Part 9 — I Didn't Want to Be First Alone
Ayame looked at him, her fingers still in his hair.
"Haruto… why did you remove your name from the toppers list?" she asked.
Haruto blinked, surprised.
"How did you know?" he asked.
"Kaito told me," Ayame said. "Aka approved it."
Haruto frowned.
"Who told Kaito?" he asked.
"Daigo-sensei," she replied.
Haruto exhaled slowly.
"So he told Kaito… who told Aka… who told you," he muttered.
He paused.
"Can't even trust him anymore," he added quietly.
Ayame didn't move. She kept brushing his hair gently.
"So… why did you remove it?" she asked.
Haruto stayed silent for a moment. Then he said softly, "I didn't want to be first alone."
Ayame waited, her fingers still in his hair.
"I wanted all three of us to be first together," he continued.
"Me… you… and Kaito."
He swallowed.
"Every time results came… it was always just me."
He blinked slowly.
"If we couldn't stand there together… I didn't want to stand there at all."
Ayame gave a small nod.
"Then it makes sense," she said gently.
Haruto's voice dropped even lower.
"I kept thinking… maybe next time… we'd all be first together. But it never happened."
He pressed his face a little deeper into her lap.
"So I just… removed my name."
Ayame moved her hand slowly through his hair.
"That wasn't foolish," she said softly.
"You just didn't want happiness without us."
Haruto stayed quiet, listening.
After a moment, she added, "You know… Papa and Mama are proud of you."
Haruto's breath caught.
"Really?" he whispered.
"Really," Ayame said, smiling softly. "Not because of ranks… but because of who you are."
Haruto slowly closed his eyes.
He stayed there, quiet and still, memorizing the warmth, the calm, the safety.
After a while, he whispered again, "…I'm sorry."
"For what?" Ayame asked gently.
"For shouting… for the fight… for making things harder," he said quietly.
Ayame smoothed his hair.
"Then say that to Kaito too when he comes back," she said softly.
Haruto nodded slightly.
"I will," he said.
Silence returned.
Soft, still, warm.
Ayame kept brushing his hair, and Haruto stayed there, holding onto the quiet, holding onto the safety — for as long as it lasted.
Haruto lay stretched across the sofa, his head resting on Ayame's lap like it had always belonged there.
Her fingers moved slowly through his hair, gently separating strands, smoothing them down again and again. Each motion steady. Careful. Familiar.
He looked calm.
Almost peaceful.