Since they had decided to celebrate, drinks at least had to be prepared. Haruto was still underage and couldn't drink alcohol, and Setsuna wasn't allowed either. As for Futaba and Mai the only adults present neither of them cared much for drinking. Juice would be more than enough.
"I'll go buy some," Haruto volunteered. "It can count as part of my rehab training."
The drinks in the fridge at home had been sitting there for three months. Some were near expiration, others already spoiled. None of it was fit for four people.
So Haruto took on the task himself. After resting a while, he headed out to the nearby convenience store.
"Ah… it's you again."
The store clerk looked up as he walked in, her expression tightening into something almost… unpleasant. It was as if she had seen something she didn't particularly want to.
Haruto hadn't even noticed her at first, but that voice laced with disdain made him glance up. Meeting her eyes, he saw the dislike written openly across her face. Raising a hand, he pointed to himself.
"Am I really… that unpleasant?" he asked evenly.
"Of course not. I'm sorry!" she blurted, bowing quickly.
Her blunt apology left him unsure how to react.
Plenty of people liked him, and a few disliked him too. But people who showed it so plainly to his face, without the least attempt to hide it that was rare.
Still, Haruto wasn't in the mood to argue. By now Setsuna should have finished school and would likely be on her way home. He moved silently down the aisles, scanning the shelves until he settled on a common brand of fruit juice. Eight cans should be enough. He carried them to the counter.
The clerk didn't meet his gaze this time. Her head remained bowed as she rang up the drinks one by one.
"Two thousand yen," she murmured.
It was a clean, round number. Haruto handed over two thousand-yen bills, accepted the bag, and left without another word.
The clerk watched his retreating back, letting out a slow breath of relief. He hadn't pressed her for answers, hadn't complained to the manager. Her impression of him softened, if only slightly.
Back at the apartment, Haruto stepped into the warm room to find Futaba busy with dinner preparations and Mai, who had arrived while he was out.
"Setsuna isn't back yet?" he asked.
"I just checked in with her," Mai said, turning from the counter. "She's with some friends at Yoko's café but already on her way here."
"I see."
Haruto considered helping in the kitchen, but the apartment was small and he had only just been discharged. Futaba insisted he sit and rest. With nothing else to do, he wandered over to his desk, powered on the computer, and idly pulled up a shogi video.
This is the third match between Habu, the Eternal Champion, and Watanabe, the King…
The familiar commentary drifted into the kitchen. Mai's ears pricked up at the names, and she glanced at Futaba.
"Haruto… he's interested in shogi?" she asked curiously.
"He was when he was little," Futaba replied. "Probably because there wasn't much else to do back in the countryside. He'd spend hours watching programs, or playing against himself on a board. Mitsuha and Yotsuha never cared for it."
"He never tried to study under a teacher?"
"In Itomori? There aren't any masters there. To find one, he would've had to travel all the way to Nagoya. And I was busy raising Mitsuha and Yotsuha… there just wasn't time or energy for that."
The thought had crossed her mind once, long ago. But when she asked Haruto directly if he wanted to pursue it, his answer had been firm.
"The world of professionals is too cruel. All that matters is winning and losing. That kind of life isn't for me."
He'd said it at the age of ten.
"That's… not the kind of answer you expect from a child," Mai said, wide-eyed.
"No, it isn't." Futaba's voice softened. "He's always been mature. I never had to worry about him at home… until…"
Her words trailed off, shadowed by a heavy silence.
Haruto's decision to risk himself for another so out of character for the calm, rational boy she knew still weighed painfully on her. She had raised him not to be selfish, not to be cold. And yet, when he acted out of kindness, he ended up hurt.
During the weeks of his coma, she had placed all the blame squarely on herself.
Seeing the heaviness settle over Futaba's face, Mai bit her lip, regretting she had brought up the subject.
"... I wonder how his new book will turn out," Mai said lightly. "I stopped by the bookstore earlier. It doesn't seem to be out yet."
"His new book?" Futaba asked, genuinely surprised. She stirred the pan absently, curiosity flickering in her eyes.
She had no idea what the story was about, or what he had been writing all those hospital-bound months.
"In that case," Mai smiled faintly, "maybe tonight counts as a celebration for both his discharge and his new work."
"…Yes" Futaba said softly.
Haruto sat at his desk, watching a shogi video on his computer. At the same time, he couldn't help but overhear the conversation between Mai and his mother in the kitchen. His feelings were complicated.
He didn't regret saving that person, not exactly but he knew now that he would probably never make such a reckless choice again. Every action carried consequences, and he hated worrying his family. Protecting himself, he realized, was also a responsibility.
By the time Setsuna returned home, dinner was nearly ready. Winter darkness had already swallowed the city, and the curtains had been drawn against the chill. She chatted lightly with Haruto as she slipped inside, and soon the four of them gathered around the small table.
"Then let's celebrate Haruto's discharge. Cheers!" Mai raised her glass of juice. The others followed, their cups clinking softly before they each took a small sip.
"Haruto, try this stir-fried beef with peppers."
She set the dish in front of him, smiling. Haruto nodded with a gentle grin, then nudged the plate toward Setsuna beside him.
"You try it first."
Setsuna blinked, taken aback, but as she accepted his small gesture, the tangle of doubts and emotions she had been holding onto seemed to loosen. For the first time in days, she simply felt glad that Haruto was home and safe.
Mai noticed the exchange as well. Relief washed over her; she had been quietly worried that nothing was changing between her daughter and Haruto, that their relationship had stalled. For tonight, at least, she could breathe easier.
Futaba's reaction, however, was more restrained. She sipped her juice without expression, her mind clearly occupied elsewhere.
The atmosphere at the table never quite became lively. Each of them carried their own thoughts, and the conversation remained sparse. Aside from Mai and Futaba discussing mundane matters of daily life and vague plans for the future, silence filled the room until the meal ended.
Future…
Setsuna, catching the thread of their conversation, glanced at Haruto. He turned his head at almost the same moment, their eyes meeting.
His gaze drifted downward to her brown knit sweater, then lower, to the flatness of her stomach. A flicker of surprise crossed his face. It had already been three months. Shouldn't there have been some sign?
Setsuna noticed his stare. Almost instinctively, her hand brushed across her abdomen before she set it quietly back onto the table.
After dinner, their mothers took care of the cleaning, leaving the two of them to sit quietly at the table. Haruto looked directly into her eyes.
"It's been three months… still nothing?"
"...Yeah."
She didn't tell him the truth that she had gone to the pharmacy herself, had sat alone in her room for hours before finally deciding to take the pills. She had let go of the thought of binding Haruto with a child.
It was too twisted, she realized.
Meeting Sayu Ogiwara had changed her. Knowing what Sayu had endured, Setsuna couldn't help but wonder if she had gone through with it, would she have become the same kind of mother? Someone who treated her child as nothing more than a tool?
She didn't know the answer. But she knew this much: she wasn't ready to be a mother. So she chose to let go.
Haruto sensed there was more beneath her silence, but he didn't press. A small part of him even felt relief. He wasn't ready to be a father, either.
The celebration ended in quiet. Mai and Setsuna eventually left for home, leaving Haruto and Futaba in the apartment. After tidying up, Haruto lay down on his bed while Futaba spread out a futon on the floor. She called Itomori to let them know that she and Haruto would return together during winter break.
Mitsuha, on the other end, sounded disappointed.
"Isn't he still recovering? Traveling all the way back from Tokyo will take forever. Wouldn't it be better if I came to visit, with Yotsuha and Grandma? She's never been to Tokyo before!"
"Your grandmother is too old to be making such trips in winter. Stay put for now. We'll be home in two weeks."
Mitsuha sighed but agreed reluctantly. Haruto stayed quiet during the call; just the thought of his sister's loud voice gave him a headache.
"Alright, let's rest," Futaba said at last.
"Mm."
The room grew silent. Futaba stared at the unfamiliar ceiling above her. Compared to their house in Itomori, even compared to the private hospital ward, the cramped apartment felt strangely alien.
"Have you thought about moving?" she asked. "Finding a bigger apartment?"
"I've considered it. But moving would cost at least a million yen, probably more. For now, it's better to save. When I've got enough, I'll buy a place of my own."
"You could ask your father. He's been—"
"This is my problem. I don't need him to solve it. Between Mitsuha, Yotsuha, and everything else, there are plenty of expenses already. Honestly, if it weren't for the settlement money from the accident, we'd be in trouble as it is."
Futaba fell quiet. She understood what he meant, yet she couldn't shake the pang of disappointment that came with it.
Haruto had always been independent, mature beyond his years. That should have been a source of pride. But in the aftermath of the accident, she realized something painful: despite being mother and son, there was almost no sense of reliance between them.
Family should lean on each other. But Haruto never had. Even his father had seemed to notice, speaking of him with that hesitant, unspoken weight.
"Haruto."
"Yeah?"
"We're family."
Half-asleep, Haruto stirred at her words. His eyes opened slowly, though his body didn't move. He thought back to the countless days she had spent by his side in the hospital, tending to him, never once complaining.
"...Yes."
The quiet reply was enough. Futaba's expression softened. She looked at his back, smiled faintly, and finally closed her eyes.
~~~~~~~~~~
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