Part 4 — The Question Haruto Never Got To Ask
Ayame looked toward him.
And for once—
she didn't know how to comfort him properly.
Because she was scared too.
For several moments afterward—
none of the three spoke.
The room remained quiet.
Only the faint sounds of distant movement outside occasionally reached the house.
A door closing somewhere.
Footsteps on a rooftop.
Voices far away.
The war continued moving even when they couldn't see it.
Eventually—
Ayame slowly stood up.
"…We should eat."
Neither brother responded immediately.
Ayame walked toward the kitchen.
Then she picked up the containers Yuji had given them earlier.
"…Yuji-san packed dinner for us."
Haruto looked up slightly.
"…Oh."
Ayame placed the containers onto the table.
"…If we eat now, we won't have to worry about cooking."
Kaito slowly stood first.
"…I'll get the cups."
"…Thanks."
Haruto eventually stood too.
The three quietly began preparing the table together.
No one needed instructions.
They simply did what had to be done.
Kaito placed cups beside each seat.
Ayame arranged the containers.
Haruto unfolded the table cloth.
Small things.
Normal things.
But somehow—
everything felt different without Akari there.
Soon—
the three sat down together.
Ayame opened the containers.
Warm steam immediately rose into the air.
Rice.
Fish.
Vegetables.
Simple food.
Comforting food.
Food that reminded them of normal days.
"…It smells good."
Haruto spoke quietly.
Ayame gave a small nod.
"…Yuji-san always cooks well."
Kaito had already started eating.
The others followed.
For several minutes—
the only sounds in the room were chopsticks against bowls.
Nobody seemed eager to speak.
Nobody knew what to say.
Eventually—
Haruto slowed down.
Then stopped eating entirely.
Ayame noticed immediately.
"…Haruto?"
Haruto stared at his food.
"…Hey."
Ayame looked up.
"…Hm?"
A small pause.
Then Haruto quietly asked:
"…Do you think Aka forgave me?"
The room immediately became still.
Kaito lowered his chopsticks slightly.
Ayame already knew what he meant.
The argument.
The words.
Everything he shouted after returning home from the academy.
Ayame answered softly.
"…Did you say sorry?"
Haruto nodded.
"…Yeah."
"…When?"
"…That night."
His gaze remained lowered.
"…Before she left."
Ayame thought for a moment.
Then nodded.
"…Then yes."
Haruto looked up slightly.
"…Really?"
Ayame gave a small smile.
"…Of course."
"…How do you know?"
"…Because she knows you."
Haruto stayed silent.
Ayame continued.
"…She knows you were scared."
"…She knows you didn't mean those things."
"…And she knows you love her."
The room became quiet again.
Haruto slowly looked back down.
For a moment—
he seemed relieved.
Then his expression changed.
Not from fear.
From something older.
Something much deeper.
His voice became quieter.
"…Then…"
A pause.
"…Do you think Mom forgave me too?"
The room froze.
Completely.
Kaito slowly lowered his gaze.
Ayame stopped moving.
Neither of them needed to ask what he meant.
They already knew.
Haruto stared at the table.
"…I said almost the same things."
His voice trembled slightly.
"…Four years ago."
Silence.
"…I told her she was weak."
His fingers tightened around the chopsticks.
"…I told her she couldn't protect anyone."
A pause.
"…I told her she always said everything would be okay."
The memories felt painfully clear.
Even now.
"…She looked sad."
Haruto swallowed.
"…I remember that part."
His voice had become very small now.
"…I remember making her sad."
Neither Ayame nor Kaito interrupted.
Haruto continued.
"…Then she left."
A pause.
"…And later the war started."
His grip tightened further.
"…And she never came back."
The room remained silent.
Heavy.
Painful.
"…I never got to say sorry."
The words barely escaped him.
"…Not even once."
Outside—
somewhere far away—
another faint alarm echoed through the village.
But inside the house—
none of them reacted.
Haruto lowered his head.
"…I thought there would be time later."
His voice cracked slightly.
"…I thought she'd come home."
Kaito quietly looked away.
Because even now—
that thought hurt.
Haruto stared at the table.
"…Do you think she forgave me?"
This time—
he didn't sound like an eight-year-old.
He sounded like the four-year-old child who never got his answer.
The room stayed silent for several moments.
Then Ayame slowly reached across the table.
And gently placed her hand over his.
"…Yes."
Haruto didn't move.
Ayame's voice remained calm.
Certain.
"…Mom loved you more than anything."
A pause.
"…There is no way she didn't forgive you."
Haruto remained silent.
Ayame continued softly.
"…You were four, Haruto."
"…Mom knew that."
Another pause.
"…And she knew you loved her."
For several seconds—
Haruto simply stared down at the table.
Then slowly—
he nodded.
Just once.
The three quietly returned to eating afterward.
The conversation ended.
But the feeling remained.
Outside—
the village continued preparing for war.
Inside—
three children quietly shared dinner together.
Trying to hold on to the people they still had.