"Miss Fukada, you can drop off at the next intersection."
Inside the sedan, Akari Hojo tapped lightly against the window.
"Understood."
Fukada answered, glancing at Hojo through the rear-view mirror. Hesitating, she asked, "Are you sure you’ll be all right, Miss Akari?"
Hojo lifted her head and smiled faintly. "It’s fine. I haven’t been back to Kyoto in a long ti. I’d like to walk a bit."
"All right. Please call anyti."
"Thank you for everything."
The car rolled to a stop. Hojo stepped out and drew a long breath, letting the frustration she’d packed away in the back seat slowly dissipate.
She put on a mask, slid her hands into her coat pockets, and strolled down the familiar streets at an unhurried pace. Every step echoed with mories of Alan she couldn’t quite shake.
Friends had warned her never to revisit old haunts after a breakup—but every ti she walked this route, she felt strangely healed rather than hurt.
She passed the corner crêperie, then paused outside a milk-tea shop.
Crowds clustered at the counter. Hojo’s lips curved into a nostalgic smile, longing shimring in her eyes.
Back in middle school, every week after voice practice, Alan would buy her a cup as a reward.
"I really shouldn’t," she’d protest. "I’ll gain weight."
Alan would push the cup into her hands anyway, fixing her with that serious expression.
"Hojo, you have no idea how charming you are."
"What if I do get fat?" she’d ask. "Will you stop liking ?"
"Not a chance. One cup of milk tea won’t change you. And even if it did, I wouldn’t stop loving you."
"Then... will you stay with forever?"
"Why wouldn’t I?"
The past rolled in like a relentless tide, carrying with it mories she had tried, unsuccessfully, to seal away.
His voice seed to whisper right beside her ear, close enough that she almost felt the warmth of his breath.
Hojo’s nose stung sharply, and before she could stop herself, tears welled up and spilled over.
The evening sky blurred in her vision, the deep crimson of sunset breaking apart into countless shards of color, like stained glass floating on the surface of dark water.
Stories always began this way. Filled with promises that felt eternal in the mont they were made.
Yet their endings so rarely lived up to that gentleness.
That couldn’t be allowed.
Hojo bit down on her lip, hard enough to hurt. She inhaled sharply, drawing the cool air deep into her lungs, then wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.
Her fingers curled into fists, nails biting into her palms until the sting forced her back into the present.
When she lifted her head again, the wavering softness in her eyes had vanished. In its place burned a quiet, stubborn resolve.
She thought back to the conversation she had just had with Nino Kitagawa, replaying every word, every pause, every subtle shift in expression.
Seen through this new lens, everything made a cruel, almost mocking kind of sense.
There had never been so dramatic fight between Nino and Alan. No explosive argunt. On the day Nino won the kendo championship, at the peak of her triumph, Alan had simply ended things.
With excuses so flimsy they wouldn’t survive even the lightest scrutiny.
And Nino, it seed, had refused to cling or beg. Otherwise, Hojo would have heard about it back when Alan first began courting her. There would have been rumors, whispers, sothing, anything. But there had been nothing.
What unsettled Hojo the most was how closely Nino’s attitude toward Alan mirrored her own.
"I never agreed to break up, so how can you call it over?"
"As long as I refuse to let go, we’re not finished."
"So what if you and Alan were dating? You broke up, didn’t you?"
"I’m going to stay by his side for the rest of my life."
When Nino had spoken those words, her usually blank, unreadable face had softened. For just a mont, she had looked almost fragile, a dreamy smile curving her lips as if she were gazing at a future only she could see.
It was only then that Hojo truly understood.
She had had a rival all along.
And compared to Nino, perhaps she herself was the one who had arrived late, stepping into a story that had already begun long before she ever realized it existed.
The realization was bitter, frustrating enough to make her chest ache. Still, that exchange had clarified several things she hadn’t wanted to admit before.
Nino hadn’t been a kendo prodigy from the start. Her brilliance had co later, after she began dating Alan. Before that, she had been skilled, yes, but not exceptional.
Hojo’s own story ran almost perfectly parallel.
She had always loved music. Ever since she was a child, she had dread of standing beneath bright lights, singing into a microphone, her voice reaching people she would never et.
But there was no denying it, much of her current success had been built on Alan’s guidance.
It was Alan who had gently nudged her toward competitions instead of small local performances.
Alan who had helped her refine her style, tempering raw emotion with technique.
Alan who had prepared songs for her early contests long in advance, quietly laying the foundation for her rise.
Those early performances had propelled her forward, one after another, until her na began to carry weight.
Now that Alan had broken up with her—and taken a new girlfriend—Hojo couldn’t help but wonder.
Had everything been part of so larger plan?
Her eyes clouded with doubt. For a brief, terrifying mont, she wondered if Alan had ever truly loved her at all.
The thought flickered... and died just as quickly.
Impossible.
Their shared mories couldn’t have been fabricated. No machine could replicate the warmth in his eyes back then, the way his voice softened when he spoke her na.
If Alan were truly heartless, he wouldn’t have fled like a coward, leaving behind only a letter. He would have cut things off cleanly, without hesitation.
And when she had gone to Tokyo to see him, the guilt in his eyes had been unmistakable.
Honestly... still hung up on his ex even after breaking up with . He clearly still loves .
The realization settled into her chest like a quiet victory. Hojo’s lips curved upward, just slightly, in restrained triumph.
Yet the relief didn’t last.
If he still loved her, then why had he done it?
What, exactly, was Alan trying to achieve?
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