Hero carefully lifted Sunny from her arms.
The weight felt heavier than it should.
Not just physical..
but something deeper.
Something that settled into his chest and refused to leave.
He stood slowly, holding Sunny with both arms, his expression tense but controlled.
Then he turned.
His eyes fell on the broken violin at the bottom of the stairs.
Fragments scattered across the floor.
Sharp edges.
Splintered wood.
A scene that already told part of a story.
Just not the right one.
Without speaking, Hero stepped closer.
Each step felt deliberate.
Measured.
As if crossing an invisible line he could never step back from.
He lowered Sunny gently..
placing him near the shattered violin.
Adjusting just enough.
Not too much.
Just enough for it to look…
like it could have happened on its own.
An accident.
A fall.
Something tragic—
but explainable.
Mari didn't move.
She sat there, frozen, her hands now empty, resting limply in her lap.
Her eyes were fixed on Sunny.
On the distance between them that hadn't existed before.
On the way everything now looked… wrong.
But also—
terribly convincing.
From the outside, it could pass.
A simple accident.
A misstep.
A fall down the stairs.
Nothing more.
Nothing deeper.
But inside Mari-
the truth screamed.
She didn't want this.
She didn't want the lie.
She didn't want the silence.
She didn't want to pretend that this was something small, something random, something meaningless.
Her chest tightened.
Her breathing faltered.
Her hands trembled again—
this time not from shock…
but from something heavier.
Something that refused to disappear.
Mari knew.
This was not the end.
This was only the beginning.
Then, carefully, he guided her to stand.
Her body followed, but her mind did not.
Hero reached for the phone.
His fingers paused above it.
Just for a second.
A final chance to stop.
To tell the truth.
To undo the path he had just chosen.
But that moment passed.
His hand lowered.
He made the call.
His voice was controlled—calm, steady, believable.
He described it simply.
A fall.
An accident.
Nothing more.
Then
sirens.
Faint at first.
Then closer.
And closer.
The sound cut through everything, sharp and undeniable.
Reality had arrived.
Hero moved quickly.
He adjusted his posture.
His breathing.
His expression.
Everything had to match the story.
Everything had to feel real.
Because now
someone else would see.
For the first time
someone else touched him.
Someone else carried him away.
Further.
And further.
Until—
he was gone.
Footsteps echoed.
Fast. Uneven.
The doors burst open.
Sunny and Mari's parents rushed in, their faces filled with fear that hadn't yet found its answer.
Machines stood still. No rhythmic beeping. No movement. Only silence, thick and unmoving.
On the bed—
Sunny lay motionless.
His mother stepped forward first.
Slowly.
As if moving too fast would make everything real.
"…Sunny?"
No response.
Her hand reached out, trembling, brushing against his arm.
Cold.
She froze.
Then her breath broke.
His father stood behind her, his expression stiff, as if refusing to understand what was right in front of him.
"…No."
It came out as a whisper.
A denial more than a statement.
His mother's voice cracked into sobs, raw and uncontrollable, filling the room with a grief that had nowhere to go.
Sunny's father turned toward him.
His eyes were sharp now—searching, demanding, desperate.
"You were there."
It wasn't a question.
Hero swallowed.
"…Yes."
"What happened?"
The room seemed to shrink.
Hero felt every word before he said it.
Measured.
Careful.
Controlled.