"Not all cages have bars. Some are made of silence, spotless floors, and the scent of cold perfume."
---
Saturday Morning – The Recovery Day
It was Hana who suggested they take the day off.
No archery. No books. No pressure.
Just the two of them.
For a while, Mio hesitated. Her usual answer was, "I have things to do." But today, she looked down at her phone, then back at Hana's hopeful face — and nodded.
"I'd like that."
So they met at 10 a.m. in front of the station, dressed in plain clothes instead of uniforms, and for the first time in this timeline — they simply existed as girls their age.
---
The Bookstore
They wandered through the aisles slowly. Hana pointed out ridiculous titles ("101 Uses for a Failed Exam"), while Mio lingered by poetry anthologies, fingers brushing the spines like they were made of glass.
"Do you like poetry?" Hana asked.
Mio nodded. "It says the things I can't."
Hana picked one at random and flipped it open.
She read aloud, softly:
> "I say I'm fine because it's easier to lie
Than to beg someone to ask me why."
Mio's hand stopped on the shelf. Her fingers trembled for a moment.
"Do you want this one?" Hana asked.
"…Yes."
So she bought it for her, and Mio clutched the thin book like it was something fragile and precious.
---
The Café
They sat near a window, sipping matcha and sharing a plate of sweet dango. Outside, the cherry blossoms had started to fall in earnest, petals spinning lazily down onto sidewalks and shoulders.
"Thank you," Mio said suddenly.
"For the sweets?"
"For everything."
Hana met her gaze. "You don't have to thank me for being with you."
Mio didn't answer. But she reached across the table — just briefly — and touched Hana's hand.
It lasted less than a second.
But it was the first time Mio had reached out.
And Hana almost cried.
---
That Afternoon – The Invitation
They were about to part ways when Mio hesitated at the crosswalk.
"…Do you want to come over?"
Hana blinked. "To your place?"
Mio nodded. "My mother's still out of town. It's… easier, when it's quiet."
Hana hesitated — not out of uncertainty, but out of weight. She understood how hard that invitation must've been for Mio to offer.
So she smiled gently. "I'd love to."
---
Mio's House
It wasn't a house.
It was a museum.
The Katagiri residence stood tall and elegant behind a black metal gate. The yard was immaculately maintained, the hedges clipped into perfect shapes. Not a single leaf was out of place.
Inside, the floors gleamed. The walls were bare, decorated only with expensive calligraphy scrolls and monochrome photographs. No family portraits. No childhood drawings. No signs of a life lived.
Hana's first thought was: Where is Mio?
There was no trace of her anywhere.
No messy desk. No laundry basket. No posters, no books scattered.
Even Mio's room — when she led Hana upstairs — was pristine. Her bed was made with military precision. Her bookshelf was alphabetized. Her notebooks stacked in symmetrical rows.
"This doesn't feel like you," Hana said softly.
Mio smiled tightly. "That's because it isn't."
She sat down at her desk, facing away.
Hana walked to the bookshelf. There, tucked behind a row of required reading, was the poetry book Hana had given her.
The only thing slightly out of place.
Hana pulled it free. "You hid this?"
"I didn't want her to see it."
"She doesn't like poetry?"
"She doesn't like anything that isn't practical. Art is weak. Emotion is weakness."
"…And love?"
Mio didn't answer.
---
Evening – The Empty Kitchen
They sat in the kitchen while rice steamed. Mio made tea. Her movements were mechanical, like muscle memory — pouring, steeping, presenting the cup with both hands.
"She taught me how to make tea when I was six," Mio said. "But if it was too bitter or too weak, she'd throw it out."
"That's awful."
"She said it built discipline."
"Did she ever… praise you?"
"Once. When I won nationals in middle school."
"Did it feel good?"
Mio looked down at her cup.
"It felt… hollow. Because she only smiled when others were watching."
---
A Moment Before Sleep
Mio offered Hana the guest futon in her room. The house had multiple guest rooms, but Mio insisted.
"I don't want to be alone," she said simply.
They changed into spare pajamas and turned off the lights. Moonlight filtered through the blinds, painting soft lines across the room.
"Mio?" Hana whispered.
"Yes?"
"You're not weak."
Silence.
"You're the strongest person I know," Hana continued. "Because you kept smiling even when no one saw you crying."
Mio turned toward her, barely a silhouette in the dark.
"I'm tired of smiling," she whispered.
"Then don't."
Another pause.
Then Mio reached for her.
They didn't hold each other.
They just lay there, hands barely touching, connected by warmth alone.
And in that moment, in that cold, quiet house—
Mio finally exhaled.
---
End of Chapter 7
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