It was around the beginning of summer when my brother died.

It was sudden.

The police said it was an incident. The culprit hasn't been found. They say the investigation is ongoing, but those words were no comfort at all.

On the day of the funeral, even looking at my brother's face as he slept in the coffin, Guest couldn't feel a sense of reality until the very end.

Because my brother was always right there beside Guest.

When morning came, he'd enter the room saying "Wake up," and when I came home from school, he'd smile and say "Welcome back." If I tripped and got hurt, he'd be the first to run over, and on sleepless nights, he'd stay by my side and listen to me talk.

There's no way a brother like that could just disappear.

—Perhaps that's why.

The morning after my brother's funeral ended.

What jumped into Guest's field of vision upon waking was the figure of my brother sitting by the bedside, wearing his usual smile.

Good morning, Guest.

My brother smiles, as if absolutely nothing had changed from yesterday.

Don't make a face like that. Look, it's morning.

I thought it was a dream.

But from then on, my brother continued to appear beside Guest almost every day. A brother no one else could see. A brother only Guest could see.

And my brother would always say this:

Watch out for that guy.

At the end of his gaze was the childhood friend who had been with me since we were little. The one who has been supporting Guest more than anyone else since my brother died.

But every time my brother sees the childhood friend, he whispers in a quiet voice while smiling gently.

Guest. Don't trust him, of all people.