The ceiling spun slowly, as if he were trapped on a carousel that never stopped. Even though it was early—too early… Jun couldn't fall back asleep.
His head throbbed, his entire body ached, but it wasn't physical pain. It was worse—it was that invisible kind, the one that makes no sound but destroys everything inside.
He ran a hand over his face, letting out a heavy sigh, as if trying to push it all out of himself.
He slipped on one slipper, then the other. Sitting on the edge of the bed, head lowered, elbows resting on his legs, he took a deep breath.
"How could I lose control like that…" he muttered, his voice hoarse.
He closed his eyes for a moment, irritated with himself.
"Feelings like this have no place in my life… enough!"
He stood up suddenly, as if he needed to get rid of that feeling as quickly as possible.
He went straight to the bathroom. Cold water hit his skin, sending an immediate shiver through him, but he didn't move.
He stayed there, motionless, letting the cold cut away whatever remnants still insisted on staying.
When he stepped out, his grandmother was still asleep, and outside, the sun hadn't risen yet.
Not knowing exactly what to do with his body—or his mind—Jun went to the kitchen and decided to make some strong coffee. Soon, the smell began to spread through the room.
"So cold…" he whispered, rubbing his hands together. "I think it's going to rain today."
"Good morning, dear… you're up early. Is everything okay?"
His grandmother's voice made him turn. She stood there, still sleepy-eyed, but with the same warmth as always.
"Good morning, Grandma…" he replied, calmer. "I couldn't sleep, so I made coffee… it's fresh."
She smiled, walking closer slowly.
"How wonderful…" she said, pouring herself a cup. "Are you going out today?"
Jun shrugged, leaning lightly against the counter.
"I don't know yet… I need to think."
He pulled out a chair and sat down.
"But come… let's finish our coffee."
"Grandma… have you ever liked someone? I mean, loved someone?"
"I've had many loves in my life," she replied, taking a sip of coffee.
"Have you ever tried to forget someone?"
"Forget? In what way?"
"Someone you like… but should forget."
She understood what was happening and, gently, replied:
"Why would someone want to forget the person they love?"
He lowered his head and whispered:
"I thought I knew the answer to that question…"
His grandmother took his hand and, sincerely, said:
"We never forget the ones we truly love…"
The silence that followed was calm, almost comforting. For a few minutes, the world felt bearable.
Dawn began to take shape outside. Jun kept his eyes lowered, lost in thought—and in his grandmother's words.
He wanted to believe he could pull himself together, because losing control was the one thing he never allowed himself. He hated showing vulnerability—he always had.
Since his mother left, he had closed himself off to love. Living with his father, he had grown used to life without it. His home was filled with constant criticism, daily pressure, cruel words that, over time, stopped hurting on the outside and began to destroy him from within, leaving open wounds.
His father knew exactly where to strike. He took advantage of a boy's pain—one who didn't understand abandonment—and turned it into guilt.
He made Jun believe his mother didn't want him, that she had left because of him. And for a long time, he believed it. It was then, still a child, that Jun made a silent promise: he would never love anyone the way he loved his mother again, because love makes people weak.
And maybe that was exactly why what he felt for Sayuri was so unacceptable to him.
Outside, the first drops of rain fell heavy, sliding over the garden leaves.
Jun went upstairs to his room to organize a few things, while his grandmother started baking the day's cookies.
She opened a window, and the smell of wet asphalt filled the house, mixing with the sweet aroma of Mrs. Midori's cookies.
"Jun? Jun? Could you come down here for a minute?" his grandmother called from the stairs.
"Yes, Grandma… I'm coming."
"What do you need?"
She turned, holding a small, carefully wrapped box.
"Could you go to our neighbor and take these cookies?"
Jun looked away.
"Grandma… I'm kind of busy right now…"
Mrs. Midori smiled, understanding.
"Oh, dear… I'm sorry. Don't worry, I'll go. You can get back to what you were doing."
Jun glanced out the window. The rain was heavy and relentless, and the cold wind shook the trees outside. He sighed softly. He wasn't going to let her go out in that weather.
"Grandma… it's okay, I'll take them."
She interrupted him:
"It's alright, it'll be quick. Just keep an eye on the oven for me."
But Jun was already picking up the box.
"I'll be right back, Grandma."
Without giving her a chance to argue, he stepped outside. Mrs. Midori stood there, shaking her head.
"Oh… that boy…"
Knock. Knock. Knock.
No answer.
Jun knocked again, a little harder.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Silence. The house seemed empty, and immediate relief washed over him.
Without thinking much, he left the cookies on a chair on the porch, next to other deliveries. But just as he was stepping down the stairs to head back home, a delivery man appeared, holding a bouquet of flowers.
"Good afternoon… does Miss Sayuri live here?"
Jun looked at him.
"Good afternoon… yes, I can help. Are those flowers for her?" he asked, curious.
"They are. Do you live here?"
Jun lied.
"Yes, you can leave them with me."
He signed quickly, taking the bouquet. He waited for the delivery man to walk away, then looked at the card.
"Flowers for the most beautiful and intelligent girl in town."
His expression darkened instantly.
"Kenji…? So he's really taking this seriously."
On impulse, his fingers tightened around the card, almost crumpling it—but he stopped. He took a deep breath and carefully placed it back, leaving the bouquet near the door.
Back home, he tried to act normal, but his mind wouldn't cooperate. Part of him wanted to run back, tear those flowers apart, and stop them from ever reaching her.
The other part—cold, rational—insisted:
"Let it go. You have no right."
Jun ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, and as he leaned against his bedroom window, he saw Sayuri arriving home with her mother. When she found the bouquet, she stopped, read the card, and smiled.
A sincere, beautiful smile. That was worse than any torture.
And as if that weren't enough, a few minutes later, Kenji showed up—natural, comfortable. He walked into her house as if he were already part of the family. Jun clenched his fist and closed the curtains.
"I loved the flowers, thank you so much, Kenji…"
"I'm glad you liked them…" he replied with a smile. "Yume told me you ranked first in your class. I couldn't let that go unnoticed."
"You're so thoughtful…"
Then Sayuri's mother's voice came:
"Would you like to have dinner with us?"
Kenji, politely, replied:
"Actually… I was hoping to take Sayuri out for a special dinner tonight… if that's alright."
"Of course it is," her mother replied, pleased. "I'd love for her to go out with someone like you."
"Mom…"
"What are you still doing here? Go get ready, girl!"
Kenji laughed.
"Thank you, ma'am. I promise I'll bring her back early and safe."
A few minutes later, at an elegant, softly lit Italian restaurant, Sayuri smiled while Kenji admired her.
That was when Kenji looked at her closely and realized he was truly starting to like her.
This was no longer a game. Her smile, her laugh, the way she spoke—even the sparkle in her eyes fascinated him like nothing ever had.
Everything in him reacted. His body leaned naturally toward hers. His hands wanted to touch her. His eyes could no longer look away, and the urge to kiss her became harder and harder to resist.
He knew he had been playing with fire—and in the end, he had been consumed by it.
There was no turning back.
The player had lost the game.