Shiratori Seiya had always believed Hōjō Shione was terrible at hiding her emotions.
Standing in the shade, watching her retreating figure, he could see it clearly—the way her slender shoulders trembled with each suppressed sob, how her knuckles went white around the umbrella handle. At 165 centimeters, Shione had always carried herself with poise, the result of years on stage. Even in a crowd, she stood out like a pearl among pebbles.
But now? Now she looked like a withered leaf on a ginkgo tree, trembling with every gust of wind. One touch and she might crumble.
He watched her walk away.
One step. Two steps. Three.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
His heart hammered against his ribs.
Then his feet moved on their own.
Stop.
She'd tried so hard to be strong. Said all those self-important, carefree things. Walked away like it was nothing. But even he couldn't ignore the act—couldn't let her leave like that.
Seeing her again after half a year, Shiratori Seiya found his heart in chaos.
Half of him knew the breakup was right. Rational. Necessary.
The other half—the part that remembered her warmth, her laughter, the way she'd curl against him after a long day—that part wanted to pull her back and never let go.
He wasn't a robot. He couldn't just delete his feelings like corrupted data.
If Shione had screamed at him. Cursed him. Called him a cold-blooded bastard. He'd have taken it gladly—let the words wash over him like punishment, easing the guilt.
But she wouldn't do that. She'd rather consume herself from the inside.
He tugged at his collar, suddenly too tight.
"I'll walk with you. A bit further."
Her shadow fell across her path. Shione stopped.
Behind her tear-blurred eyes, something flickered. Satisfaction. Validation.
So you do still care.
The burning pain in her chest eased, just slightly.
But her body still resisted. She turned away, covering her face with one delicate hand, not wanting him to see her like this.
A heavy sigh escaped her. She wiped her tears, looked down, kicked at a pebble.
"You don't have to. It's not far anyway..."
Bastard. You can't let me go after all.
She bit her lip—thin, red, trembling—then raised her eyes to meet his.
"Seiya. Is there something else you want to say to me?"
He nodded slowly, choosing his words with care.
"Two things."
She waited.
"First... I hope you can forget me. Second... I hope you can live well."
Shione stared at him. Said nothing.
"Even without me, you'll succeed. Your talent is yours—no one can take it. Anyone's songs you sing, they'll be hits."
He pressed on.
"As for the breakup... I hope you can move on. Time heals everything. You have more important things—your dreams, your fans, the people who believe in you."
Silence stretched between them.
Shione tilted her head, studying him like he was a puzzle she couldn't solve.
"Are you done?"
"Yes."
She sighed—long, weary, heavy.
"Seiya... you really don't understand anything at all."
His brow furrowed.
"Why do you think I wanted to be a singer in the first place?"
She didn't wait for an answer.
"Do you think I loved music? Loved practicing from dawn until dusk? Loved drinking liters of water to protect my voice, spending every spare moment rehearsing, competing, performing?"
Her voice cracked.
"If it weren't for you, I would never have chosen this path. You have no idea how important you are to me."
Tears spilled down her cheeks again.
"Yes—I love singing now. I love the stage. I love being watched, being heard."
A sob escaped.
"But the person who was always there? Who cheered for me, who believed in me? He's gone. And there's this hole in my chest that won't fill."
Her voice rose, trembling.
"You pushed me through that door. Then you abandoned me. Turned around and walked away. And now you stand there, so self-righteous, telling me I'll be fine without you?"
She was shaking now—uncontrollably.
"Those words!"
Her voice went sharp, almost shrill.
"THEY'RE TOO MUCH!"
The shout echoed off the buildings. Passersby stopped. Stared. A few pulled out phones.
Relationship drama. Always a crowd-pleaser.
Shione noticed the attention. Dropped her umbrella. Grabbed Seiya's wrist.
And ran.
>>>
She pulled him around a corner, into a quiet spot away from prying eyes. Checked left, right. Confirmed they were alone.
The running, the tears—they'd released something. Her shoulders relaxed, just slightly.
She wiped her eyes, then looked at him.
"Okay. I didn't mean anything by that. I respect your choice. We're not married—it only takes one person to end things, right?"
She emphasized married like it carried the weight of the world.
Then, quick as a snake, she stomped on his foot.
"I just think you're too cruel. I hope you don't treat your next girl this badly."
He winced but said nothing.
She tried to smile—to lighten the mood.
"Oh! Almost forgot. Aoki-sensei asked about you. Are you done writing songs?"
Aoki Yayoi. Her music producer. The woman who'd acquired every song Seiya had ever written for Shione.
"She complained, you know. Said you changed your number and vanished. She wanted to discuss money, but you just disappeared. Frustrating, she said."
Seiya met her gaze. Hesitated.
"I'm probably done. Writing, I mean."
"Oh." A pause. "I'll tell her that?"
"Yes."
"So... all those songs. They were just for me?" A genuine smile flickered through the grief. "That's kind of romantic."
She laughed—soft, sad, real.
Then she sobered.
"Well. This is it, then. Everything that needed saying... it's been said."
She pointed to a black commercial van waiting at the curb.
"My ride's there. Don't walk me."
Shiratori Seiya watched her go.
An arrow shot from a bow can't be retrieved. He'd made his choice. Now he had to see it through, even if it meant grinding his teeth.
She reached the van. Opened the door. Paused.
Then climbed in.
The van pulled away, merged into traffic, disappeared around a corner.
He stood there long after she was gone.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
His phone vibrated.
He pulled it out. The screen glowed.
「You said time heals everything.」
「But breaking up with you... feels like it was just yesterday.」