"I feel like I'm going to suffocate—"
"...So that's a complaint about my weight, is it?"
Inside the hotel room, Haruto found himself pinned beneath Sayuri, her eyes gazing straight into his. That faint, wounded look in her eyes made him force an awkward smile.
"Of course not. No matter how you change, I'll always love you. If I feel breathless, it's only because your beauty makes me forget how to breathe."
His eyes flickered toward the gaping neckline of Sayuri's nightwear, revealing pale softness beneath. Heat stirred in his body. He quickly averted his gaze upward to the ceiling, too afraid to move, as though the smallest reaction might tempt her into pressing him even harder.
He was already exhausted.
From the moment they had arrived at the hot-spring inn, he hadn't been given a chance to rest. Just a brief conversation with the landlady had roused Sayuri's displeasure—and before he could even bathe, she had pinned him down and drained him mercilessly.
Later, after finally soaking in the hot spring and returning to the room, he had once again been pushed to the futon...
The night never gave him peace. Like a fragile colt being whipped over and over, he endured until near dawn, when Sayuri at last fell asleep beside him, satisfied.
Now, waking to find her lying on top of him again, Haruto felt a pang of dread. He was terrified she might demand more—when he was certain he had nothing left to give.
"Really?"
"Really."
"Then prove it."
"Prove...? What do you—mmph!"
The morning, when the inn staff would normally enter to clean, passed in silence. Since Haruto and Sayuri hadn't left their room until noon, no one had tidied up. Standing by the open window, Haruto cast a troubled glance at her before walking to the low table. He picked up a cigarette and lit it.
Thin white smoke curled upward. Haruto stared at the glowing tip, inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly out the window, watching the fading trails dissolve into the air.
"Remember to brush your teeth after," Sayuri muttered.
"Yeah, I know."
Sayuri tolerated nearly all of Haruto's flaws, but his smoking was the one thing she couldn't abide.
Haruto leaned on the window frame, looking out toward the hot spring baths. From this angle, the fence blocked any real view, showing only drifting wisps of steam.
Even though we're lovers, we still have to bathe separately... because of something as trivial as gender.The thought left him oddly wistful. He took another long drag, letting his regret disperse with the smoke.
"This inn's bath service... feels a little lacking, don't you think?"
"Hmm?"
Sayuri, midway through changing clothes, looked over at him.
"What do you mean, 'lacking'?"
"No, nothing."
He gave her a small smile, realizing he was asking for too much. Then he turned back to the window, silent.
A sudden sting brought his attention to his hand—he had let the cigarette burn too far. With a soft hiss, he crushed the butt into the ashtray.
_ _ _ _
"Ah..."
Sekai paused as she clipped Haruto's fingernails. For a moment she glanced toward Setsuna, sitting nearby, and Sayu, who was quietly studying the unfamiliar hospital instruments. After a short silence, she lowered her head again.
She had nearly cut too deep, almost drawing blood. Only after checking carefully to be sure no injury had been made did she let out a relieved breath and continue trimming.
"It's already been a month, and still no sign of waking. The doctors haven't given us any clear answer."
Sayu's eyes drifted from the machines to Haruto lying motionless in the bed, then back toward Setsuna.
"It's October already. Just two more months and the year's over..."
Futaba had stepped out with Mai to pick up daily necessities. She hadn't brought enough clothes when she first came to Tokyo, and after so long it was finally time to buy a few things.
In their absence, the three girls had taken on the task of caring for Haruto.
Sayu rose from the monitors and stood beside him, watching Sekai carefully tend to his nails.
Her words made Sekai's hands falter for a moment. Half a year's worth of events flashed through her mind. So much has happened... and yet not even a full year has passed...
Setsuna sat quietly nearby, lips pressed tight, her gaze locked on the boy who still wouldn't wake.
—
"Why are we leaving already? We only stayed at the ryokan for two nights."
In the car, Haruto looked at Sayuri in confusion. They had planned to spend an entire week there on holiday. Why had she suddenly rushed them out?
Eyes fixed on the road, Sayuri drove in silence for a long time before finally answering.
"Because... I was scared."
"Scared?"
"Scared that I might lose you there."
Haruto gave a small laugh. "How could you possibly—"
But when he noticed the serious look on her face, his words faltered.
"I'll always be by your side," he said firmly.
Sayuri didn't reply.
The car ride back to Tokyo was heavy with silence, neither of them knowing what to say. In Haruto's chest, a strange unease began to swell. Everything around him—her, the car, even the city—suddenly felt unreal, like it might dissolve at any moment.
He found himself reexamining everything around him.
Standing alone in a small apartment, he looked at the familiar-yet-unfamiliar walls. The scene shifted again.
"Where... is this?"
A cramped but not suffocating one-room apartment. The narrow bed, the desk—it all felt so familiar. Slowly, he walked toward the bathroom door and pushed it open.
The tiny space barely had room for a shower stall, no tub at all.
This... feels so familiar.
He couldn't remember where or when he had seen such a place, only that it tugged at something deep within him.
Walking over to the desk, he noticed a stack of manuscripts. The title on the cover read "The Angel with a Stigma." The moment his eyes landed on it, a strange sense of familiarity welled up inside him. For a long while he stood there in silence, hand hovering, and when he finally touched the pages, it felt as though he had remembered something—yet at the same time, nothing at all.
"Haruto… more…"
A phantom appeared at his side. A familiar voice echoed through the room, though it wasn't directed at him.
The vision of a girl lingered near him, as if caught in a memory—talking with someone, leaning into someone's embrace. Her clothes slowly slipped from her shoulders. Watching this scene unfold so vividly before him, Haruto felt a flicker of forbidden excitement.
"What is this? What's going on? Where's Sayuri?"
"Haruto, I love you."
"…"
He turned his head. On the bed lay the figure of a girl, whispering those words to him. Staring at her, stunned, he could only watch as the illusion dissolved, leaving him in silence.
The space around him shifted, closing in—transforming into a cramped little karaoke booth. A girl sat beside him, curled up, a faint peaceful smile resting on her face.
"The future? Honestly, I don't know what mine looks like. Every day, I'm just worrying about where the next meal will come from. Thinking about something as far away as 'the future'… it's too much of a luxury for me."
Her voice was calm and still, like rippling water. That simple white shirt she wore stirred a wave of déjà vu in him. He wanted to study her face more closely, but in the blink of an eye, the world shifted again—now he was standing in what looked like a clubroom.
The evening wind tugged gently at the curtains. Bathed in the glow of sunset, a petite girl in white stockings sat by the window, legs dangling as she stared out, her gaze brushing past him.
Haruto opened his mouth to speak, but before a word left him, the world lurched again. He was standing at the base of an apartment building, a crowd gathered in front. Something had happened. Curious and uneasy, he pushed forward.
"They say it was suicide."
"That was the landlady, right? She had a daughter and seemed to be dating a young guy. They seemed to be in a good relationship. Why did she commit suicide?"
"Who knows?"
The whispers around him struck his ears like daggers, and his breath caught. Slowing his steps, he lowered his head and pressed forward until he reached the front of the crowd.
There, a stretcher emerged from the building. A pale arm dangled loosely, streaked with a raw, vivid red. The sight stabbed into his eyes like fire, so blinding it hurt to look.
"Do you remember now?"
Sayuri's voice drifted into his ear. The crowd dissolved into shadows, but one figure remained—brilliant against the dimming world. A girl in a white dress. She walked softly toward him.
The frozen scene—the stretcher, the covered body—hovered before his eyes, his mind blanking into silence.
"Do you want to go back?"
Sayuri stopped in front of him, her white dress swaying. She slipped off her hood and placed it gently over his head. Her lips, bright as scarlet petals, curved into a smile as she gazed at him.
Haruto opened his mouth, but no sound would come.
_ _ _ _
"Medically speaking, there's nothing particularly wrong with him. His brain hasn't suffered any serious damage. In this condition, he should have woken up by now. Why he hasn't—it's something we can't quite explain."
In the hospital room, the doctor spoke while scanning Haruto's repports, then paused thoughtfully before looking back at the unconscious young man.
"It may not be a matter of physiology anymore. Psychological factors could be keeping him under. It often helps if family members stay by his side—call his name, reminisce about the past. Sometimes that can reach them."
He closed the file, nodded to Futaba, and left.
Alone again, Futaba sat at her son's bedside. Her chest ached with heaviness. The EEG showed brain activity, proof that something inside him was still alive, still moving. And yet—no matter how she called to him—he would not wake.
Is it because he doesn't want to?
Bzzz—
The vibration of her phone broke the silence. She answered, and her younger daughter's voice came through.
"Mom… he still hasn't woken up, has he?"
It had been more than a month now. Futaba had stayed in Tokyo all this time, tending to Haruto. At first she had tried to keep it from her daughters, but after two weeks, the truth had spilled out.
When Mitsuha and Yotsuha had learned of it, there had been a long silence on the line. Afterward, both declared they would come to Tokyo at once. But they still had their studies, and with Futaba's firm persuasion—and Toshiki stepping in to visit briefly on their behalf—the girls reluctantly stayed behind.
"He's doing much better now," Futaba said softly, voice steady for her daughter's sake. "The doctor thinks… he could wake up soon."
"I want to come to Tokyo. I want to help take care of him."
"One person is enough. And besides, Miss Kiyoura and the others often stop by to watch over him. Don't worry."
On the other end, Mitsuha was silent for a long moment before finally murmuring her reluctant agreement. The line went dead, and the room was once more swallowed in heavy quiet.
— — — —
"Just being here, nothing else matters. Every day, I can be with you."
Sayuri embraced Haruto, feeling the warmth of the person before her. It wasn't real—but somehow, it felt achingly familiar.
It was a lie. Not the real Sayuri.
In the depths of his heart, Haruto told himself this, yet even a false Sayuri was still Sayuri.
Haruto, held in her arms, opened his own, ready to return the embrace—but then he heard a familiar voice whispering in his ear, calm yet suppressing emotion:
"Why do you try to be a hero? Why…?"
Who…?
Whose voice was that?
Confusion surged within him, yet his gaze fell on the white lab coat, the expression always so cold. Recognition flickered across his face.
"Haruto—"
His eyes trembled. Haruto opened them, feeling a chill against his chest. In that moment, he saw the gray-haired girl sitting atop him and the glistening tear on his own chest.
~~~~~~~~~~
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