The door was still shaking from Harumi's kick.The sound echoed all the way down the hallway.
Inside the room:
Silence.Cold air.That sharp hospital smell that stung your nose.
The woman sat on the bed — pale skin, dark hair tied carelessly, and eyes…
Empty.
Not tired.
Deeper than that.
A hollow.
Without even looking at Harumi, she spoke:
— Leave.
Harumi held her breath.Swallowed the shout in her throat.Took a step forward.
The woman turned her face slightly.
And the name slipped out of Harumi's mouth before she could stop it:
— I need to talk about Takeru and Me—
The woman snapped.
— DON'T say her name.
Her voice was firm.Cold.Sharp.
But there was something underneath it… a plea.As if every syllable hurt.
Harumi stayed quiet for a few seconds.
Long enough to realize this wasn't simple hatred.
It was hatred with roots.
The woman inhaled slowly, like breathing itself was difficult.
— That thing… that child… ruined my life.
Harumi stood still.
On the outside — frozen.
On the inside — she wanted to strangle that woman.
But she knew this conversation mattered.
The woman kept going, like years of poison were finally spilling out:
— I took the medicine. I did everything right. EVERYTHING. But she insisted on being born! She ruined my health, my career… I never asked for them! I never wanted either of them! I never wanted any of this disaster!
Harumi felt her heart drop.
And before she realized it, her own voice came out louder:
— They didn't ask to be born as your children either!
The woman froze.
Slowly turned, like she couldn't believe what she'd just heard.
Harumi realized the bomb she'd just dropped.
But she didn't step back.
The woman laughed.
Dry.Hollow.Sick.
— So now they've got a babysitter. How sweet. You feel sorry for them, is that it? Their pathetic little story touched your kind heart?
She looked straight at Harumi. No irony now.
— Then do me a favor. Take them. Raise them. Throw them away. Die with them, I don't care. Just… make them disappear.
The silence that followed wasn't normal.
It was heavy.Freezing.Like the room had dropped ten degrees.
How… how can she say that?
Harumi didn't move a muscle.
And then—
Something inside her shifted.
Her back straightened.Her shoulders aligned.Her chin lowered slowly.
Her eyes — usually bright, clumsy, warm —
Turned cold.
Dangerously cold.
Her voice came out low.Soft.But sharp as a blade.
— So… you think it's pity.
The woman finally looked at her.
Their gazes met.
Both cold.Both burning with anger.
This wasn't the Harumi who kicked doors and burned dinner.
This was another Harumi.
An older one.Quiet.The kind almost no one knew.
The kind no one woke up without consequences.
Harumi stepped forward.
Slow.Controlled.Precise.
— Pity… is what you want people to feel for you, spoiled girl.
The woman's eyes widened for half a second.
Harumi kept going:
— They weren't born to serve you. They weren't born to fix you. Or excuse you. Or become your tragedy.
Another step.
— And even so… they love you. And how do you answer that?
The woman held her breath.
Harumi tilted her head just slightly, bringing their eyes level.
— I don't pity you.
The woman went pale.
Harumi straightened.
And smiled.
Not sweet.
Sharp.Unbreakable.Certain.
— I'm going to rewrite their story. Without