The Takahashi house was quiet—too quiet.
Akira removed his shoes in the genkan, stepped into the living room.
His parents sat at the low table. Father in a dark suit—still in work clothes. Mother in a neat cardigan, hands folded.
"Sit."
Akira sat—spine straight, hands on knees.
Father spoke first. "Explain."
Akira kept his voice level. "The cultural festival performance was a joint project. Sora—Hayashi Sora—was my assigned partner. We planned and executed the main stage event. It succeeded."
Mother's eyes narrowed. "We saw the videos. The way you looked at her. The way she looked at you. That is not 'joint project.' That is attachment."
Akira's jaw tightened. "We worked closely for three months. Feelings… developed."
Father's voice was cold. "Feelings are irrelevant. You are ranked first. You have university recommendations pending. Distractions lead to failure."
Akira looked down. "She is not a failure."
Mother leaned forward. "She is chaos. We watched the clips. She improvises. She pushes boundaries. You have always thrived on order. She will ruin that."
Akira's hands clenched. "She doesn't ruin anything. She makes things better. The performance was her vision as much as mine. It worked because of her."
Father's tone sharpened. "And after graduation? What then? You go to Tokyo University. She… what? Follows you? Drags you down?"
Akira's voice rose—just once. "She was offered a scholarship to Tokyo. She turned it down. For the project. For… me."
Silence.
Mother's eyes widened. "She gave up a full scholarship?"
Akira nodded.
Father exhaled. "Then she is sentimental. And you are letting sentiment cloud your judgment."
Akira met his father's gaze. "I like her. More than like her."
Mother's voice softened—almost sad. "Akira… you are our only child. We have sacrificed everything for your future. We cannot watch you throw it away for a girl."
Akira's throat tightened. "I'm not throwing anything away."
Father stood. "You will end this. Politely. Before it affects your exams."
Akira stood too. "No."
The word hung.
Father's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"
Akira's voice was steady. "I won't end it. I won't hurt her. Not for rankings. Not for expectations. Not even for you."
Mother's hand rose to her mouth.
Akira continued. "I respect you. I am grateful. But I won't choose your plan over my life."
Father's face hardened. "Then you choose her over your family."
Akira's voice cracked—just once. "I'm not choosing against you. I'm choosing for me."
He bowed—deep, formal.
Then he turned and left.
The door closed behind him.
Outside, the night air was cold.
Akira walked—aimless at first.
Then toward Sora's house.
He stopped at her gate.
Her light was still on.
He pulled out his phone.
Texted her.
"Can I come in? Just for a minute."
The reply was instant.
"Door's unlocked."
Akira stepped inside.