The sky over District 9 had the color of an old bruise: purple, gray, swollen with acid rain.

  Riku Aoyama, only ten years old, hugged his knees to his chest, trying to preserve the little warmth left in his scrawny body. The one-room apartment where they lived smelled of mold and hopelessness. His parents were distant memories—ghosts who had left too early, leaving behind nothing but debt and a deafening silence.

  The door opened, and light poured in. Not sunlight, but Akari.

  His older sister, eighteen years old, seemed to carry the weight of the world on her narrow shoulders, but when she saw Riku, her face lit up. She closed the door, locking the world outside.

  “I made it, Riku,” she whispered, pulling a crushed loaf of bread and a small can of soup from her pocket. “Tonight’s dinner is fit for a king.”

  Riku ran to her—not for the food, but for the hug. Akari smelled of machine oil and factory sweat from her job at the textile plant, but to him, it was the best smell in the world. As they ate, sharing crumbs as if they were gold, Riku looked toward the grimy window.

  “They came again today, Akari,” the boy said, his voice trembling. “The gang men. They knocked on the door and shouted about Dad’s money.”

  Akari’s spoon froze in midair. A shadow crossed her eyes, but she forced a smile, reaching out to ruffle her brother’s hair.

  “Don’t worry about the Iron Dogs, Riku. I’ll handle it. I’ve been working extra shifts. We’ll pay off our parents’ old debt and get out of here.”

  “But they said the deadline is over…” Riku insisted, afraid.

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  Akari cupped his face with both hands.

  “Look at me. Tomorrow will be better. You don’t know the future, Riku. The world is hard right now, but we’re harder. One day, we’ll have a house with clean windows, and you’ll go to school without fear. I promise.”

  Riku believed her. Because Akari never lied.

  The lie was revealed three days later, in a dark alley under relentless rain.

  Akari gripped Riku’s hand tightly as they walked fast. They had been evicted that morning. Everything they owned was in a backpack on her shoulders. But the exit of the alley was blocked.

  Three men. Cheap leather jackets, the smell of alcohol and violence. The leader, a man with a scar splitting his lip, smiled.

  “Akari, sweetheart. Did you really think you could run without paying the interest?”

  “I paid the principal!” Akari shouted, pulling Riku behind her. “My parents’ debt is paid! You said you’d leave us alone!”

  “Asphalt inflation is high,” the man laughed, pulling out a switchblade. “And the boss decided the price went up. If you don’t have money, we’ll take something else. Maybe the kid can carry packages…”

  “No!” Akari lunged forward. It was instinct—pure protection.

  She shoved the leader, trying to clear a path for Riku to run.

  “Run, Riku! Go!”

  But Riku froze. He saw the glint of metal. He saw the fast, cruel, indifferent motion of the man’s arm.

  There was no sad music, no slow motion. Just a wet sound and Akari’s surprised gasp. She dropped to her knees, hands clutching her abdomen, where blood began to bloom like a macabre rose on her white shirt.

  “Oops,” the man said without remorse, wiping the blade on his pants. “Guess I canceled the debt the wrong way. Let’s go, boys. There’s nothing here.”

  They walked past Riku as if he were trash, kicking their backpack into a muddy puddle.

  Riku collapsed beside his sister. The rain washed her blood away, mixing it with the filth of the alley.

  “Akari… Akari, get up. Tomorrow… you said tomorrow…”

  Akari coughed, blood running from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes—once full of fire and hope—were growing dull, glassy. She tried to lift her hand to touch his face, but she didn’t have the strength. Her hand fell onto the cold ground.

  “Live…” was her final whisper.

  Her chest stopped rising.

  Riku stayed there for hours. The rain soaked his bones. He waited for her to wake up. He waited for someone to come help. He waited for the “better tomorrow” to arrive.

  But the sun rose the next morning, illuminating his sister’s pale body and the flies that were already gathering. Nothing was better. The future was not a promise—it was a curse.

  In that moment, as the police finally arrived only to mock the scene of yet another “slum death,” Riku Aoyama’s heart hardened like stone.

  Akari’s words echoed in his mind, now twisted and cruel.

  You don’t know the future.

  “I do,” Riku whispered to the corpse of the only

  person who ever loved him. “The future is hell. And I’m alone in it.”