"Miss Fukada, you can let me off at the next intersection."
Inside the car, Hōjō Shione leaned forward slightly, her finger tapping gently against the window glass.
"Understood."
Fukada nodded, but her eyes flickered to the rearview mirror, studying her passenger with professional concern. "Miss Hōjō, are you absolutely sure?"
Hearing the hesitation in her voice, Shione lifted her face and offered a reassuring smile. "It's fine. I haven't walked around Kyoto in so long. I'd like to take in the scenery by myself for a bit."
"Very well. Please don't hesitate to call if you need anything."
"Thank you, Miss Fukada. I appreciate it."
The car pulled smoothly to the curb. Shione stepped out, drawing a deep breath of cool evening air as if it could purge the suffocating tension that had built up during the drive. She tugged her mask into place, buried her hands deep in her coat pockets, and began walking.
The streets unfolded before her like frames from an old film—familiar, worn at the edges, heavy with memory. She'd walked this route hundreds of times during high school, usually with him beside her.
Everyone said revisiting old places after a breakup was masochistic, a special kind of emotional self-harm. But ever since they'd separated, Shione found something almost healing in these streets. Like retracing footsteps could somehow lead her back to him.
She passed the crepe shop where they'd shared their first awkward dessert date. Turned the corner.
Stopped.
The milk tea shop was still there. Still crowded with students, still buzzing with life. Through the window, she could see the same menu board, the same cheerful staff in their pastel aprons.
A smile tugged at her lips beneath the mask.
Every week after vocal practice, she remembered. He'd always buy me a cup. Said it was encouragement.
She'd always refuse, of course. "No, I'll get fat." Standard idol-in-training concerns. Standard girlfriend worries.
But Shiratori Seiya would always, always press the cup into her hands anyway. Then he'd look at her with those serious eyes—the ones that made her feel like she was the only person in the world—and say,
"Shione, you probably have no idea how charming you are, do you?"
"What if I get fat? Will you stop liking me then?"
"How could that be?" He'd shake his head, absolutely certain. "Shione won't get fat from one cup of milk tea. And even if you did, I wouldn't stop liking you."
"Then will you stay with me forever?"
"Why wouldn't I?"
The memory hit her like a physical blow.
Scene after scene cascaded through her mind—his voice, his smile, the way he'd ruffle her hair when she was frustrated with practice, the way he'd sit through her performances with that same serious expression, watching her like she was the most important thing in the universe.
Her nose burned. Tears blurred the evening lights into streaks of amber and rose, swimming before her eyes like colored glass suspended in water.
The beginning of a story is always so gentle. But the ending...
She bit her lip. Hard.
No.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, maybe a little rougher than necessary. Her palms clenched into fists at her sides, fingernails digging crescents into her flesh.
This absolutely cannot be how it ends.
**I'm currently watching The Blacklist and this scene reminded me of Liz and Tom**
Her conversation with Hasegawa Saori replayed in her mind, pieces clicking into place like a puzzle she hadn't known she was solving. The timeline made sense now—Hasegawa had won the Inter-High Championships, and shortly after, Shiratori Seiya had broken up with her. No major conflict. No dramatic falling out. Just... excuses. Vague, nonsensical excuses.
And Hasegawa? She hadn't clung to him publicly. If she had, Shione would have known when Shiratori Seiya started pursuing her. But the girl's attitude—that was the same as Shione's own.
"I didn't agree, so how can it be a breakup?"
"A breakup? As long as I hold on tightly, it's not a separation."
"How did I feel about you and Seiya dating? But aren't you two broken up now?"
"I will stay with him for the rest of his life."
When Hasegawa said that, her usually expressionless face had softened into something almost dreamlike—a longing smile that spoke of absolute certainty.
Only then had Shione realized the truth: she'd had a formidable rival all along. And compared to Hasegawa Saori, maybe she was the latecomer.
The thought stung.
But as she walked, other realizations surfaced. Hasegawa hadn't always been a kendo prodigy. Her talent had emerged after she started dating Shiratori Seiya.
Just like Shione's singing career.
She'd always loved to sing, yes. Had always dreamed of becoming an artist. But the path to stardom? The competitions, the original songs, the carefully crafted performances? Most of that credit belonged to him.
Especially when she started competing. He'd pull out songs she'd never heard before—compositions she later learned he'd written himself—and tell her to make them hers. Those songs launched her career.
And now, after breaking up with her, he had a new girlfriend. Another girl he was pushing toward stardom.
Could it be... was there an ulterior motive from the very beginning?
The thought curdled in her stomach. For a moment, she doubted everything—every glance, every touch, every whispered promise.
But just as quickly, she rejected it.
Impossible.
Their past together couldn't be faked. Not even the most skilled actor could manufacture that kind of gentle affection, day after day, moment after moment. And if he were truly heartless, he wouldn't have fled like a coward, leaving only a letter behind. He wouldn't have looked at her with such raw self-reproach when she confronted him in Tokyo.
He's still in love with me.
The realization bloomed in her chest, warm and certain.
Even after breaking up, he still loves me.
A small, satisfied smile curved her lips beneath the mask.
But the smile faded as quickly as it came. Because the question remained—the question that haunted every quiet moment:
Why?
Seiya... what exactly are you trying to do?
Meanwhile, in the Hōjō household, a different kind of battle was being waged.
Hōjō Suzune sat at her desk, chin propped on her palms, looking thoroughly defeated. Her slender legs—pale and coltish in her school uniform skirt—dangled restlessly back and forth beneath her chair. A pen cap was clamped between her teeth, and her delicate fingers clutched at her hair like she was trying to physically squeeze a brilliant idea out of her skull.
Nothing came.
Absolutely nothing.
Her sister wasn't stupid. Sure, Shione might not beat Suzune in academic exams—that would never happen—but her emotional intelligence? Flawless. Diamond-tier. The kind of maxed-out stat that made sneaking around impossible.
No matter how Suzune phrased it, no matter how carefully she constructed her arguments or how eloquently she presented her case, her sister would see through any plan to visit Shiratori Seiya. It was like trying to sneak a bento past a food-loving sensei—doomed from the start.
She tossed the pen onto her desk with unnecessary force.
"Tch."
Her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her brow furrowed into an impressive scowl. Her pout could have powered a small city's worth of resentment.
If only they were still dating.
If her sister and Seiya were still together, this would be so simple. She could just visit her brother-in-law like a normal person. Bring him snacks. Ask him questions about Tokyo. Stare at his stupid handsome face without having to justify her existence.
But no. Adults had to be complicated. Had to break up and make everything difficult.
So her sister's just weak, Suzune decided bitterly. If it were ME, I'd never let Seiya leave.
She really didn't understand what the point was of having such ridiculously large breasts if Shione couldn't even figure out how to use them. What was the strategic advantage? What was the point? You couldn't even keep a man with all that—truly, utterly useless.
Suzune gritted her teeth in frustration, tilting her head back to stare at the ceiling. Her small body spun slowly with the chair, round and round, as if centrifugal force might shake loose a solution.
At this point... is sincerity the only option left?
The success rate wasn't high, but they were sisters after all. Surely blood ties counted for something? She'd have to cry. Really commit to the performance. The so-called "greatest truth is the simplest" approach—just raw, unfiltered emotional appeal.
Suzune took a deep breath, steeling herself.
She spent several minutes crafting her speech, rehearsing the perfect blend of pitiful and sweet. She ran through the scene in her mind, adjusting her imaginary expressions, fine-tuning her imaginary tears, until even she was moved by her own performance.
Then, with the courage of a protagonist facing the final boss, she marched out of her bedroom.
...Only to find the house empty.
She checked the living room. The kitchen. The bathroom. The toilet. Her sister was nowhere to be found.
Who's she out on a date with? Still not back yet?
Her frown deepened.
When she gets back, I'm totally telling brother-in-law bad things about her.
She heard the sounds of cooking from the kitchen and wandered over. Her mother stood at the stove in her usual apron, stirring something that smelled amazing.
"Mom, isn't Sis back yet? Is she not coming home tonight?"
Mrs. Hōjō glanced at her youngest daughter. "I'm not sure. She should be back soon. Why are you suddenly so concerned about your sister today? Is something wrong?"
She gestured to the steaming bowl of fish soup beside her.
"Suzune, help me carry this to the table. Be careful not to spill it."
"Okaaay."
Suzune carefully lifted the soup, then felt a need to defend herself. "What do you mean 'suddenly concerned'? I've always cared, okay? We're sisters."
Mrs. Hōjō stopped what she was doing and fixed Suzune with a look. A knowing look. A mother look.
"You know you're sisters? Funny, because when your sister broke up before—cried so miserably, remember?—you were happier than anyone."
Suzune's face heated up like she'd been caught sneaking snacks before dinner.
"I—I was just trying to make Sis happier! Don't you know smiles are contagious? Mom, why are you making me sound so awful?" She stammered, gathering momentum. "I was clearly sadder than anyone when my sister broke up, okay?"
Mrs. Hōjō's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Heh heh. Truly too sad. So sad that you brought it up seven or eight times in front of your sister in a single day?"
"I'm not talking to you anymore—there's no getting through to you!"
If this continued, she'd be completely exposed. Suzune couldn't handle the mortification and made to escape with the soup.
But her mother caught her arm, her expression shifting to something much more serious.
"Listen to me. Your sister works very hard alone in Tokyo. It's not easy for her to come home, so don't make her unhappy."
Suzune pouted. "I think she's been pretty happy the past two days, actually."
Not unhappy?
After seeing Seiya, Shione had come back a completely different person—always off in her own world, hogging all the good mood to herself. She'd gone to Tokyo and hadn't even thought to bring Suzune along. Some sister. Some real sister.
"It's precisely because she's in a good mood lately that I'm telling you not to bully her."
Mrs. Hōjō had been genuinely distressed when her eldest daughter fell into sadness after the breakup. Seeing Shione return in good spirits these past two days had lifted her own mood significantly.
"Who's bullying her? I was sad too when she broke up, okay? If she's happy, why wouldn't I be happy?"
Suzune picked up the soup and turned to leave.
"You child..."
Mrs. Hōjō shook her head, wondering if she'd ever truly understand her youngest.
Then—
SPLAT.
Hot soup spilled across the floor.
"Oh, you child! I told you to be careful! You clean that up when you come back! Did you hear me?"
But Suzune didn't respond. She stood frozen in place, soup bowl tilted and forgotten in her hands.
Because Hōjō Shione stood before her.
Her sister's face wore the gentlest expression—the kind of Yamato Nadeshiko smile that belonged in a period drama. Warm. Understanding. Absolutely terrifying.
"Suzune," Shione said softly, her voice like honey over steel. "So you were that sad about my breakup?"