"Mm-hmm, keep praising me. Say more nice things—I love hearing it."
Kojima Kana bobbed her head happily, accepting Shirase's over-the-top compliments without a hint of shame.
Shirase felt his heart sink a little. She really had guessed what he wanted to talk about. Otherwise, with her usual personality, she'd have already called him out for trying to change the subject.
A dull headache crept in. Kana-nee was usually careless and scatterbrained, yet at times like this, she turned eerily sharp—just like those women in TV dramas. Somehow, when it came to certain things, women always saw straight through you.
"Why'd you stop talking?" Kana asked again.
Shirase hesitated, then decided to stop circling. "Kana-nee, have you already guessed?"
"Not much. Just a tiny bit." Kana held up two fingers to show how little.
"Alright, alright, put your hand down. That gesture just cost you the entire Korean market."
"Huh?"
Shirase sighed. "Should we go talk on the balcony?"
"Sure," she said easily.
They stepped out into the night air. The street below was alive—bright lights, laughter from passing groups of young people, and the quiet shuffle of tired office workers heading home.
Looking down at the city, Shirase spoke softly. "About what happened last time—I've been thinking. Kana-nee, don't you feel it's… strange?"
"What's strange about it?" Kana countered calmly.
When Shirase turned to her, though, he caught the flicker in her eyes—she was clearly pretending. His voice softened. "Kana-nee, you already know my situation, right?"
"Mm. I know you like Nino."
Then, without missing a beat, she added, "Even if you told me right now that you liked Ichika and Miku too, I wouldn't be surprised."
"…That's a dangerous thing to say."
"Ehehe, is it?" Kana laughed lightly, leaning against the railing beside him. Her eyes drifted toward the shimmering city lights. "You know, when I first came to Tokyo, I got lost on my very first day. But I was too embarrassed to admit it—I didn't want people to look down on me."
Shirase smiled faintly. "Getting lost in a big city is pretty normal."
"Yeah, I thought so too back then. Later, once I started working, I dreamed of finding a boyfriend—someone to share life with. Whether we moved back to the countryside or stayed here in Tokyo, I just wanted things to be happy and complete."
She turned to him. "Doesn't that sound childish?"
"A little," Shirase admitted, resting his chin on the railing. "Life isn't always smooth. Wanting to stay happy forever just isn't realistic."
"You know," Kana went on, "when I first started teaching, I didn't know how to deal with students. So I decided to just keep a stern face and never smile. If they were scared of me, I thought that'd make me a proper teacher."
"And afterward?"
"Afterward… I regretted it." Her tone softened with a self-mocking smile. "A new colleague of mine was cheerful by nature, and by March she already had a boyfriend. Meanwhile, my students were scared of me, and the male teachers barely spoke a word."
Shirase chuckled. "So you were perfectly successful."
Kana blinked, then laughed helplessly. "What kind of success is that? It sounds ridiculous."
After a pause, her voice grew quieter, gentler. "Later, when I heard you were coming to Tokyo, I thought I could keep that same older-sister dignity. But you saw right through me in just a few days."
Shirase laughed. "Because whenever you act serious, it makes people want to tease you."
"…You're the only one who does that."
Kana's shy smile and pink cheeks made her look adorably soft.
She turned away, gazing into the distance. "After you saw through me, I stopped pretending. I figured, if you already know, why keep up the act? You tease me about my 'dignity' all the time, but honestly, I've really enjoyed these days with you. It's the happiest I've been since moving to Tokyo."
Shirase looked at her silently. The words he'd prepared refused to come out.
Kana noticed his gaze, and smiled faintly. "You always call me a silly older sister putting on a fake dignified act, but I'm not actually that silly. I know exactly what I'm doing. And I already know what you wanted to talk about tonight. It's just…"
"I don't want to lose what we have now. I don't want to keep talking, either. What if what you say makes me unhappy? What would I do then?"
Shirase fell quiet. She had guessed everything.
But instead of dodging, she opened up to him completely. Words she'd never said before.
And beneath her composure, he could see the truth—she wasn't calm at all. She was scared, still pretending to be strong.
She squinted slightly, smiling as if carefree. "That's why I told you earlier—even if you said you liked Ichika and the others too, I wouldn't mind."
Her smile wavered, softening at the edges. "I really don't mind. Honestly."
That line hit hard enough to sink a ship.
Looking at her, Shirase whispered, "But that wouldn't be fair to you."
"I don't care."
Kana shook her head, her voice trembling. "Tokyo's too big—so big it's easy to get lost. If I keep worrying about stuff like that, one day I might just stop moving altogether…"
Her eyes reddened, and through her tears she looked at him—the boy who'd brought laughter back into her life. "If I ever get lost again, what should I do?"
This woman—who had left her countryside home, stumbled her way through the city, and tried to care for him only to be cared for instead—was showing him her tears for the first time.
Tokyo was vast, and life was heavy. No wonder so many people lost their way.
Shirase stepped closer and gently took her hand, cold from the night air. "If that day ever comes, Kana-nee, just follow me. My sense of direction's actually pretty good."
"Then… do you still want to have that serious talk?" she asked softly.
"No need," he said calmly. "We've already said everything that needed to be said."
"Really?"
"Really."
"I'm so happy!" Kana suddenly grabbed the railing and shouted toward the city, voice full of emotion.
Her words were instantly swallowed by the noise of Tokyo's nightlife.
What a silly woman, Shirase thought. That's such a foolish thing to do.
But he said nothing—just watched her quietly.
This silly woman—who hadn't even realized she'd carried her loneliness for over twenty years, who just moments ago had shouted, "I'm so happy"—was now crying again.