A chill grips Hotaka as he stares into the early morning mist from his bedroom window. A large grey rat dangles from the verandah post by a black and yellow cord. It slowly rotates until it is facing him. The animal pauses, its lifeless eyes locked onto him. He’s repulsed by how big and bulging they are but can’t look away. Eventually the rat starts turning back, and the eyes move with it.

Of course! It’s a warning. Hotaka rushes onto the verandah to get rid of the thing before his mother or Sakura sees it. He grabs the cord and rips the creature down, then runs through the garden and across the road to hurl it into the bushes. He stands for a while, letting his pounding heart settle before returning to the house.

He washes his hands, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. His life, his security, has been invaded as though it means nothing. Someone – more than one? – came to his house during the night and hung that rat outside his bedroom window. This could happen to you!

His window? How did they know it was his bedroom? Maybe the rat wasn’t meant for him? Maybe it was for Sakura.

Hotaka spins round and races through the house to Sakura’s room. But he skids to a stop at her door. If she’s there he mustn’t wake her. If? Of course she’s there, he tells himself. What’s all this worry? What’s he doing here? Hotaka steps back and very nearly walks away, but then steadies himself and quietly slides the door open.

He peers into the darkness. Unable to make out anything clearly, he tiptoes across the tatami floor to the futon. All he can see is a tangle of bedclothes, so he kneels and leans closer. Sakura is completely wrapped in the quilt, her face pearly pale. Hotaka sighs with relief, the tension easing from his body.

Sakura sleeps until midday. Hotaka lets her bathe, eat breakfast, and watch her televised interview before texting Osamu that she’s awake – his mother’s orders. Osamu has already messaged three times and called twice, keen to get the show on the road. He arrives almost as soon as Hotaka texts.

‘You must’ve been waiting around the corner,’ Hotaka says at the front door.

‘I was,’ Osamu replies. ‘There’s too much to do and too little time. Is she ready?’

‘She should be.’ Hotaka beckons him in.

‘Should be?’ Osamu groans, kicks off his shoes and pulls on some slippers. ‘We could lose some bigs scoops if we don’t hurry.’

‘Such as?’ Hotaka asks as they walk along the rōka.

‘For starters, stacks of kids have skipped school and are taking selfies in front of the seawall, some even adding graffiti themselves. They want Sakura in their pics as well. Think of all the publicity! But it has to happen before the graffiti gets painted over. Like ASAP!’

Hotaka pauses at the fusuma doors into the dining room. There’s muted laughter on the other side. He taps and gently slides open the doors.

Sakura sits on the zabuton in the middle of the room, listening closely to Hotaka’s mother who kneels opposite, talking quietly. Hotaka catches some words.

‘He was only three at the time.’

‘Three!’ Sakura gasps, pressing her hand to her mouth. ‘That’s incredible, Yamato-san.’

Hotaka clears his throat. They turn, stare at him, and burst out laughing.

‘Are you telling stories about me, Okāsan?’

‘Who said we’re talking about you?’ His mother turns back to Sakura. ‘Typical male. They think we have nothing better to do than talk about them.’

Osamu steps forward and bows. ‘Hello, Yamato-san.’

‘Osamu. Good to see you, but I fear you’ve come to take our guest away. What a pity. She’s a delight.’

‘Yes, Yamato-san, I’m afraid we must get started,’ Osamu replies. ‘There is a great deal to do. We have to drum up as much support as we can for Sakura in her fight against the seawall.’

‘Support?’ Sakura scoffs. ‘What do you think we’ve been doing? Please, Yamato-san, would you be kind enough to enlighten the boy?’

‘It’s nothing, really. But there are some spare funds from one of our campaigns for the disadvantaged in Omori-wan. I called the committee members last night and they agreed that the money should go into your anti-seawall campaign. I hope you can make good use of it.’

‘Wonderful,’ Osamu says. ‘Thank you so much. We will make very good use of it!’

‘I’d better not keep you away from the fight, then. Off you go. I’ll be there. And good luck.’

‘I want you all to do some serious thinking.’

Sakura stands in front of the three graffiti-covered concrete panels, addressing a crowd of over five hundred people, many around her age.

‘When finished, this wall will have cost at least 400 million yen. At least! Add all the walls to be built along the Tōhoku coast, and the cost will be astronomical! And it’s all money that you will have to pay back in the years to come. You!’

She shouts the last word, then waves her arms over the whole crowd, and points directly at some younger ones.

‘Our generation will still be paying off this wall when we’re old! Think about that! It’s a terrible thought, but it’s made even worse by the fact that this wall will not even do the job it is meant to do. All that money for nothing! How stupid is that?’

Sakura pauses, allowing her words to sink in.

‘Now think about this. For a small part of that wall’s cost, we could build good housing for everyone who’s been living down here in terrible conditions for nearly three years. For a fraction of what that monster will cost, these people could get their lives back on track. Isn’t that what recovery really should be about?’

Sakura glares at the seawall panels.

‘But of course, those in power think recovery means more and more concrete blocks. Why? Because pouring cement is far easier than repairing lives. So that’s what our politicians and decision-makers do: they take the easy road. They leave all those damaged lives down here – out of sight, out of mind – to rot. And instead they build a wall. A wall!’

She screams the word this time, and then is silent. Hotaka is close enough to see that she is in fact overcome by emotion.

‘What a horrible thought,’ she eventually continues. ‘All those poor people trapped inside a faulty concrete fortress, a kind of prison, hearing the ocean but unable to see it. That is criminal. That thought makes me want to weep.’ She bows her head.

There’s complete stillness when Sakura finishes; people are stunned. A moment later they break into applause.

‘She’s good, eh?’ Osamu joins Hotaka in clapping wildly. He’s been busy instructing a team of helpers, making sure they record everything from different angles. ‘And guess what? Hashimoto is in the audience!’

‘Scowling, I bet.’

‘No. Our esteemed principal was listening intently. Our princess is a born politician.’

‘True, but don’t tell her that – or call her a princess,’ Hotaka warns. ‘She’ll eat you.’

Osamu laughs. ‘She was awesome. Had the crowd captivated, young and old. Look at all the phones and cameras out now, clicking and snapping away. Gotta love it, pal; this will definitely spiral viral.’

Hotaka agrees; Sakura was fantastic. But he can’t enjoy the moment like Osamu. He’s unable to relax because he can’t get that strangled rat out of his head. Ever since this morning he’s been thinking about the creature. Right through Sakura’s speech he couldn’t stop searching faces, assessing people, wondering. Who did it? Would they be here now?

He stares out at the crowd, and although he knows that most people support Sakura, all he can see are those who don’t. Like the construction workers, with their hard hats and angry faces. Or the bunch of local officials and construction company executives in dark suits muttering among themselves, their black four-wheel drives in the background with scowling minders. And then there are the three thugs standing alone, arms folded; he’s never seen them before in Omori-wan, and doesn’t like the look of them. Could they be yakuza?

Hotaka decides he has to talk to someone about his concerns. He doesn’t want to worry Osamu and Sakura, or his mother. Besides, they wouldn’t know what to do any more than he would. Uncle Yori is the only one.

‘Listen,’ he says to Osamu. ‘I just remembered something important. I told my uncle I’d call in on him this morning. He’ll be wondering why I didn’t show up. I’d better rush down there now. You okay here?’

‘No worries. This show is running itself. Just look at that queue for selfies with Sakura! We’ll need ages to milk this. Catch you at the boat-shed.’

‘Keep a close eye on Sakura, won’t you,’ Hotaka says as he walks off.