Chapter 79: Things We Carry
The morning sunlight slipped softly through the curtains, warming the small house with a quiet glow. Boxes sat near the doorway. Bags were half-open on the couch. Clothes were scattered across chairs because apparently, according to Kota, "organization kills creativity."
Max stood near the kitchen counter, drinking coffee while staring at a checklist on his phone.
"Extra clothes… chargers… medicine…" he muttered.
Then he looked toward Kota's room.
"…And somehow stop that child from packing useless junk."
From inside the room—
"I HEARD THAT!"
Max sighed. "Good. Then stop trying to bring your entire civilization with you."
Kota sat in the middle of his room surrounded by absolute chaos.
Toys.
Books.
Random objects.
A spoon for some reason.
And an action figure missing both legs.
Kota crossed his arms proudly. "Everything here has emotional value."
Max leaned against the doorway. "That robot has been dead since 2024."
"He died with honor."
"It doesn't even have a head anymore."
"He sacrificed himself for the kingdom."
Max rubbed his forehead. "You only need to pack things you'll need, okay?"
"Sure, Dad."
Max narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"…Why did you answer too fast?"
"No reason."
"That's exactly what a criminal says."
Kota grinned innocently.
Max sighed and walked away. "We're leaving in two hours."
"Yes, sir."
The moment Max disappeared, Kota immediately turned back toward the pile of things.
"Hm…"
He rummaged through boxes carefully.
Kota was strange.
Inside the house, he acted like a chaotic little gremlin.
But outside…
Sometimes even adults felt older than him physically but younger mentally.
Even Max noticed it occasionally.
The way Kota talked.
The way he observed people.
The way he understood emotions too deeply for his age.
Still…
He was definitely Max's son when it came to being weird.
Kota suddenly held up a toy dinosaur wearing sunglasses.
"…You stay."
Then another object.
"…You too."
Another.
"…Absolutely not."
He tossed aside a broken water gun dramatically.
While sorting through old things, Kota suddenly found a small photo tucked between books.
"Hm?"
He pulled it out carefully.
A younger version of himself stared back from the picture—a tiny baby wrapped in blankets.
And holding him…
A girl.
Beautiful.
Bright smile.
Warm eyes.
Cheerful.
The background looked familiar too.
Bookshelves.
Stacks of novels.
"…The bookstore," Kota murmured softly.
His smile slowly appeared without him noticing.
Then he blinked.
"Huh?"
He touched his own lips curiously.
"…Why am I smiling?"
He stared at the girl again.
"She was beautiful…"
Something inside his chest tightened strangely.
Not sadness.
Not happiness.
Just…
Warmth.
"…Or maybe something else…"
Kota scratched his head.
"Huh. Weird."
He looked closer at the picture again before suddenly laughing.
"Still can't believe Dad hit on his manager."
He snorted loudly.
"Hahaha! Isn't that illegal in adult society or something?"
He imagined Max nervously talking to Noriko inside the bookstore.
Then imagined Noriko rejecting him professionally.
Then imagined Max crying dramatically in a corner.
Kota burst into louder laughter.
"Dad really looked like the type to get rejected with a PowerPoint presentation."
He wiped tears from his eyes while still giggling.
Then—
Another picture slipped from the photo album.
Kota picked it up.
Two teenagers.
A nerdy-looking guy with messy hair.
And beside him—
A very beautiful girl smiling brightly.
Kota tilted his head.
"Huh…"
They looked familiar somehow.
Very familiar.
Like seeing characters from a dream he forgot.
"…Who are these people?"
He stared harder.
The guy looked awkward.
The girl looked way too pretty for him.
"Suspicious."
Kota narrowed his eyes dramatically.
"…Wait."
He pointed at the guy.
"This loser kinda looks like Dad."
Then at the girl.
"…And this girl…"
His chest tightened again slightly.
But he couldn't understand why.
"Huh."
He flipped the photo around.
No names.
No date.
"…Mysterious."
Before he could think deeper—
"KOOOTAAA!"
Max's voice echoed through the house.
Kota jumped.
"Yes, Dad?!"
"Are you packing your things?!"
"Yes!"
"…Why does that sound like a lie?!"
"Because honesty is subjective!"
"WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!"
Kota laughed quietly.
Then while searching another box—
He found an old book.
Dusty.
Worn out.
The cover had handwritten text.
I Hate Luz.
Kota blinked.
"…Huh?"
He turned the book around repeatedly.
"How can that be a proper title?"
He opened the first page curiously.
Inside was handwriting.
Beautiful handwriting.
Definitely a girl's.
Kota frowned thoughtfully.
"…This must be hers."
For some reason…
He carefully placed the book aside instead of throwing it back into the pile.
Then—
Another object appeared.
A pacifier.
Kota stared at it blankly.
"…Why do I still have this thing?"
He lifted it suspiciously.
"…Did Dad preserve this for emotional reasons?"
Then he sniffed it.
Immediately—
His face twisted horribly.
"OH GOD!"
He threw it instantly.
"It smells tragic!"
Kota covered his nose dramatically.
"It smells like a dead rat lost custody of itself!"
"Are you dying in there?!" Max yelled from outside.
"YES!"
"…WHAT?!"
"FALSE ALARM!"
Max finally entered the room and froze at the mess.
"…What happened here?"
Kota pointed randomly.
"History."
Max stared at the scattered objects.
"…You haven't packed at all."
"I spiritually packed."
"That's not a thing."
Kota grinned sheepishly.
"Hehe?"
Max deadpanned at him.
"…All this time wasted on nothing?"
Kota pointed proudly at the photo album.
"I was conducting archaeological research."
"You're grounded academically."
"What does that even mean?!"
Max sighed deeply before noticing the old photos in Kota's hands.
His eyes lingered briefly.
Noriko.
The bookstore.
Old memories.
His expression softened for just a second.
Then disappeared.
"…Come on," Max muttered quietly. "We need groceries before the trip."
Kota looked at him carefully.
"…Okay, Dad."
Max turned away before Kota could notice the sadness hiding inside his eyes.
---
Far away.
Inside a luxurious office filled with silence—
A phone call echoed sharply.
"You have some nerve."
An older man's furious voice filled the room.
"Didn't I tell you to stay buried in your hole in France?!"
A man leaned lazily against a couch, one leg crossed over the other while sipping alcohol.
Messy beard.
Cold eyes.
A smile that never looked sincere.
"You're dramatic, Dad."
"DRAMATIC?!"
The older man sounded ready to explode.
"Your mother is sick! This is NOT the time for your nonsense!"
The man rolled his eyes.
"All the mess you caused!" the father continued furiously. "Drugs! Your ruined career! Losing your wife! What do you plan to destroy next?!"
Silence.
Then quietly—
"We didn't raise you to become such an unmotivated, leeching disappointment."
The man chuckled softly.
"…Ssh, Dad. Relax."
"You son of a bitch—"
"I actually have good news."
The older man went silent briefly.
"…What?"
"And I can't back out now," the man continued casually. "I already booked my flight."
"DON'T YOU DARE COME HERE!"
The father's voice trembled with anger.
"You'll only worsen your mother's condition mentally and physically!"
The man's smile slowly disappeared.
"You always were the bad omen of this family," his father spat coldly. "Always."
Silence.
Then—
The man laughed softly.
Painfully softly.
"…Whoa there, Dad."
He stared quietly at the ceiling.
"I also have a heart, you know."
No response.
"…Is this really how you talk to your beloved son?"
Still silence.
"You curse me every time we speak."
His eyes darkened slightly.
"And you wonder why I turned out like this."
The older man stayed quiet.
Then coldly—
"…What do you want?"
The man slowly grinned again.
"Don't worry, Dad."
He leaned forward.
"You'll actually be happy when you see your grandson."
Silence.
Then—
"…What grandson?"
Click.
The call ended.
The man slowly lowered his phone.
Then leaned back against the couch.
His grin widened slowly into something twisted.
Outside the airplane window beside him—
Japan waited quietly in the distance.
And somewhere far away…
A peaceful father and son had no idea their world was about to change forever.