Seiji was floating.
He walked into the kitchen as the man who owned the world. Well, this house to start with—but it felt like he already owned the whole world.
The earlier encounter with Haruko in his room, her tremble, her hand wrapped around his cock—those impressions still clung to him like smoke clings to your clothes.
Seiji saw and sensed everything around him like it had just faded in.
The refrigerator hummed.
Steam curled from the kettle.
Haruko's clothes whispered as she moved.
Seiji sat at the table, letting the clarity settle.
Then a soft sound from the hallway snapped the morning in half.
Yumi.
He knew her footsteps before she appeared.
Usually slow, tired, dragging a little with the weight of the baby in her arms or the sleep she never quite caught up on.
But this morning—she entered like someone flinching in advance.
Shoulders hunched, breath too quick, eyes glued to the floor.
She didn't look at Seiji.
Not once.
"Morning," she said—to the countertop, to the kettle, to the plate. Not to him.
Her voice was thin, clipped.
What happened to her? Why won't she look at me? She was so happy yesterday.
Seiji felt the shift in his sister like a blow.
The warmth he had been feeling evaporated.
He watched Yumi move in an unsteady, shaky way. She almost dropped the container of baby food. She muttered an embarrassed apology to no one.
Definitely not to him.
Is it me? What did I do?
The question flickered through him, quiet at first. Then louder.
He replayed sex with Yumi in a flash—her reaching for him, him touching her.
And him… cumming all over her.
Did it scare her? Did I scare her?
Yumi's movements gave him the answer. Every gesture was about keeping distance from the invisible line between them.
From him.
She still didn't look at him.
Seiji suddenly felt small. The invisible boy returned—and it hurt.
A lot.
"Yumi—" he uttered.
She flinched.
Not dramatically—just the tiniest tightening of her shoulders. But he saw it.
His words died.
She turned to her baby, her entire body angled away from Seiji. Defensively. Maybe not even intentionally.
When he reached for the sauce, Yumi's hand halfway in the same direction jerked back.
"I… I'll get it later," she whispered, still not looking up.
A simple sentence. But cutting like a knife.
Did I screw everything up? The pump… the milk… the breasts… I shouldn't have taken it all the way.
Yumi's hair had fallen a little out of place; yesterday he would think that was cute.
Today he only thought that she looked fragile and broken, like a cup that you can break, but you can't glue back together.
Seiji swallowed hard.
The kitchen felt colder.
The baby girl gurgled happily, and Yumi smiled—softly, trying hard.
She smiled at the baby.
Not at him.
He waited a little longer to catch her eye.
At least one glance.
It never came.
The moment he stood, Yumi stiffened again and began cleaning the table in front of her—an unnecessary task, a distraction.
"See you later," Seiji muttered.
No answer.
Just a shallow breath and the faintest nod.
And "Have a great day" from the stepmom.
The front door closed behind him.
Seiji stood outside, the morning air sharp on his face. He inhaled, hoping to shake off the dread.
It didn't work.
He walked to school. Slowly. Because his feet felt heavy, like he was wading through an imaginary pool.
The path to school was familiar, but this morning it felt like walking through a memory of old Seiji—the boy he hated with all his guts.
Why, why, why? Why did I do it? I ruined everything. I pushed her too far. What a stupid idiot...
He touched his neck—there was nothing. He had been afraid to carry his amulet to school, even when he needed it the most.
Like I never had it… Or was it all just a dream?
He passed the small flower shop on the corner.
The old woman was arranging buckets near the entrance. She usually greeted him with a bright smile, so today he didn't lift his head enough for her to see his face.
He didn't want to be seen.
Not like this.
Seiji crossed the street, the sound of traffic coming as if from far away.
This is who you really are, a voice whispered inside him.
A boy. A boy who shouldn't ask for anything more than silence.
Seiji saw Masashi waving to him, trying to catch up. He felt even worse.
No!
He took a deep breath and put his hands in his pockets.
No, I'm not that boy! I'll never go back to who I was. I have to face what happened, and fix it. I'm a man.
And men don't give up.