Looking at Yukinoshita Haruno's face so close to his, Kiyono silently turned his head away. After a while, he stiffly changed the subject.
"Now, do you still want to commit a lovers' suicide?"
That line pulled Haruno back to that night on the Ferris wheel, to the moment when Kiyono had told her that as long as it was a decision born from truly confronting her own heart—after struggling, doubting, and choosing—he would accompany her without question.
Honestly, bringing that up right now was way too sly.
Haruno felt like this boy was blatantly teasing her. To maintain her dignity as the Big Sister, she narrowed her eyes, looking crafty.
"Hmph, who knows? If a certain great writer dares to cheat on me with some woman outside the Yukinoshita family, I really might drag you with me and jump off Tokyo Tower, you know?"
"Don't say such dangerous things!"
Kiyono's mouth twitched, but his fingers still reached out to gently smooth away the strands of hair that had been tousled by the night wind. Then he stood, took a few steps forward, and when he turned back, the moonlight happened to spill just right across his profile, a warm smile on his face.
"Let's go home."
"…Mm."
Haruno followed after him lightly.
The pale moonlight stretched their shadows long on the ground. Haruno quietly shifted half a step to the side, watching as the two silhouettes slowly overlapped and merged. A broad, steady weight settled against her shoulder—his shoulder brushing hers. That gentle warmth and the faint vibration of their synchronized footsteps passed between them through that small point of contact, as if silently confirming each other's existence.
They must be looking at the same scenery.
Will we keep on like this from now on—seeing similar things, spending the same time together?
She suddenly sped up and ran ahead, then turned back all at once.
Kiyono happened to lift his head just then.
Smooth black hair, a fluttering coat, a scarf swaying in the wind.
Their gazes crossed for a heartbeat and then instantly broke away, but his chest suddenly lurched—
Under the moonlight, he saw Haruno's eyes, like ancient ice thawing into spring water, shimmering with ripples. That sudden, softened gaze made his cheeks burn and his heartbeat thunder in his ears.
This was Yukinoshita Haruno's truest self, shown only to him—
Not the composed, cunning Big Sister.
Not the smiling devil wearing a mask.
Just a lovely woman who would show this expression only to him.
As soon as they stepped back into the house, they were wrapped in the familiar scent of home.
The old courtyard.
The cherry trees.
The bluestone path dusted with a thin layer of snow.
It had only been half a month since she'd left, yet everything already felt faintly unfamiliar.
Haruno and Kiyono walked into the open living room. Yukino and Yukinoshita's mother were already there waiting. Yukino held a teacup in her hands; she looked as if she were drinking calmly, but her gaze kept wandering, and her toes, hidden beneath her, were subtly fidgeting. Yukinoshita's mother merely sat, eyes lifted toward the far side of the room.
The moment she saw her older sister, Yukino's lips trembled, and her hands clenched tightly on her lap.
Unease, relief, hesitation, timidity, guilt—
Nothing about her looked cold or aloof.
The two sisters exchanged a silent glance.
Haruno let out a quiet sigh. In the end, she gave her little sister a radiant smile.
Yukino pressed her lips together, and the fists on her knees slowly relaxed.
Then Haruno silently turned her gaze toward Yukinoshita's mother.
And froze.
Something about her mother seemed different. She was still in a kimono, hair neatly styled, dignified and elegant as always, but her brows carried a deeper fatigue.
What expression should she show now? You deserve it? Indifference? Concern?
Yukinoshita's mother stood and looked at her. Her voice was calm.
"Haruno, let's talk."
Kiyono thought, You're being way too direct.
Normally, when parents want to have a serious conversation with their child—especially after a blow-up—they circle around it first, picking their words. This kind of blunt opening was guaranteed to make the air go stiff.
He'd actually thought this before. Yukino had a difficult personality, sure, but Haruno wasn't exactly easy either. And judging from this scene, Yukinoshita's mother, as their mother, also…
Just as that dangerous thought surfaced, a soft, jade-like gaze swept over him.
I am very sorry, Mother.
Kiyono immediately knelt obediently down beside Yukino.
"What do you want to talk about?"
Haruno drew in a deep breath, as if groping for her own answer, and spoke.
Things remembered, things forgotten, things she'd pretended to forget—all spun slowly in her mind.
"Everything," she said. "First, about how you educated me."
Yukinoshita's mother met her eyes steadily. It seemed she wanted to talk alone, so she turned and walked toward the veranda, leading the way.
Once the two of them stepped outside, Yukino exhaled softly, then glanced up at Kiyono.
"How has Big Sister been these days?"
"She's been having so much fun she forgot to come home," Kiyono replied.
Yukino's dark eyes flashed with confusion.
"?"
In her mind, her sister's runaway life was full of pain and loss—drinking herself numb every day, stumbling through some gloomy, dying existence that would make anyone who saw it ache for her.
But reality was… huh?
She suddenly realized something, and the corner of her mouth twitched slightly.
After giving Kiyono a glare full of misplaced resentment, Yukino, looking half helpless, quietly shuffled over to the sliding door, leaned in, and began eavesdropping on the conversation between her mother and sister. Kiyono followed her lead.
On the veranda, moonlight seeped through the branches, scattering dappled light and shadow across the floor.
Yukinoshita's mother was looking up at the clear night sky. People tended to gaze into the distance when revisiting their memories—was she the same?
Haruno's thoughts drifted, chasing idle shapes in the ever-changing clouds.
Time flowed silently by before Yukinoshita's mother finally gave voice to what lay in her heart.
"That day, when you said I favored Yukino, my first reaction was to deny it. I believed I'd always treated you two equally—in clothes, in day-to-day life. But over these past few days, I've been carefully looking back over the years, and I've realized I may have been wrong."
Her tone was still the gentle, composed one Haruno knew well, but underneath it there was a faint sigh. Haruno only answered with a soft, noncommittal "Oh."
"…Perhaps I did unconsciously favor Yukino."
To admit, in front of one daughter, that she favored the other—that was, undeniably, a parental failure. But Yukinoshita's mother still faced it head-on. Maybe Yukino's strong, stubborn personality had been inherited from her.
"There were many reasons. Because Yukino has been quiet and solitary since she was little, too strong-willed, and other children wouldn't play with her. They ignored her or even bullied her. Because I felt guilty about never intending for Yukino to inherit the family business. Because of her time living overseas…
Seeing such a lonely child, as a mother, I just wanted to give her as much love as I could."
A faint loneliness and nostalgia flickered in Yukinoshita's mother's eyes, as if she could see the past.
She slowly turned her head and looked at the daughter who had always made her proud.
"And then there's you, Haruno."
Her voice softened.
"Yukino is a child who draws people's pity and care. You, Haruno, are strong, mature, and dependable. That was the mistake I made."
"Haruno has always been obedient and well-behaved. I raised you to inherit the Yukinoshita family, and you never once fell short of my expectations—you did everything perfectly. Everyone around us praised you. I unconsciously let myself be swept up in that illusion as well."
At some point, she sighed, her voice growing faraway.
"Because you were so likable, because I thought you didn't require much worry, my gaze gradually turned more toward Yukino. But that was wrong. Your liveliness, your gentleness, your obedience—those were all masks you were constantly adjusting. I never realized…
Or rather, I did notice, but I didn't think it was that serious."
"It's not just you. Even I carefully maintain my 'image' in front of my children."
When she was young, she lived for her parents. As an adult, for her husband. After that, for her children. Regardless of joy or grief, she had always been forced to consider too many, too many things.
Yukinoshita's mother suddenly remembered a conversation before Haruno was born—
Back then, she and her husband had argued over who would play "good cop" and who would play "bad cop" in front of their child. Children naturally prefer gentle parents, but if you dote on them too much, they'll become spoiled. In the end, it was decided that she would play the gentle role—partly because her husband wasn't suited to it.
Yet what mother doesn't secretly want her child to be closest to her?
And now, after all these years, she too was bound by the image she'd crafted for herself.
Haruno stared blankly at the woman before her. It was the first time she'd heard her mother say anything like this.
So even that formidable Yukinoshita's mother persona… had been carefully constructed?
As time passes, a child's view of their parents constantly shifts—from the omnipotent heroes of early childhood, to the flustered adults who don't know how to answer strange questions, to the figures who, in one's own adulthood, quietly reveal their weariness and helplessness.
But unlike in an ordinary family, in Haruno's eyes, Yukinoshita's mother had always been a figure who embodied both absolute authority and unwavering gentleness.
Rebellion was just another form of communication.
Confrontation, merely another educational method.
This was the first time she'd seen this Yukinoshita's mother.
Why had her mother cast aside the image she'd maintained for more than a decade to say these things?
What had she thought about during the days Haruno was gone?
Haruno stayed silent and simply listened.
"When I look back now," Yukinoshita's mother continued, "every time you smiled at me like that—those fake smiles—it felt like a knife was carving into my heart.
You're right. I really have been an unqualified mother."
Her voice was steady, but by the last word it shook.
"What good is saying all that now…?"
The line slipped out almost as a reflex. Haruno herself hadn't expected that she could still speak so impulsively.
"Yes. There are things that are already too late, no matter when they're said…"
Yukinoshita's mother closed her eyes for a moment, as if steadying herself.
"But we can't just keep making the same mistakes.
You can resent me, you can live however you like. But no matter what, I hope you and Yukino can always get along well."
She opened her eyes again, her gaze unwavering.
Their relationship as sisters had fractured because of her own mistakes—but blood ties, however long they're left unattended, don't change, and however much they're ignored, they don't vanish.
As a mother, her only wish now was for her two daughters to love each other for a lifetime.
Is this for Yukino's sake? Haruno wondered.
No, that wasn't it.
For the younger sister, the older sister was irreplaceable.
And for the older sister, the younger one was just as much an inseparable part of her.
In that sense, they were equal.
A quiet breath, calm words.
"Yukino is my little sister. Of course I'll look after her."
—She said.
Yukinoshita's mother's shoulders eased in relief, as if a heavy weight had finally been set down.
"Mm. Then I'm relieved," she murmured.
A long silence followed, broken only by the sound of the bamboo fountain rocking back and forth.
Still looking into the distance, Yukinoshita's mother spoke again.
"Haruno, does inheriting the family really make you that unhappy?"
"It's just everyday life I've long since gotten used to. There's no such thing as happy or unhappy."
Haruno lowered herself to sit directly on the floorboards, bracing herself with both hands as she stared up into the sky. For a moment, it felt like she'd slipped back to some afternoon from her childhood, chatting with her mother.
In the past, Yukinoshita's mother would have immediately reminded her to mind her manners, or gently corrected her posture.
Now, she didn't say any of that.
Drawing from memories that were slowly fading at the edges, Yukinoshita's mother said quietly:
"…I grew up this way too. I experienced various things, complained to myself in secret, and most of the time, things didn't go as I'd wished.
But when I look back, even though there were hardships and unpleasant days, on the whole… it was an easy, happy life.
So I wanted you to walk the same path, so at least you could grasp that same happiness."
It sounded like an explanation, and also like she was talking to herself.
She'd always believed in her educational philosophy. She wasn't the sort to care about other people's opinions. Yet her daughter's tears had made her realize she was far from absolutely right.
In Haruno's heart, the image of her mother was growing more and more complex, more vividly human.
"But this so-called family fortune isn't that important," Yukinoshita's mother went on. "To me, it's just my parents' expectations and my responsibility.
My father handed it down to me. The other relatives are vines clinging to this tree. I have an obligation to protect it—but that's all."
She didn't hesitate as she spoke her next words.
"If I had to choose between them, I would still choose the two of you—even if it meant failing to live up to my father's expectations."
She met Haruno's eyes, her gaze filled with tenderness, guilt, and regret.
"It might be a little late now but…
Haruno, choose the life you want."
What was this feeling?
Joy, sorrow, bewilderment…
She'd heard what she had always wanted to hear. She'd finally felt the attitude she'd craved from her mother.
But—but…
Haruno knew she hadn't forgiven Yukinoshita's mother. Not yet. This was resentment steeped in her heart for more than ten years.
It was just that she didn't hate her as much as before.
Carrying all those accumulated feelings, she asked quietly:
"What if I say I want to go abroad?"
"The outside world isn't very safe right now. Short trips are fine, but if you want to live there long-term, we'll have to consider it carefully," Yukinoshita's mother replied—the answer Haruno had once longed to hear.
Haruno asked again, "…What if I say I want to be in a band?"
"That circle is messy. As long as you can guarantee you won't pick up bad habits, and just treat it as a hobby, then it's fine."
"Even if you say that, I still don't know what to do," Haruno laughed weakly. "My life's already been laid out on a single track by you…"