After everything that happened that day, Ryoma vanished—without a word, without a trace.
His phone had gone silent, unreachable, like he had melted into the night itself. No one knew where he had gone.
Not even Masaru.
Despite his wealth and influence, Masaru's attempt to bend the hospital's rules with stacks of cash had been swiftly and firmly denied.
No visitors were allowed for Ayaka.
And so, in the dim glow of the evening, Chisato sat alone on the sofa in the living room, her phone gripped tightly in both hands.
She had called Ryoma over and over. Each time, the line rang until it bled into silence.
No answer. No reply.
She sighed, the sound soft but heavy, as if her worry had begun to weigh on her chest.
"Why won't he answer…?" she muttered under her breath.
She leaned back slowly, resting her head against the sofa's cushion, eyes locked on the glowing screen in her palm.
Her message to Ryoma still sat there—unread, untouched, uncared for. At least, that's how it felt.
"I just want to know you're okay…" she whispered, barely audible.
And then—A faint creak.
Her ears perked.
From somewhere above… a sound. Her eyes flicked upward, she then immediately walked to go upstairs to check.
Then it happened.
With a soft flutter, something small slipped through the cracks of a hidden door.
A tiny piece of paper drifted down, almost weightless, like a snowflake falling out of place.
"Huh…?" Chisato's brows furrowed.
She stepped forward, bent down, and picked it up carefully.
The paper was folded twice, the creases sharp and deliberate. Whoever left it wanted it to be seen. But only by her.
She hesitated.
Then, slowly, she unfolded it.
Chisato blinked at the paper in her hand, tilting her head slightly as she read the scrawled message again.
"You want to find me? Meet me at the underground casino at this location tomorrow at 9 PM."
Below the sentence, there was an address—and just beneath that, a name written in smaller, sharper strokes:
Tatsuma.
"T-Tatsuma?!" Chisato gasped, eyes wide like she just saw a ghost tap-dancing in her living room. "Whaaaat? Why would he..?"
Her mind spun with questions, but her body was already moving.
She folded the note quickly and stuffed it into her pocket, dashing across the room like she was on a mission.
"Takina's gotta hear about this!"
She jumped onto the sofa—literally leapt—grabbing her phone like it was a lifeline. With nimble fingers, she found Takina's contact and hit call. The dial tone beeped once... twice...
Then—"Hello?" came Takina's calm, steady voice through the speaker.
"Takina!" Chisato blurted, sitting up straight with a spark of excitement in her tone. "I need to tell you something super weird!"
Takina, on the other end, blinked and sat up in her chair. "...What's wrong? You sound kind of... serious."
Chisato pouted, slightly dramatic. "I am serious! I got an invitation. From someone totally unexpected."
Takina raised an eyebrow. "From who?"
Chisato took a breath. "Tatsuma."
There was a beat of silence.
"...Tatsuma?" Takina echoed, now sounding a lot more alert. "What does the invitation say?"
"He wants to meet me tomorrow night," Chisato said, biting her lip, "At an underground casino!"
Another pause.
Then Takina's voice came through again, sharp and steady. "That could be a trap, Chisato."
"I know! But…" Her voice trailed off, the bubbling thoughts in her head tangling into hesitation.
"But?" Takina's voice came through the phone, calm but curious. She knew that tone—Chisato was holding something back.
Chisato exhaled softly. "…But I can't shake the feeling that Ryoma might be there too."
There was a pause. On the other end of the line, Takina said nothing for a few seconds. She was thinking—processing.
Takina sighed. "Then I'm coming with you."
Chisato immediately lit up. "Yay~! Of course you are!" She giggled. "You'd look cute in a casino dress."
"I'm bringing weapons," Takina replied dryly.
The Next Night—9:01 PM
In the quiet of a dimly-lit alley, Chisato and Takina stood side by side in front of an unassuming old building, barely distinguishable from the other rundown shops on the street.
The wooden sign above the door simply read:
Koi-Koi Ramen.
Inside, it was exactly as plain as it looked. A cramped, narrow space with four mismatched tables, an open kitchen lined with dented pots, and faded posters of movies and idols from decades ago plastered across the walls.
A faint scent of broth and burnt oil hung in the air. Behind the counter stood an older man, face wrinkled, eyes tired.
He barely looked up from his cutting board as they entered—but he noticed them. Sharp eyes flicked in their direction.
"What can I help you with, ladies?" he asked, his voice low and emotionless.
Chisato smiled brightly, walking up to the counter like she owned the place.
"Two bowl of the 77th Broth, please~"
The old man paused, knife still in hand.
"Sorry," he muttered, "that's not on the menu."
Chisato's grin widened. "Exactly. Neither is the place I'm trying to reach."
A beat.
Then, without a word, the man turned to a large spice rack behind him.
His fingers reached for a small, dusty salt jar.
Click—one twist to the right.
Click—two.
Click—three.
The sound echoed unnaturally.
With a deep mechanical whirr, the spice rack shifted backward, the shelves sliding aside like part of an old vault.
A narrow staircase revealed itself, carved into ancient concrete and lit by a faint, flickering orange glow.
Takina's hand instinctively went to her hip, checking her hidden holster.
Chisato, however, clapped her hands in delight.
"Ooooh, secret entrance! Classic~!"
Takina glanced at her. "Focus."
"Hehe, yes ma'am," Chisato whispered, stepping forward. "Time to go all-in."
The narrow hallway was quiet, lit only by small neon lights.
Their footsteps echoed softly in the narrow, dimly lit corridor. A faint golden glow reflected off the old brick walls lined with metal, creating the illusion of a never-ending passage.
At the end of the hallway, a steel door slid open automatically with a quiet hiss, as if welcoming honored guests.
And the moment they stepped through-it was as if the world had transformed.
The ceiling soared above them, adorned with low-hanging white crystal chandeliers that sparkled like stars in the night.
The polished marble floor at the entrance mirrored their reflections perfectly.
The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, aged wine, and a faint trace of cigarette smoke-luxurious, mature, and dangerous.
The soft clinking of glasses and the rattle of chips filled the room, accompanied by conversations in various languages.
Guests were dressed in elegant suits and lavish gowns, Round gaming tables covered in deep red velvet sat under individual hanging lights, their beams illuminating only the games, leaving the rest of the room bathed in seductive shadow.
To the left, a row of vintage-style slot machines glowed softly in hues of purple and blue neon.
To the right, a semicircular bar served drinks in crystal bottles displayed like works of art.
Behind the bar, a male bartender in white gloves and a sharply tailored tuxedo prepared a dark-colored cocktail with practiced, precise movements.
Chisato narrowed her eyes, then let out a low whistle.
"Oof... Now this is fancy. Feels like we just stepped into a villain's birthday party."
Takina remained silent, but her eyes swept across the entire room like a radar.
They stepped further in, Chisato's heels tapping gently on the marble floor.
Every person they passed turned to look-some with admiration, others with suspicion.
At the far end of the room, a small music stage stood, where a jazz trio played a slow tune.
Soft piano notes and a melancholic saxophone wrapped the entire atmosphere in smooth elegance.
"Well, at least the music is good," Chisato hummed.
Takina, walking beside her, didn't smile. Her eyes were sharp, constantly sweeping across the room, every guest, every movement.
"Stay vigilant," she whispered, barely moving her lips. "Looks can be deceiving."
From a darker corner of the casino, someone watched them through the smoke and dim light.
"…They've come, huh?" the man muttered to himself, lowering his glass just slightly as his eyes narrowed.
Takina's gaze shifted—she felt it.
Someone was watching.
Her head turned instantly, locking eyes with a shadowy figure near the bar. The man stiffened, startled by her precision.
"There—" she began, but her words cut off.
She blinked.
Chisato was gone.
"Eh?"
Eyes wide, Takina spun around—but the pink blur of her partner was already halfway across the casino floor, blending with the crowd like a natural-born rogue.
And there she was.
Chisato stood near a grand roulette table, where black and gold numbers glittered under the overhead lights.
Her expression lit up as if she'd found a long-lost treasure chest.
Before Takina could even make her way over, she saw Chisato already handing over a stack of chips, grinning like a child in an amusement park.
"Chisato..." Takina called, her tone low, sharp, and lined with disbelief.
Chisato turned around with a carefree smile. "What? Can't a girl have some fun?"
Takina's expression was unreadable, but her eyes spoke volumes.
Chisato, of course, didn't notice. She bounced excitedly on her toes and pointed dramatically at the table.
"Thirteen! My lucky number!" she declared, slapping her chips onto the black and gold square.
The croupier gave a brief nod and spun the wheel. The silver ball clattered around the rim with rhythmic tension, dancing, skipping, teasing.
Takina crossed her arms, eyes narrowing. "We're not here to gamble."
"I know, I knooow~," Chisato replied, completely entranced by the spinning wheel. "I'm multitasking!"
The ball bounced—once, twice—then clicked into a pocket.
The dealer leaned forward, voice clear and crisp: "Thirteen. Black."
A small hush fell around the table as chips were pushed forward.
"Haha! Told ya!" Chisato beamed, scooping up her winnings with gleaming eyes. "You have to trust the Chisato instinct!"
Takina let out a long sigh, "Can you focus for one second?" she muttered, eyes still sweeping the floor of the casino like a hawk.
Across the roulette table, Chisato casually stacked her winnings into a neat little pyramid, clearly enjoying herself.
"Relax, relax~" she sang, grinning. "Just a tiny bit of fun. Besides—look around. No sign of Tatsuma yet, right?"
But Takina wasn't amused.
She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. "I saw someone. A man. Watching us."
Chisato's hands froze for a brief moment, then resumed counting as her gaze swept the room in her usual carefree manner.
"Really? Where?" she asked, keeping her tone light as her eyes flicked toward every face in the crowd.
Takina didn't answer immediately. Her sharp gaze caught a glimpse of the man again—just for a second—slipping into a side hallway near the edge of the casino.
"There—over there!"
Without waiting, she took off, weaving quickly through the crowd.
"Eh?! H-Hey, wait up!" Chisato called after her, hastily scooping up her chips.
They clattered against one another as she shoved her way between tuxedos and gowns, trailing behind Takina.
"At least let me cash these first!"
By the time Chisato reached the hallway, the mood had shifted. The bright lights and music of the casino were gone.
The corridor ahead was dark—unnaturally so. The humming buzz of neon gave way to silence, and the polished floor turned into rough concrete.
"Takina?" Chisato whispered, stepping slowly. Her eyes struggled to adjust to the shadows. "Are you here?"
She took another cautious step—
And suddenly, a hand shot out of the dark, grabbing her wrist and pulling her inside.
"Wha—mmph?!"
A hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her startled cry. Her chips spilled from her arms and scattered across the floor like coins in a dream.
Is this it? Did I just walk into a trap?!
But before panic could take over, a low, calm voice whispered against her ear:
"Shh… It's me."
Her eyes went wide. That voice—She knew that voice.
"Mm-mhm?" she mumbled through the hand, blinking rapidly.
Then another voice came—this time from deeper in the room. Familiar. Steady.
"Chisato, it's okay. He's not a bad person. Just wait a little longer," Takina's voice said.
Takina's here too? Then this isn't…
The tension in Chisato's shoulders began to fade, though her expression still screamed I have questions and I want answers now.
"Mmmh…" she mumbled again, trying to squint through the darkness.
Then—click.
The lights buzzed to life with a faint hum.
The room lit up slowly, revealing worn brick walls and stacks of unused casino furniture.
It looked like some kind of hidden storage—or maybe a forgotten lounge.
The man beside her released his hand from her mouth, stepping back.
Chisato turned to look at him fully now, her expression shifting from alarm to recognition—mixed with disbelief.
Her eyes widened. "You…?!"
Her eyes widened the moment the light touched his face. That unmistakable sky-blue hair.
Those sharp glasses that framed eyes both distant and deeply thoughtful.
Her breath hitched.
"R–Ryoma?!" Chisato's voice cracked as a brilliant smile spread across her face, her surprise turning instantly to joy.
Ryoma gave a small, sheepish smile of his own. "Sorry for... covering your mouth earlier."
Chisato shook her head, her smile never fading. "I'm just glad it was you!"
Then she noticed something else.
Her gaze flicked to the side—where Takina stood beside him, arms crossed as if she'd been waiting for this exact moment.
Chisato narrowed her eyes and pointed dramatically. "Takinaaa! You knew?! Why didn't you tell me it was Ryoma?!"
Takina gave her signature calm stare. "Because we were this close to being seen by Tatsuma."
"Ryoma shut off all the lights in the hallway and in this room to hide us."
"Oh…" Chisato blinked, then exhaled with a nod of appreciation. "Smart move."
She turned back to Ryoma, eyes gleaming with a thousand unspoken emotions. "So... you've been here all this time?"
Ryoma nodded. "Yes. And the one who sent the letter to your house—that was from me."
Chisato's smile faltered slightly, replaced by a small, tired sigh. Her shoulders relaxed as she folded her arms and tilted her head.
"You could've just called, you know," she said, voice tinged with mild exasperation.
Ryoma looked away, a flicker of guilt flashing across his face. "After all your calls and messages… I couldn't bring myself to answer. I felt like... if I messaged you back, it'd only make things worse."
Chisato stared at him for a moment, then let out another soft sigh. The annoyance melted into something gentler, her expression laced with quiet concern.
"You idiot..." she mumbled, stepping a little closer. "You had us all so worried, you know."
Ryoma gave her a wry smile. "Yeah... you can scold me all you want after this."
He straightened slightly, a more serious glint in his eyes. "But right now, we need to focus. Tatsuma's here, and I don't think this is just a casual visit."
"Do you have a plan, Ryoma?" Takina asked, eyes already scanning for vantage points, exits, and shadows.
Ryoma gave a small nod. "Of course."
Without missing a beat, he reached into his coat and pulled out two slim, compact objects. With a small flick, they unfolded—sleek black goggles with faint green lenses.
"Step one: put these on," he said, handing them to the girls. "They'll let you see in the dark."
Chisato and Takina exchanged a glance—surprise flickering across both their faces—but they accepted the devices without hesitation.
"Ohh~ fancy tech," Chisato murmured as she slid the glasses on, tapping the side. "These make me look cool, right?"
Takina adjusted hers with a soft click. "And practical," she added, her tone approving. "The night vision's crystal clear."
"Good," Ryoma said, turning toward the crack in the door. Beyond it, the corridor stretched back toward the casino floor—still lit by warm chandeliers and electric sconces.
"I've modified these glasses," he continued quietly. "They let me shut down any electronic lights with one command."
"But some of the older lighting—oil lamps—still stay on. That's where you two come in."
He paused, turning back to them with a serious expression.
"You brought guns, right?"
Takina's hand was already inside her jacket. She drew her sidearm smoothly.
"Of course."
"Same here~" Chisato chimed, drawing her own pistol with a little twirl. "You know I never travel light."
Ryoma smiled faintly. "Good. Once I kill the power, you'll need to handle the rest."
He tapped his glasses. "When I give the signal... shoot out the chandeliers. Aim high, wait for my mark."
"I'll trigger the blackout when no one's beneath them—it has to be precise."
Takina's grip tightened. She gave a crisp nod. "Understood."
Chisato clicked her tongue and winked. "Ready when you are, commander."
Ryoma exhaled slowly, counting the moments between the footsteps, the laughter, and the brief lull in activity. His fingers hovered over the switch on his device.
The plan was risky—but if it worked, they'd plunge the room into chaos... just enough for their move.
Among the glittering crowd and rising tension, Tatsuma—dressed in his sharp crimson suit—paused.
His eyes narrowed, his gaze slicing across the room like a blade.
He turned.
Right toward the hallway.
He saw them. Or at least, he almost did.
This is it.
Ryoma's eyes narrowed behind the glasses.
"The perfect moment…" he whispered. "Shoot!"
Without hesitation, two sharp cracks rang out.
Bang! Bang!
Chisato and Takina fired in flawless unison, their bullets slicing cleanly through the air.
A second later—CRASH!
The chandeliers above shattered in a cascade of glass and metal, plunging the entire casino into instant darkness.
Simultaneously, Ryoma tapped his glasses. The entire system of electronic lights—both in the room, the hallway, and the surrounding sections—shut down with a subtle click, swallowed by shadows.
Then—
"Now!"
All three of their glasses flickered—and activated.
In an instant, the world came alive in hues of deep green and black.
The once-blinding darkness transformed into a sharply detailed landscape, every figure, table, and exit lit with a faint monochrome glow.
"Woooah... Cool~" Chisato whispered in awe, spinning slightly in place as the room reshaped itself before her eyes.
Chaos erupted.
Screams, gasps, the crash of overturned chairs and dropped drinks filled the air.
"What happened?!" someone shouted in panic.
The only remaining light came from the flickering glow of the slot machines and arcade panels—artificial, eerie, and distorted under the vision of their lenses.
"Target: Tatsuma!" Ryoma barked, his voice sharp as a gunshot.
He drew his pistol and charged forward, his silhouette cutting through the confusion like a phantom in the dark.
"On it!" Chisato called, already leaping into motion.
Tatsuma's instincts screamed-they were here.
The air grew heavier, the darkness tighter around him like a noose. Unlike them, he couldn't see—he could only feel the predator's breath closing in.
And then—Ryoma was already there.
Silent as a shadow, merciless as a storm. Tatsuma couldn't see him, but he heard him.
A shot tore through the silence.
BANG!
Tatsuma twisted with inhuman speed, the bullet grazing past his cheek as he launched himself forward like a charging beast.
But Ryoma moved like he'd done this a thousand times. Calm. Cold. Effortless.
He dodged aside.
From the shadows—Bang!
Another shot. This one hit.
The bullet slammed into Tatsuma's side, sending him crashing to the floor like a falling titan.
"AGHHH! YOU LITTLE SHITS!" Tatsuma howled like a cornered animal. Blood seeping, fury boiling, he grabbed an entire slot machine—yes, a whole damn machine—and hurled it across the room like it was a chair.
CRASH!
It smashed through a roulette table, metal and wood exploding into the air like confetti.
And just when he staggered back—
He froze.
There was a click behind him.
The unmistakable press of a gun barrel against the back of his neck.
"Evening, Tatsuma~," Chisato whispered, grinning like a devil in an angel's skin.
She didn't wait.
BANG!
The rubber bullet struck his spine-his knees gave out like a marionette with its strings cut.
He collapsed.
And in front of him, Ryoma stood—calm, composed, pistol aimed squarely at his forehead.
"Checkmate," Ryoma said, voice cold as steel.
Tatsuma's lip curled. His eyes blazed.
"JUST CHECK, YOU COCKY LITTLE BASTARD!"
With a roar that shook the walls, Tatsuma lunged one last time—A desperate final strike.
But Ryoma's finger was already on the trigger.
BANG.
The bullet only grazed his back-but it wasn't enough.
Ryoma was already in his grip, and Tatsuma carried him like a ragdoll as he charged forward with brute strength, slamming himself into the nearest wall in a desperate bid to crush him.
Chaos erupted.
Screams filled the casino as civilians ducked and scattered, chips flying, drinks crashing to the floor.
No one understood what was happening—only that death had entered the room.
Takina surged forward through the chaos.
BANG!
Her shot was deadly—precise—striking Tatsuma hard, nearly knocking him flat. He staggered, legs buckling—But somehow, he stayed up.
He growled like a beast and kept running, dragging Ryoma with him like dead weight.
They were closing in on the wall-Then Ryoma made his move.
In one swift motion, he yanked out a hidden weapon from his jacket—a high—voltage stun gun—and without hesitation, slammed it into Tatsuma's neck.
ZAAAP!
Electricity surged. Sparks danced in the air. "Die, you bastard!!" Ryoma roared, teeth clenched with fury.
Tatsuma convulsed, eyes wide, arms twitching-then released him, stumbling backward with a guttural cry.
Ryoma crashed to the ground, panting hard. Gasps echoed around him.
People stood frozen, staring in disbelief. "Who... who the hell are you?!" one of them shouted.
But Ryoma didn't answer. He just glared toward Tatsuma, who was now rising again—his breathing uneven, his glare murderous.
Tatsuma realized it.
He wasn't ready for this.
Not tonight.
"Tch..." he spat.
And without another word, he spun on his heel and bolted—vanishing into the shadows like a ghost with unfinished business.
Tatsuma lunged into the panicking crowd and grabbed one of the gamblers, yanking him in front like a human shield.
"If any of you follow me—this man dies!" he barked, pressing a blade to the trembling man's throat.
"AH! NO! PLEASE! SOMEBODY HELP ME!" the hostage screamed, eyes wild with fear.
Gasps spread like wildfire. People froze in place, watching in horror.
Without a second thought, Ryoma charged through the chaos, weaving between fleeing guests and overturned chairs.
His eyes burned with rage, locked on the silhouette of Tatsuma disappearing into the crowd.
"You're not running from this, bastard!" he snarled, raising his pistol mid-sprint.
His finger curled around the trigger—
Until—
"STOP!!"
Arms wrapped around him from behind.
Chisato.
She held him tightly, her strength fueled not by muscle—but by desperation.
Ryoma jerked in shock, nearly stumbling. "What the hell are you doing?!" he snapped, turning his head just enough to glare at her. His voice cracked with emotion.
"I have to—! I have to make him pay for what he did to Ayaka!"
His shout rang out through the darkened room, full of raw grief, guilt, and fury.
"Let go of me!"
But Chisato didn't move. She only clung tighter. "If you go after him like this—someone will die," she said, her voice fierce, steady.
Their eyes met in the dim green glow of their night vision lenses.
And for a heartbeat, everything else vanished.
The chaos. The shouting. The broken chandeliers. All that remained was Ryoma's trembling body and Chisato's arms around him.
Then—
A firm hand landed on Ryoma's shoulder.
Takina.
"We need to go," she said, calm and unshaken. "The guards are coming. If we're caught here, we lose everything."
Ryoma stood frozen. His chest heaved. His gun trembled in his grip.
"...Damn it..." he muttered through clenched teeth, his jaw tightening as his eyes refused to leave the place where Tatsuma had disappeared.
But he knew.
They had to pull back.
Without another word, the three of them moved. Takina led the way, guiding them through the darkened back hall.
Chisato stayed close beside Ryoma, her hand never leaving his arm—just in case he lost control again.
As they neared the old ramen shop entrance, Ryoma reached into his coat and flicked a small capsule toward the door.
Psssh!
A thick cloud of white smoke burst forth, billowing into the narrow room like a veil.
The old shopkeeper—still behind the counter—glanced up, confused, coughing softly as the haze blurred the trio's exit.
Seconds later, the three emerged into the alley outside. The night air was cool, quiet. A stark contrast to the storm they'd just left.
Ryoma's black car was already waiting in a shadowed corner, hidden behind crates and stacked barrels.
They jumped in—Chisato in the passenger seat, Takina in the back—and Ryoma started the engine without a word.
Tires rolled silently on wet pavement as the car slipped into the darkness, vanishing into the Tokyo night.
Inside the car, silence hung like a storm cloud.
Ryoma's hands clenched the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles had turned bone-white.
His jaw was set, muscles tight, and his eyes burned with frustration that hadn't had anywhere to go.
Behind him, Chisato leaned forward slightly, watching him with concern.
"Hey," she said gently, reaching out to remove the night-vision glasses from his face. "You need to breathe. You're going to snap the steering wheel in half."
From the passenger seat, Takina removed her own glasses. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced at Ryoma.
"You weren't planning to use rubber bullets, were you?" she asked, her tone steady but accusing.
Ryoma didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
The silence wrapped around them tighter than any explanation could.
His face said everything—regret, guilt, and a rage still simmering just beneath the surface.
"Ryoma..." Chisato murmured, her usual playfulness gone.
Then—beep.
The screen on the dashboard suddenly flickered to life.
Colorful stars and clouds danced across a pastel-pink background, complete with happy cartoon animals waving at the screen.
"Huh?" Chisato blinked. "What's this? A—baby mode?"
A second later, a familiar face appeared on screen.
Brown hair, bright green eyes, and a smile so wide it lit up the whole dashboard.
"Come on, Ryoma~" the woman's voice chimed cheerfully. "Calm yourself down before you get more wrinkles!"
"Should I put on your favorite cartoon from when you were six? You know, the one with the talking toaster?"
"Wh—"
Chisato's mouth dropped open. Takina's eyes went wide.
"H-Huh?" Chisato pointed at the screen with both hands, completely stunned. "That's—That's—!"
"Hello, Chisato~! Hi, Takina!" the woman beamed, waving like she was video calling from a family reunion.
"Don't look so shocked, you two!"
Takina leaned closer, her expression uncharacteristically baffled. "…Is that—?"
"A-Ayaka?" Chisato finally blurted out, eyes glued to the screen.
The brown-haired woman winked.
"In the digital flesh!" she chirped.
For a moment, no one could speak.
The car was silent—except for the soft background music of dancing cartoon raccoons.
Then—
Chisato gasped and pointed again, practically bouncing in her seat.
"Wait wait wait—hold up! AYAKA?! As in Ayaka Ayaka?! The Ayaka who went to the hospital, and then vanished Ayaka?!"
Ayaka gave a sheepish smile. "Guilty~! But, y'know... not dead! Surprise!"
Takina blinked. "You're... conscious?"
"Not quite. Long story. Kind of half-conscious? Half-AI?" She wiggled her fingers in a vague gesture. "Let's just say I'm doing the ghost-in-the-machine thing for now."
Chisato slapped her cheeks. "I'm not dreaming, right? This is happening? There's a talking Ayaka on the car screen?!"
"Yup!" Ayaka nodded. "And I'd love to explain everything, but first—can someone get Ryoma to stop brooding before he crashes the car?"
All three of them turned to Ryoma.
Takina finally found her voice, though her brows remained knit with confusion.
"…But... how?" she asked, her tone laced with cautious skepticism.
On the screen, Ayaka giggled. "Well, the doctor said it'd take a very long time for me to ever wake up."
"Maybe not even possible," she said with a grin, as if talking about the weather.
"So... Ryoma put me in a computer instead!" she added cheerfully, as if that were a normal Tuesday activity.
The car went dead silent.
Chisato blinked once. Then twice.
Takina just stared at the screen.
Both of them sat there, frozen in dumbfounded silence, their brains still rebooting.
Ryoma, still focused on the road, finally spoke—his voice steady, technical, yet somehow carrying the weight of something deeply personal.
"I built a device capable of scanning and interpreting Ayaka's neural activity—using advanced EEG systems and deep brain-mapping technology."
He didn't look at them, but they could hear the years of sleepless nights behind every word.
"The doctors said her brain was 'silent.' But I found otherwise. Her cerebral activity was faint—but present. That meant she was still there. Locked inside."
Chisato leaned forward again, her mouth slightly open.
"I mapped her memories... her emotional patterns... decision-making structures, language centers, voice signature—everything."
"I constructed a specialized neural network architecture—not to imitate Ayaka, but to host her."
Ryoma's voice dropped into a near whisper.
"My creation tool doesn't simulate Ayaka. It doesn't pretend to be her."
He looked into the rear-view mirror, meeting their stunned expressions.
"It is her."
A quiet beat passed before Ayaka giggled again from the screen.
"Thank you for the explanation, professor~!" she teased, fluttering her digital lashes.
"Honestly, I was trying to figure out how to explain it to you two without sounding like a sci-fi movie. Glad you handled it, Ryoma!"
Takina blinked slowly. "...That's insane."
"I know, right?!" Chisato shouted, flailing her arms. "I mean—I don't even fully get it—but it's SO COOL!"
She leaned closer to the screen, poking it like a curious child. "Ayaka, are you like... aware-aware? Like, you feel things? You think like before?"
"Yup! I still have all my memories, my likes and dislikes, my humor, and my love for Ryoma~" Ayaka said proudly.
Takina folded her arms, her tone skeptical but her eyes intrigued. "So... she's fully digital, but... still Ayaka. Not a copy."
Ryoma nodded. "Every pattern. Every response. Her consciousness wasn't simulated—it was migrated."
Chisato leaned back, her face bright. "Well, I don't understand 80% of what you said, but… if Ayaka's back, then that's amazing."
"I agree~!" Ayaka beamed. "Now then... since I'm alive in a screen, I demand a proper welcome back party. With cake."
Chisato grinned. "I'm already planning the guest list!"
Chisato leaned back in her seat, still trying to digest everything.
"I still can't believe you actually did this..." she murmured. "This is like—some next-level sci-fi stuff."
She narrowed her eyes dramatically, pointing at him like she was naming a suspect.
"Are you the Japanese version of Tony Stark?! No—wait! You're more like Dr. Will Caster!"
Ryoma blinked. "Huh?"
Ayaka gasped playfully from the screen. "Ooh! The one played by Johnny Depp, right? Transcendence!"
"Yes! That one!" Chisato nodded, clearly delighted that someone got the reference.
"You uploaded her consciousness! That's literally the plot!"
Ryoma gave a small sigh, hands still on the wheel. "…Please don't compare me to a madman who turns into an evil cloud."
Chisato grinned. "Too late, robo-boy."
Takina, who had been quietly staring at Ayaka's digital form, finally spoke—her voice more measured, but heavy with thought.
"…Ryoma. Does anyone else know about this?" she asked, her eyes not leaving the screen.
Ryoma didn't even hesitate. "Just me. You two. And a few trusted people at the hospital who helped monitor her condition during the process."
Takina nodded slowly, still visibly unsettled. "And… Ayaka. You're really okay with this? With being… just data?"
Ayaka tilted her head slightly, her digital eyes shimmering with that familiar liveliness.
"I trust Ryoma with my life—or should I say... with my data life?" she said with a cheeky smile, throwing a playful wink.
Despite herself, Takina's lips twitched.
But Chisato's smile faded just a little. She leaned closer to the screen, her voice quieter this time.
"...But don't you miss it? The real world, I mean. Touching things. Feeling things. Hugs, sunlight, sweets…"
Ayaka's expression softened.
For a moment, the pixelated background behind her stopped shifting. A gentle silence hung in the air.
"Of course I miss it," she said softly.
"The breeze on my skin. The taste of good ramen. Even stubbing my toe on the coffee table…" she chuckled lightly.
"It's strange what the heart decides to hold dear when it thinks it's lost everything."
She paused, eyes turning toward Ryoma—even if through a camera.
"But I don't regret this. Because I'm still here. I can still talk to you. Laugh with you. And most of all…"
Her eyes lingered gently on him.
"I can still stay by his side."
Ryoma didn't say anything.
But his hands loosened ever so slightly on the wheel.
Chisato felt her chest tighten, the weight of the moment settling in.
"…You really are incredible, Ayaka," she whispered.
"I know, right?" Ayaka said, immediately perking back up. "Now, how about that welcome back cake I mentioned earlier?"
Ryoma's eyes snapped wide as the car's headlights illuminated a figure standing directly in the middle of the road.
"STOP!!" the woman's voice rang out through the night.
His instincts kicked in—he slammed the brakes.
The tires screeched, the entire car lurching forward violently. Everyone inside jerked forward with a gasp—until they stopped.
Just inches from the stunned woman.
"W-Whoa!" the woman exclaimed, stumbling back slightly, her hands up.
Chisato gripped the door handle, her heart racing. "That was way too close!"
Takina had braced herself silently, jaw tight, her hand near her weapon out of habit.
Even Ayaka's digital voice rang with alarm. "That was close! Ryoma, are you okay? What about the others?!"
Ryoma gritted his teeth and glared through the windshield. "Who the hell is that?!"
The woman was already approaching the car, unfazed by the near-death encounter.
Ryoma hit the window control, the glass sliding down with a quiet whirr.
Then—His breath caught.
"…Mother?"
Standing there in the dark, completely unbothered by the chaos, was a refined woman with striking features and a powerful presence: Saeko.
"Let me in," she said flatly, her voice cool and authoritative—like she expected no resistance.
Ryoma blinked once, caught between disbelief and pure irritation.
Chisato and Takina exchanged rapid glances, their confusion unspoken but obvious.
Without a word, Ryoma unlocked the doors.
Saeko walked around and climbed into the passenger seat with practiced grace, like she belonged there. She shut the door behind her with a quiet click.
Tense silence followed.
Her posture was perfect, her face unreadable, her gaze fixed ahead.
Finally, his voice came—low, bitter, and cold.
"So, what now? You tried to kill yourself and pin the blame on me?" he said, sarcasm dripping from every word.
Saeko's head turned slowly toward him, her eyes sharp as frost.
"Watch your mouth, Ryoma," she said sternly. "You don't speak to your mother that way."
The air grew heavier.
Saeko exhaled slowly. "Listen. There's something I need to explain—something I couldn't say before."
Ryoma didn't even look at her.
"Explain?" he scoffed. "I think I already know enough. Ayaka told me everything."
Another silence fell over the car.
This time, Chisato spoke up.
"Whoa whoa whoa, time out!" she raised her hands, waving them in the air like a referee.
"Can we not have a family civil war while I'm still recovering from almost becoming roadkill?"
"Okay! How about we all take a deep breath and calm down with snacks?" Chisato chirped, clapping her hands together with a too-bright smile.
"There's gotta be a minimarket nearby, right?"
She glanced around the car, trying to inject some levity into the growing storm of tension.
Takina didn't reply. She simply observed from the backseat—her sharp, unreadable gaze never straying far from Ryoma and his mother.
The silence she carried had weight.
Then Ryoma spoke—voice low, sharp like a knife freshly pulled from ice.
"How'd it feel after I electrocuted you?" he asked coldly, eyes fixed ahead. "Not as bad as what Ayaka felt, huh?"
"Ryoma Murakami!" Saeko snapped, her tone fierce. "Shut your mouth right now or I'll—"
"You shut up!" Ryoma snapped back, eyes blazing. "This is my car—so unless you wanna get out and walk, you—"
BANG!
A shot rang out, echoing into the night sky.
The car went deathly quiet.
Everyone turned.
Takina held her pistol in one hand, still angled toward the moonlit heavens. Her expression didn't shift.
"…Good," she said flatly. "Now you're quiet."
A long beat passed. No one dared say a word.
Then—Seat shuffling commenced.
Ryoma moved to the backseat with a scowl, plopping down beside Chisato while Saeko remained seated up front.
Takina, calm and efficient, slid into the driver's seat like she owned it.
"Hmph…" Ryoma turned his face to the window, arms crossed.
Chisato lightly slapped his arm with a grin. "Stop sulking," she teased.
"You're acting like a brat who got scolded for stealing cookies."
Ryoma let out a huff through his nose, but his scowl lost some of its edge.
"Turn on autopilot, A—"
Elbow.
Ryoma's elbow jabbed into her side mid-sentence.
"Ow!!" Chisato clutched her ribs, wincing. "What was that for?!"
He didn't answer, but shot her a glare and a subtle shake of the head.
The message was clear: Don't mention Ayaka.
Saeko noticed the exchange and raised a brow, clearly intrigued. But—for now—she chose not to ask.
The car began to move again, silent and smooth, guided by its self-driving system. The lights of the city flickered through the windows like passing thoughts.
No one spoke until Takina, always the one to bring things back on track, asked calmly, "So… what is it you want to explain, Mrs. Saeko?"
Saeko exhaled, folding her arms. Her expression remained unreadable—but there was something cold yet calculated in her gaze, like someone deciding exactly how many secrets they were willing to part with.
"Everything," she said.
Saeko let out a soft sigh, her eyes unfocused—gazing not at the road ahead, but into the distant past. The kind of gaze that sees years instead of seconds.
"…Once upon a time," she began, her voice quieter than before, stripped of its sharpness. "There was a girl… born into a rich family."
The interior of the car fell silent, as if even the soft hum of the engine dared not interrupt.
"She had everything a child could ask for—wealth, status, the best education, the finest dresses. From the outside… she looked like the perfect daughter."
Her lips curved slightly—but it wasn't a smile. It was too bitter.
"But the truth was… she was just another product of her parents' ambitions."
"They told her she had to marry someone richer than they were. That love was a luxury, not a goal."
"That mistakes were unacceptable. That perfection was survival."
Saeko's voice slowed, every word laced with the weight of childhood she'd never truly owned.
"She worked hard—too hard. Improved herself day after day. Her grades, her posture, her voice, her image… Until there was nothing left untouched."
"And in the process…" she paused, a distant look in her eyes. "She lost all her friends."
Chisato listened quietly, her expression softening.
"She hated watching others be… free." Saeko continued, almost as if confessing a sin. "Playing in the rain. Laughing when they skipped school."
"Making mistakes and getting second chances. She said it annoyed her… but really…"
She inhaled deeply.
"…She was just jealous."
Her voice cracked slightly—not in sound, but in meaning.
"She envied the way people could be imperfect and still be loved."
Takina's fingers unconsciously tightened around the steering wheel.
"People didn't want to be friends with her," Saeko continued. "Not because she was mean."
"But because… she was untouchable. Cold. Polished. Artificial."
"Even the boys who teased her didn't care about her—they just wanted to make fun of the pretty, lonely girl."
Then, a slight shift in her tone.
"…Except for one boy."
Her gaze dropped to her lap, and a soft, almost invisible smile touched her lips.
"He didn't tease her. Didn't chase her. In fact, he barely noticed her at all."
"He wasn't popular. But he had something she didn't."
"…Friends. Real ones. The kind that laughed together, even if it was over stupid things."
Her fingers brushed lightly against the edge of her sleeve, almost without realizing it.
"And for the first time… she wanted that."
Silence fell again. Heavy. Intimate.
Even Ayaka's screen had dimmed slightly, like she, too, understood this wasn't the time to speak.
"Was that boy… Ryoma's father?" Chisato asked gently.
Saeko didn't answer right away.
But her silence said enough.
It was an ordinary afternoon in the school library—the kind of quiet that made every page turn sound like thunder.
Saeko Saionji wandered the aisles with perfect posture, her fingers gliding over the book spines as if she were inspecting soldiers.
Her expression, as usual, was composed. Unreadable. But in her hand… was a novel.
She didn't expect anyone else to be reading the same author. That author was obscure—too wordy, too thoughtful, too slow for most of her peers.
But then—
"Oh? You like his books too?"
A voice. Calm. Disinterested. Real.
Saeko blinked, startled slightly out of her thoughts.
A boy had taken a seat nearby, holding a novel by the exact same author she was holding.
"Y-Yes…" she answered, a little too quickly. "Since I was little, actually."
The boy glanced at the cover of her book and chuckled, pulling out his own chair.
"I think his books make people sleepy."
Saeko narrowed her eyes.
"Only fools would think like that," she said sharply.
Before she realized it, she had sat down in the chair beside him—without asking, without thinking.
He turned toward her, raising a brow.
"I don't think you needed to say it like that. And… why are you sitting next to me?"
Saeko blinked. "Ah…!"
She stood up abruptly, her cheeks just barely tinged pink. "S-Sorry."
The boy let out a short laugh. "I'm just kidding. Sit back down. I don't bite."
She hesitated for a breath, then lowered herself onto the chair again, more carefully this time.
"…Excuse me," she murmured.
There was a pause. The silence between them wasn't awkward—it was... curious.
"So, Saionji—"
"Eh?!" she interrupted, her eyes snapping toward him. "How do you know my name?"
The boy blinked in disbelief. "Huh? We're in the same class. I'm not that stupid."
"Ah…" she averted her gaze, "…That's right."
There was a moment of stillness.
"…Have you forgotten my name?" he asked.
Three questions in one moment. Saeko's mind raced. If she got it wrong, he'd definitely think she was stupid. She hated being seen as stupid.
"…Masaru Murakami, right?" she answered cautiously.
He smirked. "Took you long enough."
She pouted a little, crossing her arms. "Ugh… Do you even remember my full name? I bet you only know my family name—"
"Saeko Saionji," he replied instantly, not even pausing.
Her heart skipped.
No one said her full name like that. Not classmates. Not teachers—they only called her Saionji.
"…Y-Yes…" she finally mumbled, a little too quietly. "You're… not wrong."
She stared down at the book in her hands, suddenly feeling warm in the quiet library air.
That was the first time someone had looked past the nameplate and seen her.
And somehow, in that moment… it mattered.
After that day in the library, something quietly began to change.
They began to talk—just simple conversations at first. Book recommendations. Schoolwork. Idle musings about life.
Masaru, with his quiet nature and dry sense of humor, became a small but steady presence beside Saeko.
And while Masaru didn't have many friends, his circle somehow opened a space for her.
For the first time in her life, Saeko wasn't walking through school alone.
But nothing good stayed untouched for long.
Her parents noticed.
They always noticed.
"You're close to the Murakami boy now, aren't you?" her mother asked one evening, voice as sharp as the clink of porcelain.
"He's the heir of that rising tech family," her father added, eyes calculating behind gold-rimmed glasses. "This is our chance, Saeko."
"Make him fall in love with you," her mother said firmly. "Marry him. Bring their fortune into our hands."
Saeko stood frozen in place.
"I-I…"
Her mother's voice grew cold. "Saeko. I gave birth to you in great pain. You owe us your life. Now earn your worth."
"Your mother is right," her father agreed without emotion. "You are our daughter. You will obey."
Saeko's heart pounded, but she bowed her head, swallowing every word she wanted to scream.
"…Understood, Father. Mother."
And so, she began.
Romance—something she'd never studied before. Something no book had ever prepared her for.
Every smile, every touch, every word—it all began as an assignment.
She approached Masaru, not with love… but with a duty carved into her bones.
That's what she told herself.
But as days blurred into weeks, and weeks melted into seasons… something began to shift.
Masaru was never loud. Never pushy. But he was kind in all the quiet ways no one else had ever been. He listened. He remembered small things.
He noticed when she looked tired. He made space for her without asking why she needed it.
And then—everything changed.
Her parents were gone.
A car crash. No final words. No forgiveness. Just silence.
The perfect daughter crumbled.
She wept. Harder than she thought she could. And she wept not in her empty house, but in Masaru's arms.
"Even though I only approached you because of my parents' orders…" her voice trembled, her fists clenching the fabric of his shirt. "Even though I was just… just following commands…"
She looked up at him through tear-streaked eyes. Her chest ached. Her vision blurred.
"…It's not like that anymore."
Their eyes met.
"I love you, Masaru," she said, her voice barely holding together. "I have no one left. No family. Please… take care of me until I die."
Masaru smiled gently. His hand rose to her head, brushing aside her bangs.
"I love you too, Saeko," he whispered, resting his forehead gently against hers. "From the very beginning."
She gasped. A quiet sound of disbelief.
And in that moment—everything painful, every order, every chain—faded.
They began dating soon after. Not by force. Not by command.
But by choice.
By love.
Back in the car, Saeko finally let out a breath—as though she'd been holding it for decades.
Chisato wiped a tear from her cheek. "Aww… that was such a cute love story…" she whispered, beaming like she had just watched her favorite drama.
Ryoma sat in the back, arms crossed, face blank. "…Huh."
Takina, equally stoic, gave a small nod. "I guess that explains… something."
Chisato nudged Ryoma lightly. "Oh come on, show a little emotion."
"Sounds like a mediocre romantic anime story," Ryoma muttered flatly.
Saeko immediately spun toward him, her face flushed red. "S-Shut up! I was humiliated even telling you that, you ungrateful brat!"
"You didn't need to go into that much detail," Takina added coolly.
Ryoma gave a sharp nod. "Agreed. It was like reading a sappy drama script."
"I-I was just afraid you wouldn't understand if I didn't explain properly!" Saeko barked, her voice hitting an octave higher in pure embarrassment.
From the backseat, Chisato couldn't stop giggling, her shoulders shaking as she tried to suppress her laughter.
"Oh my gosh," she said between chuckles, "you're so adorable when you're flustered like this! I didn't think the Ice Queen had such a cute mode!"
Saeko cleared her throat, trying to collect herself as she fanned her blushing cheeks. "A-Anyway…!"
The mood in the car gradually shifted, like the wind changing direction.
Her voice lowered.
"…After I married Masaru, I became pregnant. I was… happy. I truly was."
She smiled faintly at the memory. "I prayed for a son. Not because I cared about the gender, but because…"
Her smile faded.
"…Because if it was a girl… I'd be forced to throw her away."
A heavy silence filled the car.
Chisato's smile vanished.
Takina's gaze hardened.
Ryoma didn't say a word—but his jaw clenched.
"It's the Murakami family tradition," Saeko continued. "The firstborn must be a son. If not… the daughter is to be abandoned. Erased from existence. As if she was never born."
"That's…" Chisato whispered, her voice trembling, "insane."
"Masaru wanted to fight it," Saeko said quietly. "He begged me to defy the rules. But…"
Her hands trembled slightly on her lap.
"I couldn't. All my life, I followed the rules. I was raised to obey. Taught to fear what would happen if I didn't."
"And Masaru's parents… they were still alive back then. Still watching. Still judging."
She paused, swallowing hard.
"If I had chosen to keep my daughter… I would have been disowned. Cast out of the Murakami family."
"Separated from Masaru. Separated from the only man I've ever truly loved."
Her voice cracked.
"So… I pretended."
Chisato covered her mouth in shock. Takina closed her eyes, letting out a slow breath.
"I pretended that I followed the rules. That I threw her away."
Ryoma's fists clenched in his lap.
"And no one knew?" he asked coldly. "You abandoned her but made it look clean."
Saeko turned her head away, the weight of old sins carved into the lines of her face.
"No… I didn't abandon her. I made sure she was safe. Hidden. Raised far from the eyes of this cruel family. But to the world… she never existed."
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"Because if she had existed… they would've hunted her down."
Saeko had made her choice in silence.
She entrusted her newborn daughter to one of Masaru's most trusted servants—a kind woman with warm hands and an even warmer heart.
Masaru's parents never knew. They had never even seen the face of their granddaughter.
So when a humble maid was spotted carrying a baby, they thought nothing of it.
Just another servant's child.
Just another face in the background.
No reason to be suspicious.
And so, the little girl was raised in quiet secrecy. Hidden in plain sight. Saeko named her Ayaka, a name she had always loved but had never dared to use.
Because she couldn't bear to stain the Murakami name with scandal, Ayaka was given the last name of her caretaker—Amamiya.
But no matter what name she carried, Ayaka was hers.
Whenever Saeko found time—stolen moments between duties, lies, and formality—she would visit Ayaka.
Play with her. Laugh with her. Hold her like the mother she longed to be.
Sometimes, she would bring Ayaka to Masaru under the cover of night.
The three of them would sit in the garden, playing quietly under the stars, pretending—just for a moment—that they were an ordinary family.
Because even if the world denied her daughter's existence…
To Saeko, Ayaka was her favorite.
Not because she was better.
But because she saw herself in her.
A girl burdened by expectations.
But time moved on, and another child was born.
A boy.
Ryoma.
The firstborn son.
The heir.
And with him came a different set of rules.
Saeko changed. Or rather, she had to.
With Ryoma, she became firm, cold, calculating. The perfect Murakami mother, sculpted to raise a future leader.
There was no room for warmth. No softness. No trace of the woman who secretly played with dolls beside her daughter's crib.
But Ryoma was clever. Too clever.
One afternoon, he tilted his head, frowning as he looked at Ayaka.
"Ayaka… your red eye looks just like my mother's."
Ayaka blinked, caught off guard. "Haha! It's just colored contact lenses!" she replied, a little too quickly. "My real eyes are green!"
"Oh? Really? I wanna see!" Little Ryoma beamed, his curiosity uncontainable.
The next day, Ayaka wears the lenses, but her nervous energy was obvious.
Ryoma squinted at her. "This one looks fake."
Saeko watched them from behind the curtains.
Ayaka's awkward chuckle. Ryoma's innocent persistence.
And something inside Saeko wavered.
She giggled quietly, pressing a hand to her mouth.
They were adorable.
They were hers.
But in that quiet moment of stolen happiness, a harsh realization struck her chest like frost:
It can't stay like this.
She had built a fragile illusion. A web of lies that could shatter at any moment.
And if it did—if the truth ever slipped out—she could lose both of them.
Her daughter.
Her son.
Her entire world.
So she straightened her back.
Dried her eyes.
And walked away from the window, back into the cold hallways of the Murakami estate.
Back into the role she was born to play.
When Saeko and Masaru sent Ryoma and Ayaka abroad, it was Saeko who worried the most.
She didn't show it, of course. She couldn't. Not when eyes were always watching.
She kept her face cold. Her voice steady.
But behind the closed doors of her room, her hands trembled every time her phone buzzed with an update.
She stared at every photo of them longer than she should have. She whispered their names in the quiet of the night.
And when she received news that they would finally return to Japan—
She felt something bloom in her chest.
Relief.
A warmth she hadn't allowed herself to feel in years.
That warmth didn't last.
That day—when Tatsuma launched his attack on the mansion—Saeko dropped everything.
She pushed away her meetings, shoved papers aside, and stormed out of the building like a woman possessed.
She didn't even wait for a car.
She rushed toward the road to hail a taxi—until Masaru's familiar car pulled up beside her, the passenger door swinging open without a word.
They drove in silence.
But her hands wouldn't stop shaking.
When she reached the mansion, her heart raced. She ran past the broken gate, ignoring the guards' shouts.
She needed to see Ayaka.
She needed to see her daughter.
And then—There she was.
Lying unconscious.
In Ryoma's arms.
Saeko's breath hitched. The sight struck her harder than anything she had ever experienced.
Her knees nearly buckled.
But she kept her posture.
Her mask.
Her silence.
Until—
"LIAR!"
Ryoma's voice cut through the air like a blade.
"You've always cared more about me than Ayaka!" he shouted, his eyes filled with rage. "Don't act like you suddenly care now!"
Saeko's expression cracked.
Her mouth trembled.
"I REALLY WANTED TO RUN TO HER AND HUG HER, YOU KNOW?!" she screamed, the words escaping before she could stop them.
Everyone froze.
"But I had to act like I didn't care! I had to pretend!" she cried, her voice raw, desperate.
"If I showed how much she meant to me, you would've wondered why I cared about a servant so much!"
Ryoma stared at her, wide-eyed.
Saeko's voice shook now, barely holding together. "When you left with Ayaka abroad... I cried. All day. You didn't see it. Of course you didn't. You weren't supposed to."
Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.
"Only Masaru saw it… and then..." she turned to the back seat, her eyes misting, "Chisato. Takina. You two… you saw, didn't you?"
Chisato looked down guiltily, her voice small. "Y-Yeah… we did. You were crying, but we didn't say anything."
Takina, usually unreadable, lowered her gaze and nodded solemnly.
She remembered Saeko's trembling shoulders. The muffled sob in that hallway.
Ryoma turned to them slowly, his expression flickering between disbelief and dawning realization.
Chisato met his eyes and gave a small nod. "It's true, Ryoma..."
Takina's voice followed, quiet but firm. "Your mother… was just as worried as you were."
Ryoma sat there, stunned, his breath caught in his throat.
"I-If… if I could meet Ayaka again…" Saeko's voice trembled, her hands gripping her lap tightly. "I… I want to apologize."
Her voice cracked at the end, the dam behind her eyes threatening to burst.
Chisato gently turned her head toward Ryoma, her expression soft, almost pleading. "Ryoma…"
Even Takina, usually stone-faced and reserved, gave a subtle nod. "You should show her."
Ryoma let out a long, annoyed sigh, leaning his head against the backrest. "If it'll stop her from crying all over my car… fine."
"Huh?" Saeko blinked in confusion. "What do you mean—?"
Beep.
The screen next to the steering wheel, which had been dark until now, flickered to life.
And there—bathed in soft light and pastel digital overlays—was a familiar face.
A girl with auburn-brown hair, vibrant green eyes, and a sheepish smile.
"H-Hi! Lady Murakami…" Ayaka greeted, awkwardly scratching her cheek. "I, uh… I've been hearing everything, actually."
Saeko gasped.
She covered her mouth with both hands, her breath catching in her throat.
"A-Ayaka…?" her voice cracked into barely a whisper.
The moment her eyes locked with her daughter's face—though digital, though pixelated—it was like something inside her broke free.
Tears. Fast, silent, and unrelenting.
"Yes," Ayaka chuckled awkwardly. "It's me. Though, technically, not me-me."
"My body's in a coma right now," she continued, rubbing the back of her neck.
"Ryoma… transferred my consciousness into an AI. Don't ask me how, I don't really get it either."
"I mean… I'm not nearly as smart as he is, so explaining all this is kind of—"
She stopped mid-sentence.
Because on the other side of the screen, Saeko was trying to hug her.
Leaning forward, arms outstretched, pressing herself against the glass screen like it could somehow bring her closer.
But it didn't.
Her fingers only touched cold plastic.
Yet she didn't stop.
"Ayaka… Ayaka…" she whispered, over and over, as her shoulders began to shake uncontrollably.
Her sobs were soft at first, then deeper—decades of buried emotion finally surfacing.
"I'm sorry…" she breathed. "I'm so sorry… my precious daughter…"
Chisato's hand went to her chest, overwhelmed by the pure emotion pouring out of the woman she once thought cold and unreachable.
Even Takina looked away, blinking rapidly.
Ayaka stared at her mother's crying face, frozen for a moment.
Then smiled.
A small, bittersweet smile.
"Well… I'm just a bundle of data now, but…" her digital voice trembled slightly, "It really is nice to see you again, Lady."
Saeko's hand hovered over the glowing screen, her fingers trembling as if it were the first time she had ever dared to reach for something fragile.
"You're... you're really here..." she choked out, her voice hoarse, barely a whisper.
Tears streamed freely down her cheeks, her breath catching in sobs that echoed quietly in the confined space of the car.
Her palm gently pressed against the display, as if she could somehow feel the warmth of her daughter through the cold glass.
Ayaka's face on the screen blinked, clearly flustered. "L-Lady! You're really making this situation wkward, you know…"
Saeko's eyes snapped wide open, her lips quivering.
"Don't call me Lady anymore!" she screamed, raw emotion tearing through every word.
"Call me Mom! Just like when you were a little girl!"
There was a pause.
Ayaka stared at the screen for a long second—surprised, caught off guard—but then, a slow, warm smile bloomed across her digital face.
"…Okay, Mom," she said softly.
The moment the word left Ayaka's mouth, Saeko broke down completely.
Her knees curled against the seat, her body shaking as she cried, overwhelmed by the simple, sacred sound of that word—Mom.
"I'm sorry, Ayaka! I'm so sorry!" she wailed, sobbing into her own sleeves, the years of guilt and hidden grief pouring out uncontrollably.
Ayaka's voice, gentle and calm, came through like a warm breeze on a cold night.
"It's okay, Mom… I've already forgiven you. A long time ago."
And those words—simple and kind—only made Saeko weep harder.
"No... it's not okay! It's all my fault… I should've protected you… I should've fought harder… I—" Her words dissolved into incoherent sobs, hands covering her face as she trembled with guilt.
Chisato sat quietly beside her, eyes glistening. She pressed a hand gently on Saeko's shoulder, offering quiet comfort.
Takina, sitting in the front, didn't speak—but her eyes watched the scene in the rearview mirror.
Her expression was unreadable, but her chest rose and fell slowly, touched by the raw humanity unfolding behind her.
For a moment, the car was silent—save for the sound of tears and a soft, digital voice.
"I'm just glad we can talk again, Mom," Ayaka whispered from the screen, smiling even through the awkward flicker of her digital presence.
"And this time," she added, "I want us to stay like this."
Saeko clutched her chest, nodding through her sobs.
"Yes… yes, please…"
In that single moment, past mistakes, unspoken regrets, and long-lost words were finally allowed to breathe again.
And no longer separated by bloodlines, secrets, or screens...
A mother and daughter were finally—finally—together.
Chisato's eyes drifted toward Ryoma.
He sat stiffly in his seat, gaze fixed out the window, as if the passing streetlights held more meaning than the moment unfolding beside him.
His expression was unreadable—neither cold, nor warm. Just… distant.
Chisato tilted her head slightly, studying him.
She recognized that silence.
It wasn't apathy.
It was pain.
Softly, she reached out and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Ryoma…" she said, her voice light, careful—like a breeze afraid of stirring a fragile leaf.
He didn't flinch. Didn't shrug her off. But he also didn't respond.
Inside, Ryoma still struggled with the truth. He wanted to believe that his mother—the same woman who once seemed to favor him so strictly—had truly loved Ayaka.
But the image of her breaking down, tears flowing as she pressed her hand against the screen… it lingered in his mind.
It cracked something in him.
And for the first time in a long time… he felt uncertain.
Then, Saeko turned toward him, her eyes still red from crying, but her voice steadier now.
"Thank you… Ryoma," she said quietly. "And… I'm sorry."
Ryoma's jaw tensed ever so slightly. He didn't turn to look at her.
"I did this of my own free will," he replied flatly.
But his voice lacked its usual edge. It wasn't cold—it was tired. Vulnerable, even.
Saeko's lips quivered at his answer, but she gave a tiny nod. She knew that was all he could offer for now.
And from the back seat, Chisato smiled—gently, knowingly.
She didn't say anything.
But in that silence, she knew:
Ryoma's walls were starting to crumble.
And even if he couldn't say it yet…
He was beginning to understand what it meant to have a family.
Even if that family had been built on lies, broken rules, and second chances.
Because sometimes—
That's what made it real.