"Fukada-san, please stop at the next intersection."
In the sedan, Hojo Shione tapped the window.
"Okay."
Fukada answered, glanced at the girl in the rear-view mirror, and couldn't help confirming:
"Hojo-san, are you sure you'll be alright?"
Shione lifted her face and smiled. "I'm fine. I haven't been back to Kyoto in a long time—I just want to walk a bit by myself."
"Alright. Call me if you need anything."
"Thank you, Fukada-san."
…
The car stopped at the corner. Shione drew a deep breath and exhaled the irritation that had built up in the car.
She put on a mask, slipped both hands into her coat pockets, and strolled unhurriedly down familiar streets, unconsciously savoring what it felt like to be with Shiratori Kiyoya before.
Friends say the worst thing after a breakup is revisiting old haunts, but ever since they split, every time she takes this road she feels… healed.
Turning past the crêpe shop, she stopped before a bubble tea stand.
Looking at the crowd clustered out front, the corners of her lips lifted; nostalgia warmed her eyes.
Back in high school, on the way home from weekly vocal practice, Kiyoya would always buy her a cup as encouragement…
She'd protest, "I can't, I'll get fat," and the like.
But Kiyoya would insist, shove the cup into her hand, then look her in the eyes with perfect seriousness and say, "Shione, you probably have no idea how charming you are."
"What if I do get fat? Will you stop liking me?"
"Of course not. One cup of milk tea won't make you fat—and even if you did, I wouldn't stop liking you."
"Then will you stay with me, always?"
"Why wouldn't I?"
"…"
Scene after scene, the boy's voice seemed to sound at her ear.
A sour ache rose in her nose; her vision blurred with tears. The red of dusk pooled in her eyes like glass under water.
Stories that begin in tenderness—must their endings always fail to live up to the start?
Absolutely not.
Shione bit her lip, drew a steadying breath, wiped her eyes, and clenched her fist until her nails pressed into her palm. Her gaze firmed again.
Thinking back to her talk with Hasegawa Saori, she realized it was about what she'd suspected.
There'd been no major conflict between them; after Saori won the Inter-High, he brought up breaking up.
And the reasons he gave were flimsy.
Saori apparently hadn't chased him too hard—or Shione would've known, since Kiyoya was pursuing her then.
But more than the "clingy ex" scenario, what struck her was that Saori's stance toward Kiyoya mirrored her own.
"I didn't agree—how can that count as breaking up?"
"Break up? As long as I hold on tight, we're not apart."
"What do I think about you dating Kiyoya? But you've broken up now, haven't you?"
"I'll stay by him for life."
When Saori said that, a look of yearning bloomed on her otherwise impassive face.
Only then did Shione grasp that she'd had such a formidable rival all along.
Compared to her, I'm the latecomer?
Reluctant as she was to admit it, her exchange with Saori made some things clear.
Saori hadn't been born a kendo prodigy.
Which meant she'd begun to shine after starting to date Kiyoya.
Shione was the same.
Since they'd begun dating, he'd—subtly or not—guided her toward becoming a singer.
Yes, she truly liked singing and dreamed of being a singer.
But there was no doubt that most of the credit for getting this far belonged to him.
Especially when she started competing—he produced songs, prepared who-knows-when, for her to sing.
That was the beginning of her rise.
And now, after the breakup, he had a new girlfriend…
So—was there an agenda from the start?
Shione's eyes grew conflicted; for a moment she even wondered whether Kiyoya had ever really loved her.
But she crushed the thought as soon as it arose.
Impossible.
The past they shared doesn't lie; not even a robot could act tender and devoted every single time.
If he were that heartless, he wouldn't have run off like a coward, leaving only a letter.
And when she went to Tokyo to see him, the guilt in his eyes wasn't fake.
What a joke—broken up, yet still reluctant to let go of his ex.
He clearly still loves her.
Realizing this, Shione's lips tilted with self-satisfaction.
But the smile didn't last; another question rose.
Why is he doing this?
Kiyoya, what do you actually want?
…
How am I supposed to get Sis to agree?
At home, Hojo Suzune sat at the table, brow furrowed.
Her pale, slender legs swung over the edge of the chair. She gnawed her pen and gripped her head, trying to squeeze out a brilliant idea.
No use.
Her sister wasn't stupid; maybe she couldn't beat Suzune on tests, but emotionally she was no slouch.
If it was about going to see Shiratori Kiyoya, no matter how pretty the words, Sis would sniff it out.
Coming up empty, she tossed the pen on the table, folded her hands over her chest, scrunched her brows, and clicked her tongue.
If only Sis were still dating Kiyoya…
Irritated, she started to fume.
If they were still together, would she be stressing about this now?
Seeing him would be easy.
So yeah, Sis is lame. If it were me, I'd never let Kiyoya go.
What's the point of having that big a chest if you don't even know how to use it?
Can't even keep a man—what a waste.
Grinding her teeth, she stared at the ceiling as her tiny body spun with the chair.
At this point… only sincerity?
It wasn't a sure bet, but they were sisters. No matter what, she'd try tears.
The simplest way is sometimes the best.
Suzune took a deep breath and made up her mind.
She rehearsed what to say to her sister, even staged a little scene in her head. Once she'd convinced even herself, she braced for glory or defeat and headed out of the bedroom.
But after a lap through the place—in slippers, even checking the bathroom—no sign of Sis.
Out on a date? Still not back?
I'm telling on you to brother-in-law later.
She frowned and, hearing her mother cooking in the kitchen, hurried over.
"Mom, Sis isn't back yet? Is she not coming home tonight?"
Mrs. Hojo, in an apron, glanced at her. "No idea—probably soon. What's got you caring about your sister tonight? Something up?"
She pointed to a pot beside her. "Suzune, help me carry the fish soup over. Careful—don't spill."
"Okay."
Suzune answered, carefully lifted the soup—and then realized something off about the last remark. She shot back:
"What do you mean 'tonight I'm caring'? I always care, okay? We're sisters."
At that, Mom stopped what she was doing and rolled her eyes. "So you do remember you're sisters. When she broke up and was crying her eyes out, you were happier than anyone."
A flush of guilty shame hit Suzune; her cheeks warmed. She stammered, "I—I just wanted to cheer her up. Haven't you heard a smile is contagious? Why make me sound so awful?"
"I was devastated when she broke up, alright?"
Mrs. Hojo gave her a thin smile. "Oh, devastated? So devastated you brought it up seven or eight times a day in front of her?"
"I'm done talking to you—you never get it."
Any more and she'd be stripped bare. Feeling mortified, she grabbed the soup to leave.
But Mom caught her arm, face suddenly serious.
"Listen. Your sister's had it rough in Tokyo. She finally came home—don't upset her."
Suzune pouted. "She seems plenty happy to me."
Not happy? After seeing Kiyoya she came back a different person. Hogging him all to herself. Went to Tokyo and didn't even take me. Are we even related?
"That's exactly why—because she's finally in a good mood—you shouldn't pick on her."
Mom had felt awful seeing her daughter sink after the breakup, but the past couple days her color had been good, and Mom's spirits rose with hers.
"Who's picking on her? I was sad too, okay? If she's happy, how could I not be?"
Suzune turned with the soup.
"You child…"
Mom clicked her tongue, feeling helpless.
She'd barely turned when—slap!—a little splash hit the floor.
She looked down—hot soup, spilled. She scolded, "See? I told you to be careful. Come back and wipe that up!"
"Did you hear me?"
But this time there was no answer. Suzune stood frozen.
Hojo Shione stood in front of her, smiling with Yamato-Nadeshiko sweetness.
In a gentle voice, she said:
"Suzune—so my breakup made you that sad?"