Sophia froze.
She stared at the boy as if she had just seen something impossible—like a memory walking out of the past.
The kid paused halfway down the stairs, confused by the sudden silence. His eyes met hers for a moment.
And that was enough.
"…No way," Sophia muttered.
She took a step forward.
"Hey. Kid."
Light stiffened.
Sophia squinted, studying his face more carefully now—the dull eyes, the posture, the way he stood like he was always ready to disappear.
Her eyes widened.
"Hey! It's me!" she said louder. "You remember?"
Light frowned.
Sophia snapped her fingers. "The orphanage. I was the new teacher. The quiet one who kept staring out the window."
Silence.
Then realization hit him.
Light turned and ran.
"Oi—HEY!"
Sophia bolted after him.
The boy darted down the hallway, feet barely making a sound as he took the stairs two at a time. Sophia chased him, swearing under her breath.
"Why are kids so fast?!"
Light slammed his bedroom door shut.
BANG.
Sophia skidded to a stop, clutching her knees.
"…I'm twenty-three," she gasped. "Why do I feel like a grandma?"
She straightened and banged on the door.
"Open up, you little brat!"
No response.
She groaned and stomped away.
That evening, Daniel returned home.
The moment he saw Sophia sprawled across his couch, he stopped.
"…Why are you here."
She raised a hand lazily. "Came to occupy your house. Thought you'd move out."
Daniel sighed. "Stop joking."
Sophia sat up. "You really adopted him?"
Daniel smiled faintly. "Yeah."
"Tch. You idiot," she muttered. "You always do things like this."
Daniel laughed. "I'd run away too if I had an aunt like you."
Sophia smirked—then paused.
"…He doesn't trust me."
Daniel's smile softened. "Give him time."
Six days passed.
Slowly, Light stopped hiding.
Sophia didn't force him. She just stayed nearby—talking, sitting, existing. And somehow, that was enough.
One evening, they sat near the balcony. Cold air drifted in.
"So," Sophia said, leaning back. "How's life now?"
Light pulled out his notebook.
Good.
Messy handwriting. Misspelled. But honest.
Sophia smiled.
Then the paper turned red.
Her breath caught.
Light coughed—once, twice—and blood splattered across the page.
"Light—?!"
Bosvel rushed in.
Everything blurred.
The hospital smelled like antiseptic.
Daniel arrived breathless.
The doctor led him into a quiet room.
"Let's talk."
The words felt heavy.
"Five years," the doctor said calmly. "At most."
Daniel's vision narrowed.
"…What?"
"A heart disease. Extremely rare."
Daniel clenched his fists.
"There has to be something," he said. "Anything. I'll pay whatever it takes."
The doctor hesitated.
"There is one way."
Later that night, Light woke up in his bed.
Bosvel smiled nervously. "You're home."
"…It was just a bad cough," he added quickly.
Light stared at the ceiling.
So that's it…
He turned his head.
Through the doorway, he saw Daniel sitting on the floor—face buried in his hands.
Crying.
Was he… crying for me?
Light closed his eyes.