelly! And not the small cup. The big jelly."
A collective gasp. Even adults respected the rarity of the Big Jelly.
Yuu elbowed Ryota. "No cheating by using your sky nonsense."
Ryota stuck out his tongue. "Sky not cheating. Sky is ally."
Yuu groaned. "Ryōta… ya always weird."
Ryota built his airplane with careful precision: a sharp nose, tight creases, wings bent at just the right angle. He tested the wind by closing his eyes, tilting his head back.
Today, the wind felt confused — swirling oddly, like it couldn't decide which direction was correct.
Still, Ryota whispered to his paper, "Fly long, fly far. I'll push ya with all the sky-color I got."
The teacher blew her whistle. "Haaai! Everyone line up! Throw when I say go!"
The kids stepped forward one by one.
"Ready— set— goooo!"
Dozens of airplanes soared. Some nosedived instantly. Others curved, looped, or did dramatic spirals into the dust.
Ryota let his go gently — not with force, but with trust.
The paper glider took to the air.
It flew.
And flew.
And flew.
Longer than Yuu's. Longer than anyone else's by a wide stretch.
It kept going across the yard, past the banyan tree, riding a warm upward pocket that seemed to lift it deliberately.
The whole class gasped.
Even Kayo-sensei's jaw dropped slightly.
It finally glided to a soft landing near the fence.
Yuu slapped Ryota's back. "Nande ya! See? I told ya sky stuff not normal!"
Ryota grinned so wide his cheeks hurt. "Maybe the sky's in good mood today."
Kayo-sensei gave him a larger-than-usual smile. "Seems like the sky likes you, Ryōta-kun."
Ryota puffed proudly.
Then she added, "Now do your math homework with same commitment."
His proud puff deflated instantly.
After School — The Elder's Warning
On the walk home, the weather shifted again. The air suddenly felt heavier, like humidity that forgot how humidity works.
Ryota held his arms out, palms up. "Weird wind today."
Yuu kicked a pebble. "You always say that."
"No, this time it for real."
At the intersection, they spotted Obaa-Kinu, the village elder, sitting on her porch with a cup of barley tea. Her back was curved like old driftwood, but her eyes were sharp as needlefish.
When she saw the boys, she called out, "Oi, Ryōta-kun! Yuu-kun! Come 'ere."
They approached obediently. Kids didn't disobey Obaa-Kinu unless they wanted to get spiritually scolded.
"Ya boys feel somethin' strange in the sky these days?" she asked.
Ryota's head snapped up.
His heart thumped.
Yuu squinted at her. "You mean weather?"
"No," she said, waving a wrinkled hand. "I mean sky. The big sky. The old sky. The one older than your obaachan's obaachan's great-obaachan."
Ryota leaned forward. "I… felt something yesterday."
Obaa-Kinu nodded. "Mm. I saw light ripple like fish-scale near the stars last night. Only a moment. But I saw it."
Yuu whispered, "That's just… maybe you sleepy."
"Baka!" Obaa-Kinu smacked his shoulder lightly. "My eyes sharp as hawk! I know what sleep looks like!"
Ryota felt a chill. "Obaa… what does it mean?"
She stared toward the horizon, where the sea and sky fused into a single soft blue.
"Means wind don't know its name. Means world holdin' breath."
Ryota's pulse quickened.
That was exactly how he felt last night.
Obaa-Kinu's voice dropped lower. "A long time ago, old folks say: When sky forgets itself, people must remember who they are."
Yuu blinked. "What's that mean?"
She shrugged. "Dunno. Ask sky."
Very helpful.
But Ryota found himself thinking about her words the rest of the way home.
Evening — Papa's Unease
Papa came home earlier than usual that day, still smelling faintly of fish and boat engine. He set a bucket of freshly caught sardines on the sink and exhaled heavily.
Mama looked up from the cutting board. "You tired? You look tired."
Papa rubbed his forehead. "Umi no yousu… chotto kowai yo. The currents go wrong way again. Compass on boat twitchy. Even birds confused."
She frowned. "Birds too?"
"Hai. A whole flock changed direction midair. Like they forgot where they go."
Ryota froze mid-bite of fried tofu.
Forgot where they go.
The wind forgot its name.
The shimmer in the sky.
All the pieces pressed into his chest like puzzle pieces that didn't quite fit yet.
Papa noticed his expression. "Ryōta? Daijoubu?"
"Hai…"
He didn't know how to tell adults that the sky was watching him.
"Eat," Mama insisted. "Don't let your food get cold."
He forced himself to swallow.
Night — The First Pulse
Hours later, Ryota lay awake again.
He could feel something building.
A pressure.
A waiting.
A held breath.
He slid the door open exactly like the night before — slow and quiet. The night air was warmer than usual, like summer exhaled on him.
He stepped outside barefoot.
The sky was still.
No wind.
No cicadas.
Even the frogs had gone silent.
Ryota whispered, "Hello…?"
The stars flickered.
Not twinkled — flickered, like a lightbulb with loose wiring.
A small pulse rippled overhead.
Just like the one yesterday.
But sharper.
Ryota's breath hitched. He clutched the railing of the porch as his heart thudded impossibly hard.
The sky rippled again, briefly revealing a deeper shade of blue beneath the visible layer.
It was like seeing a second sky hiding behind the first.
Ryota whispered, "Why… why me?"
Then it stopped. Everything returned to normal.
But this time, the feeling didn't fade.
This time, Ryota felt the sky watching him not like a curious observer—
—but like someone marking a place on a map.
He backed away toward the doorway.
"Kaa-chan…? Papa…?"
He didn't want to wake them, but he wanted them near.
The sky was gentle.
But the way it pulsed—
It felt like the beginning of something.
Something vast.
Something ancient.
Something connected to him, though he didn't know why.
He shivered and crawled back into bed, pulling the blanket to his chin.
He didn't sleep for a long time.
Part 3 — "The Day the Sky Blinked"
The next morning should've been normal.
It wasn't.
Ryota woke already feeling that strange heaviness in the air, as if the ocean winds were holding their breath again. The shakashaka hair situation was even worse than usual — Mama took one look and simply clapped a towel over his head in defeat.
"Haaah… today I no fight it. Ya win, jungle hair."
Ryota peeked from under the towel. "I win?"
"You not supposed to be proud!"
But he was, just a little.
Mama helped him stuff his lunch — which he had forgotten on the counter again — into his backpack, then shooed him out the door.
"Go go! And don't bring home bugs!"
"I never bring home bugs!"
"You brought centipede last week!"
"That was Yuu fault!"
"Still your backpack!"
Ryota jogged down the hill toward school, sunlight pooling on the roadway, the ocean glittering far below. But even with all that beauty, something felt off.
The air didn't smell right.
Usually, Keya mornings tasted like salt, hibiscus, and fresh wind.
Today… it felt like the air forgot its flavor.
The Strange Quiet
At school, everyone was fussy.
Yuu's voice squeaked when he saw him. "Ryōta! Today sky weird again, ne? Feels… tight."
Saki nodded rapidly, her pigtails bouncing. "Bird not singing today. Even crow quiet. I think they scared."
Kayo-sensei seemed distracted too, constantly checking her phone for weather updates.
"Alright, minna, today we keep inside after lunch, okay? Don't fight me on it."
"But senseeeei—"
"No buts!"
"Just one but—"
"No buts, not even small but!"
"Half but—?"
"Yuu-kun!"
The class erupted in giggles anyway.
But as the hours passed, even the laughter felt too thin.
Ryota kept glancing at the windows.
It felt like something outside was waiting for him.
Something patient.
Something huge.
Something gently tapping the sky's surface, like a visitor knocking on a door.
Lunch — The Flicker Approaches
At lunchtime, the classroom buzzed with the usual routine: bento boxes, juice cartons, a few kids trading pickles for sausages. Ryota sat with Yuu and Saki, unwrapping his lunch.
"Look Ryōta," Yuu said, poking his side. "Ya hair still shakashaka even after Mama combed ya."
"It natural style!"
Saki squinted at him. "Natural style for… dandelion?"
"HEY!"
They laughed, but the laughter cut short when the windows rattled.
A soft metallic ting-ting — like a spoon tapping a glass from far, far away.
Everyone froze.
"…what's that?" Saki whispered.
Kayo-sensei stood abruptly. "Minna, stay seated."
Another ting-ting.
Then the lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Three times in uneven rhythm.
Ryota's heart skittered.
No one else noticed—
—but Ryota felt it.
The rhythm matched the flicker he'd seen in the sky the night before.
Doki.
Doki.
Doki.
Like a heartbeat.
The windows dimmed as if the sun had blinked.
Then—
—the Flicker happened.
The Flicker — Keya
It started with a flash of white.
Not lightning.
Not sunlight.
Not electricity.
Something else.
A ripple passed overhead — a thin band of pale blue that shimmered like the scales of a giant fish swimming just beneath the sky's surface.
The children gasped.
Saki screamed.
Yuu ducked under the desk.
Ryota didn't move.
He was too stunned.
Because when the Flicker passed over him—
—he felt something reach out.
Not physically.
Not a grab or a pull.
More like a whisper brushing the back of his mind.
A memory that wasn't his.
A thought that wasn't shaped like thoughts.
A presence old as tides and storms.
For the first time in his life, Ryota felt the sky look back at him.
He inhaled sharply.
His chest buzzed like someone lit a sparkler inside it.
When the light faded, the world returned to normal brightness. Birds resumed chirping as if they'd simply forgotten to for the past hour.
But nothing was normal.
Yuu emerged from under the desk. "Ryōta… you okay? You look… pale, ne."
Ryota opened his mouth, but words refused to come.
Kayo-sensei dashed around checking all students. Outside, other teachers shouted instructions, but everyone remained shaken.
Ryota touched his chest.
His heart hammered too loud.
Something had changed.
He didn't know what.
But he knew who felt it.
The sky.
The Walk Home — A New Wind
School dismissed early. The teachers didn't explain why, but everyone already knew. Keya was a small town; rumors spread faster than wind.
Ryota walked home slowly, dragging his feet. The trees rustled in ways he'd never heard before — a softer sound, like leaves whispering secrets to each other.
A low breeze brushed his cheek.
He paused.
"…hello?" he whispered.
The wind lifted slightly.
As if answering.
He swallowed hard and kept walking.
Halfway up the hill, he saw Obaa-Kinu waiting on her porch again, staring at the sky with narrowed eyes.
She didn't greet him with humor this time.
"Ryōta-kun… ya saw it too, ne."
He nodded. "Obaa… the sky blinked."
"No," she said. "Sky didn't blink. Sky breathed in."
"…in?"
"Mm. And child… someday soon, it gonna breathe out."
Ryota stepped closer. "Obaa… I felt something. Here." He pointed at his chest.
Obaa-Kinu's expression changed — a look Ryota had never seen on the old woman before.
A look of concern.
Deep and ancient.
"Tomorrow," she whispered, "don't go out alone. Understand?"
Ryota nodded, though he didn't fully understand.
The wind curled around him again, brushing his ears like playful fingers.
Night — The Sky's Call
That night, he didn't even pretend to sleep. He sat upright, hugging his knees, waiting.
And sure enough—
The sky pulsed.
A gentle thrum that vibrated through the air like a distant drum.
A ripple spread across the stars again — thinner, softer, but unmistakable.
Ryota stepped outside before he even realized he'd moved.
The night wrapped around him.
The ocean glowed faintly under the moon.
And the sky…
The sky hummed.
"Why me…?" he whispered.
The air warmed.
A small gust lifted from behind him, swirling in a way that felt playful — like a greeting, or maybe a nudge.
Ryota reached his hand upward.
The wind swirled around it.
For a moment, he felt weightless.
Connected.
Aligned with something far bigger than himself.
Then—
BANG!
Something crashed down the hill.
Ryota yelped so loud he almost jumped out of his skin.
A man burst through the foliage, stumbling onto the pathway with a stack of folders under one arm and a look of pure irritation plastered on his face.
He was tall.
Sharp-eyed.
Carrying the exact air of someone who had traveled way too far and wanted to complain about it immediately.
Marcus.
Ryota blinked.
Marcus blinked back.
"OI!" Marcus barked. "Who's the kid standin' out here in the middle o' the night?! Ya tryin' ta get kidnapped by the wind or somethin'?!"
Ryota froze. "Eeeh?! I—I live here!"
"Well ya look like a stray cat wanderin' around!" Marcus snapped, brushing dust off his coat. "And what's with the sky? It blinked again on the way here! I swear, this region givin' me ulcers."
Ryota could only stare.
This guy was loud.
Like… Heiji-Hattori-level loud.
Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose. "Tch… whatever. I need directions. Which house is Ryota Hoshizaki's?"
Ryota raised his hand slowly.
"…this one."
Marcus stared at him for a long moment.
Then sighed a long, irritated sigh, shoulders slumping.
"…of course it is."