The wind swept through the coastal cliffs like a song from the past. Hiro stood barefoot on the stone path behind the villa, Haruka asleep against his chest in a cloth sling. Ayaka watched them from the window, eyes shining with adoration and something deeper—something darker.
Spring had returned.
The cherry trees Ayaka had planted in the garden bloomed in defiance of the salty sea air. Each blossom was a haunting echo of their youth, their promises, and the red-stained ribbon still kept beside their bed.
Hiro tried to feel peace. He tried to believe he was happy.
But the silence had returned. Not the eerie kind of before—but an internal one. The quiet of a man who had stopped asking questions.
He wandered the shore each morning, pretending he had a choice in it.
Today, though, something changed.
A glint. Buried in the sand.
He knelt, brushed it away. A bracelet. Tarnished silver with a small inscription: *To Emi, with love.*
He froze.
Emi.
A girl from his sophomore year. She had helped him build his first app. She disappeared two months later. Ayaka had told him it was a coincidence.
He swallowed hard.
That night, Hiro slipped out of bed while Ayaka slept, her hand curled possessively over his chest. He crept into the study, unlocking a drawer he hadn't dared touch in months.
Inside were dozens of journals. Not his. Hers.
They were labeled by date. Each covered in fabric, embroidered and scented with sakura.
He opened one at random.
*March 2nd — Professor Reina complimented his voice again today. I added her to the list. I don't think she'll be a problem after this weekend.*
Another:
*April 16th — I saw Emi give him that bracelet. She touched his wrist. That's more than enough.*
He dropped the journal.
The bracelet still sat in his pocket.
He stumbled backward—and knocked over a framed photo. It cracked. Behind the photo, he saw something odd. A slit in the wall.
A hidden compartment.
With trembling fingers, he pried it open.
Photographs. Personal items. IDs. All cataloged, some wrapped in silk, others encased in resin.
Emi's university ID stared back at him.
Suddenly—footsteps.
He turned.
Ayaka stood in the doorway.
She said nothing.
Just watched him. Her face unreadable.
He held the ID up.
She stepped closer. Her voice was so soft it cracked the silence like glass.
"You weren't supposed to see that."
"I *keep* seeing things," he whispered. "I keep remembering the girls. The blood. The chair in the basement. I remember everything now."
Ayaka's expression faltered. Her hands trembled.
"You're trying to leave again."
"I never stopped," he admitted. "But Haruka... I couldn't—"
Ayaka rushed forward, gripping his shirt. "Don't say it! Don't pretend! You stayed because you love me."
"I stayed because you broke me."
Silence fell again.
She let go, slowly, as if her hands no longer knew what they were for.
"I never wanted to hurt you," she said. "Only to keep you. I gave up everything, Hiro. My family. My future. My soul."
Tears slid down her cheeks.
"You're my home. My purpose. Without you, I have no name."
Hiro stared at her, trembling.
And then she reached into her pocket and held out a small blade.
"Use it," she said. "If you really want to leave, use this. Cut your way out. But don't expect to walk away with just your body. You'll leave your soul here."
He didn't take the knife.
Instead, he sank to the floor.
And sobbed.
Ayaka knelt beside him, gathering him into her arms, humming that lullaby once more.
And somewhere in the house, Haruka cried—for the first time.
A sound that shattered the trance.
Together, they looked toward the hallway.
And for the first time, Hiro saw something new in Ayaka's eyes.
Fear.
Not of losing him.
But of what their child might become.