WebNovels

Chapter 32 - Wonder Woman

For the first few months of pregnancy, nothing about Yuna's life seems to change. She still shows up to work on time, eats regularly, manages her own routine—there are even moments when she completely forgets she's expecting.

 Ironically, the one who seems to suffer most from "morning sickness of the soul" is Hiroki.

They have agreed to keep the pregnancy a secret until her belly becomes more noticeable. Only Takano and Hiroki know.

And yet, those two don't let her live in peace for even a single day. They take turns fussing over her—vitamin supplements for expectant mothers, freshly hand-pressed organic juices, whole grain muffins, and an endless array of things she can't even name, all proudly labeled "good for mom and baby."

But she isn't about to collapse anytime soon. She can still breathe just fine, walk without issue—even climb three flights of stairs without breaking a sweat. Yet the way they fret over her, anyone watching might think she's carrying the heir to a royal dynasty.

By the third month, she can no longer fit into her jeans. Her belly has begun to rise just a little, though the rest of her remains unchanged—slim, sleepless, and slightly frail.

She tries to eat more, to force herself to feel excited, but something inside holds her back.

 Fear.

 A fear of this unfamiliar life growing inside her.

 Of who this child is.

 Where it comes from.

 Who it belongs to.

 Even when Hiroki gently reminds her, "A mother's emotions affect the baby, you know," she can't bring herself to feel optimistic.

 Each night is a silent war with nightmares, her stomach twisting as if it, too, rejects all that unease.

She doesn't cry. But her eyes are always red.

Not from pain—

But from exhaustion that runs bone-deep.

And Hiroki—he has this habit that both touches and annoys her.

 Every evening when he comes home from work, he kneels down, presses his ear gently against her belly, and closes his eyes like he's tuning in to some quiet, secret world.

 "I think it's growing a little more every day," he whispers, resting his hand gently across her stomach.

 "You hear something?"

 "I do. Loud and clear."

 She just stands there, her expression unreadable.

 She says nothing.

 Only stares at him—

 This man who might already love the child more than he loves himself.

 

….

 

Yuna stands in front of the mirror at a maternity boutique, scrutinizing her reflection with a mix of detachment and disbelief. The dress hugs her gently yet reveals the curve of her growing belly. She looks… different—not unattractive, just unfamiliar.

Only months ago, she, Takano-san, and Ririka are shopping for cute outfits, high heels, handbags. Now, everything feels obsolete. With this belly, those clothes belong to another life.

Leaving the store, she carries a large bag of oversized clothes and vitamins, pulls her mask high and hat low, head bowed, staring at the mosaic-tiled pavement—each step pressing on memories she isn't ready to revisit.

She doesn't want anyone to recognize her—not out of fear, but out of unreadiness.

Walking slowly, she senses something amiss. A charcoal-gray car rolls alongside, moving so slowly it seems to pause with her every step.

She glances—and recognizes it. The familiar, slightly scratched old Toyota. License plate too well-known.

The passenger window lowers.

"Long time no see, Yuna."

She freezes.

"Shimaki…" she whispers, tightening her grip on her bag.

"Hop in. No charge."

"Thanks, but it's near my place…"

"Don't worry. That's why I'm offering."

Shimaki opens the door politely. Inside, the scent of pine and faint mint (his way to mask past cigarette smoke) welcomes her. She buckles in.

The car rolls slowly through familiar streets. She stares out, awkward yet relieved—at least nobody will spot her now, and it eases the fatigue.

After a few minutes, nausea strikes. She presses a hand to her mouth.

"Shimaki... stop the car."

He immediately pulls over. Before it fully stops, she jumps out, stumbling toward a tree, heaving with tremors.

He doesn't say a word—opens the trunk, retrieves water and tissues, approaches respectfully, keeping distance.

"Are you okay?" he asks, softly but carefully.

She wipes her mouth, draws a shaky breath. "I think… I'm alright."

But he watches her closely, having seen all her facades—happy, broken, pretending. But never like this. Concern flickers in his eyes.

"Yuna," he says slowly, weighing each word, "the last time I see you, you are struggling. Now… you seem worse. Are you really okay?"

She freezes, pressing her hands against the tree for balance. No more excuses.

After a moment, she nods, both admitting and pleading for silence.

"I'm… pregnant."

"Please, don't tell Ryusei. I'm begging you."

Shimaki flinches, stunned, unable to believe it. She looks at him earnestly—not in fear, but an unspoken plea.

He bows his head in understanding.

"...But if you need anything—anywhere to go—tell me. I'll come for you."

"Thank you."

Fifteen minutes later, his taxi pulls up to her spacious home. She drops the heavy bags by the wall and collapses onto the sofa, utterly drained. Even showering feels too much; she lies there, feeling like an overcooked potato, skin dull, routine gone.

If Hiroki is here, he whisks her to the bathroom and serves dinner he cooks himself. He's always been strict—now it would only intensify with how weak she has become. Lucky that work has kept him late lately; she has indulged her lethargy.

Aimlessly surfing TV channels, a familiar melody stops her: "Climax: The Climax Will Always Continue." An old Kamen Rider episode.

She chuckles, feeling foolish—pregnant and watching superheroes fight? Like a child. She would've adored the emotional-action interplays years ago, but now they feel forced.

Kids these days have no shortage of ways to entertain themselves. If it were her—Yuna—ten or fifteen years ago, she would've been obsessed with the action-packed, emotional twists of a show like this. But now, she has long outgrown that phase. These kinds of stories feel a little too dramatic, a bit over the top.

Still, she doesn't change the channel.

The remote lies untouched in her hand, her eyes fixed on the screen as if something there refuses to let her look away.

Scene by scene, the story sinks deeper into her. Watching Ryotaro fight without rest, carrying all his memories and pain just to protect something he believes in—

It squeezes at her heart like an invisible fist.

She lies curled on the couch, hugging a small pillow, the TV casting bright, shifting colors from the final battle sequences.

Then comes the ending. The Imagin slowly fade. Ryotaro bows his head as he returns the Rider Pass—no dramatic farewell, just a quiet ache that says everything.

And suddenly, like a wave hitting from nowhere, memories come crashing back.

Her grandmother's passing, years ago.

The slow, quiet unraveling of her marriage.

The image of Hiroki smoking in silence.

And then, the small life growing inside her, quietly connecting itself to her own in a way she still can't bring herself to call happiness.

She blinks, inhales deeply.

On screen, Ryotaro smiles and delivers that familiar line:

"Climax wa... zutto tsuzuku!"

("The climax will… always continue!")

"Silly of me... I'm not a kid anymore..." she whispers, wiping tears.

She realizes, like the Imagin, parts of herself are fading, unnoticed.

She switches channels—looking for escape.

Now on screen: a dimly-lit livehouse. HIMrs6 are on stage—no Hiroki, just Jun, Mallow, Raven, and Starlin. The atmosphere feels strangely hollow.

She hasn't watched the band's performances in a while. Their albums are likely covered in dust.

Still, they have endured—grown strong in Japan despite the years and struggles.

"The next song," Jun says softly into the mic, "is an unreleased track, written just two months ago. We dedicate it to all of you who are weary, lost on your path. May it soothe your soul."

Yuna bows her head, lights dim, and the song begins—slow, nostalgic:

"You walk away like nothing ever broke

Cold coffee, dreams left hanging on the smoke

Still smiling at the mirror through the ache

So gentle... like you never knew heartbreak

But I have seen you in the silent nights

Whispering alone, calming your own cries…"

Raven's harmony rises behind:

"…She is my Wonder Woman

Wears her wounds like diamond charms

She's a quiet kind of thunder

That can heal the deepest harms

No capes, no shining medals

But stronger than a thousand storms

She is my wonder

My Wonder Woman…"

Yuna sits motionless. Music plays, but she hears nothing else, expression blank—yet her eyes glisten.

Tears stream down her cheeks, pooling at her chin—tiny pearls falling in silence. She stares at the screen, disconnected from reality.

Only stillness—and music.

Someone writes this song. Someone understands the feelings she can't express.

Someone stays. Someone pens lyrics that shatter and soothe her heart at once.

"Wonder Woman…"

She whispers it softly, an unspoken acknowledgment forming within her.

She wishes she can be strong this way...

That day, Hiroki comes home earlier than expected.

 The door is unlocked. The apartment feels strangely silent.

As he steps inside, the stale, humid air hits him in the face, making him frown slightly. His eyes sweep over shopping bags still bearing tags, a half-finished carton of milk, scattered vitamin bottles on the floor.

He sets down his keys and calls her name—once, twice. No response.

Yuna is curled up on the sofa, her clothes wrinkled, hair tangled, cheeks pale and sunken. She is asleep, uncovered, lips dry and slightly parted in a restless dream.

Hiroki says nothing. He picks her up gently, as if lifting a soft, soaked leaf.

The bathroom is dim and cold. He runs warm water into the tub, adjusting the temperature just right, then slowly slips off her jacket.

As the water rises, Yuna begins to thrash.

 Her eyes fly open—wild, frightened. She struggles like a child forced into something she doesn't understand.

 "Don't touch me! Get out!" she screams, her voice hoarse.

 Hiroki stands frozen, heart aching. Then, he quietly steps back and closes the door behind him.

 But he doesn't leave. He leans against the wall outside, his hands trembling.

One minute… five minutes… ten.

 Then—silence.

 No splashing. Not even the sound of breathing.

 Something about that silence terrifies him.

 When it stretches too long, it feels like his heart is about to drop off a cliff.

 He slams the door open.

 Yuna is submerged, face beneath the water, hair floating like spilled ink.

 "Yuna!!"

 He screams, lunges forward, and pulls her from the tub. She opens her eyes as the warmth of his arms wraps around her.

 And in those glassy eyes is a silent flood, one capable of drowning even the faintest light.

 "Do you even realize what you just did?!"

 "I slip…" she whispers, her voice breaking like a feeble excuse. "It feels like… like a tsunami crashing down on me…"

 He holds her close, whispering over and over,

 "It's okay… I'm here. I'm here now."

 As her breathing steadies, he squeezes body wash into his hands and gently rubs her shoulders, his motions slow and calming, trying to soothe her skin and spirit alike.

 After the bath, they stand beside the tub. He rinses the soap from her body with the handheld shower, the water flowing over her frail shoulders and the small curve of her belly—where a tiny life is growing quietly inside her.

 Yuna wraps her arms around herself, as if she wishes she could disappear.

 And when Hiroki sees her like that—pale skin, sharp collarbones, vacant gaze—he feels something inside him snap.

 He can't breathe from the ache of it.

 Still holding the showerhead, his voice cracks as he says, "Stop destroying yourself… If not for you, then for the baby."

 Yuna looks up at him.

 A flicker of light crosses her eyes, but vanishes too quickly.

 "These past few days, I've been buried in work… but look at what's happened to you," he continues, his voice tight with guilt. "You need to take responsibility, Yuna."

 Then he takes a deep breath, grabs a towel, and wraps it around her gently.

 "I'm quitting. Starting tomorrow, I'm staying home to take care of you."

 Through the towel, his arms encircle her. She barely hears anything he says—only that one line echoes in her head:

 "I'm going to take care of you."

 She leans into him, eyes closed, letting the water drip from her hair onto his shoulder.

 After drying her hair, Hiroki hands her clean clothes and softly coaxes her to get dressed.

 Dinner is reheated leftovers. He sits across from her, feeding her spoon by spoon.

 She eats little, but she eats. Like a tired child, obedient not out of hunger, but because she doesn't want to make anyone worry.

 Afterward, he brings her to bed, tucks her in, places a warm glass of water on the nightstand, adjusts the room temperature—

 Every gesture precise, nothing excessive, as though he has rehearsed this moment a thousand times in his mind.

 Night falls.

 He lies down beside her, silently letting her bury her face into his chest as she weeps.

 She cries as much as all the other times before—clinging to him as though pouring out everything would somehow ease the weight.

 But now, Hiroki no longer tries to understand why she's crying.

 His shirt is soaked—drenched in a sorrow he doesn't know how to wipe away except with patience.

 He knows the tears can't be good for the child inside her.

 But if she isn't allowed to cry—

 What else is left to free her pain?

 After a while, the room grows quiet.

 No more sobs. No more sound.

 Hiroki shifts slightly, still holding her close. He begins talking softly—about random things.

 How he'll buy her all the pastries, novels, and comics she loves.

 How dull work has become. How the new boss is a nightmare and how he has finally asked Takano to arrange his full resignation.

 He has a new plan. Something vague and uncertain—too early to explain just yet.

 "I'll be free now. I'll sleep beside you every night."

 She is too drained to respond. She simply lies there, listening.

 "I watch Kamen Rider… a few days ago," she murmurs, voice raw, eyes swollen.

 "In the final episode… after the last Henshin… his identity is revealed… and then everything disappears."

 A strangled laugh escapes Hiroki's throat.

 He doesn't quite follow, but he gently runs his fingers through her hair.

 "Is that so…" he smiles faintly.

 "Who's your favorite character?"

 "The one crying in my arms," he replies.

 She doesn't smile.

 But something inside her eases.

 Eventually, she drifts off. Her breathing grows steady, exhausted, like someone who has survived a storm.

"…Sing me something," she mumbles in her sleep.

 "What song?"

 "Anything…"

 He chuckles softly, clears his throat, and after a pause, begins to sing. Low. Gentle.

 She stirs, whispering faintly:

 "No… the one that goes…

 'You walk away like nothing ever broke

 Cold coffee, dreams left hanging on the smoke

 Still smiling at the mirror through the ache

 So gentle… like you never knew heartbreak'"

 Her voice fades. But Hiroki freezes.

 He recognizes the lyrics.

Softly. Tenderly. He begins to sing it:

"You walk away like nothing ever broke

Cold coffee, dreams left hanging on the smoke

Still smiling at the mirror through the ache

So gentle… like you never knew heartbreak

But I have seen you in the silent nights

Whispering alone, calming your own cries

She is my Wonder Woman

Wears her wounds like diamond charms

She's a quiet kind of thunder

That can heal the deepest harms

No capes, no shining medals

But stronger than a thousand storms

She is my wonder

My Wonder Woman…"

His voice falters for a beat when he hears her softly hum along. Her eyes are closed, but her fingers cling tightly to his.

Gathering all his courage, he continues singing—as if confessing, as if trying to soothe her:

"She is my Wonder

My Wonder Woman

You hum lullabies to broken shores

Plant flowers where sorrow once poured

Never asked for anyone to save you

You always knew how to rise anew

A true warrior

And when the dark blocks your way

You etch stars into its gray

You're my Wonder Woman

Turning pain into ballads

A hidden flame

In the pages of your silence

No armor, no spell

But love is your defiance

She's my Wonder

My Wonder Woman

Maybe you'll never know

I wrote this song just so

You'd see how, even broken, you chose

To love once more, though it tore your soul

She's my Wonder Woman

Fallen so many times

Yet somehow redefined

Night into a crimson glow

No spotlight, no grand show

Just beauty in all you endure

She's my Wonder

Yes—my Wonder Woman…"

 

When he finishes, he turns to her—

 She is fast asleep.

 But her lashes are damp, her lips curled ever so slightly, her hand still clinging tightly to his.

 Hiroki leans down, presses a kiss to her forehead, and whispers:

 "Sleep well, my warrior."

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