The train rattled, but Harumi didn't even feel it.
She was breathing like an angry bull, her coat far too light, shaking in the freezing wind coming through the automatic doors.
When she got off at the station in the neighboring city—her old city—she was:
Out of breath;her bangs stuck to her forehead;sweating like she had just run a marathon;AND STILL dealing with "WINTER" in AUGUST?? How is that even possible?!
— OH MY GOD…
She took off running through the streets, ignoring the stares and tripping over her own feet.
She reached the hospital.
Shaking.And nearly collapsing dramatically at the automatic doors.
— Ma'am, are you okay? — the security guard asked.
— NO!!! — she shouted and walked in anyway.
Harumi slammed her hands onto the front desk.
— MISS!! Please!! I need to find this woman!! — she showed the name on the medical document.
The receptionist looked.Read it.
And immediately made that "oh… this is complicated" face.
Harumi braced herself for the worst:
— She's… still admitted, right?
The receptionist nodded.
— She is. But… she doesn't accept visitors.
Harumi blinked.
— What do you mean?
— She doesn't accept any visitors. She refuses all of them.
— ALL OF THEM?!
— Yes. For many years now.
Harumi felt her stomach twist… WITH RAGE.
— But… do you know if she knows a boy… Takeru? He must have come here.
The receptionist turned the monitor, sighing deeply.
— Unfortunately… I know exactly who you're talking about.
She pulled out a paper.
Harumi looked.
A list of visitor signatures over the years.
Every single line had the same name.
Takeru.Takeru.Takeru.Takeru.
Harumi swallowed hard.
— He… always came?
— Every month. Sometimes every week. He would sit right here… — she pointed to an empty chair in the lobby — …waiting for hours, even knowing he wouldn't be accepted.
Harumi held the paper, her chest tightening.
— And… did he ever get in?
The receptionist made a bitter expression.
— No. She refused all of his visits too.
Harumi froze.
Her eyes widened.
A deadly silence fell—for about five seconds.
— WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT???????
The receptionist jumped in shock.
Harumi leaned over the counter like a maternal demon.
— WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE REFUSED TAKERU? THAT KID SAT HERE EVERY WEEK?? AND SHE SAID NO? SHE DIDN'T LET HIM IN??
The receptionist, startled:
— M-Ma'am… please, stay calm—
— STAY CALM MY ASS!!!! WHERE IS THIS WOMAN'S ROOM?!?!?!
The receptionist looked around.
— It's on the seventh flo—
Harumi was already running.
The Climb of Fury — Harumi vs. 7 Floors!
She took the stairs.
Not the elevator.
THE. STAIRS.
Running like a possessed Olympic athlete.
First floor.Second.Third.Fourth.
— I… AM… GOING… TO… GET YOU… YOU… HEARTLESS—
Fifth.Sixth.
She already looked like a wet dog having an existential crisis.
Seventh.
She reached the room door.
Tried to open it.
Locked.
She took a deep breath.
— Okay… Harumi. Breathe. You're an adult. You're rational. You can have a civilized conversation and ask them to open the—
She KICKED THE DOOR.
The door slammed against the wall.
The room smelled like medicine and silence.
On the bed, sitting with her back turned, was her:
Their mother.
Name: Mizuki Kobayashi
Cold.Still.
Her face hidden in the shadow by the window.
Without even looking up, she said:
— Leave.
Harumi stood there.
Crooked, sweaty, hat tilted, coat open, eyes burning with pure indignation.
She took a step forward.
The woman sat on the bed—pale skin, dark hair tied carelessly, and eyes… empty.
It wasn't just exhaustion.
It was something deeper.
A void.
Without looking at Harumi, she said again:
— Get out.
Harumi held her breath.
Swallowed the scream.
Took another step.
The woman turned her face.
And the name came out of Harumi's mouth before she could think:
— I need to talk about Takeru and Me—
The woman exploded.
— Do NOT say her name.
Her tone was firm.Cold.Sharp.
But there was something there… a plea.
As if every syllable hurt.
Harumi stayed quiet for a few seconds.
Long enough to realize this wasn't simple hatred.
It was rooted hatred.
The woman took a deep breath, as if even that was difficult:
— That thing… that child… ruined my life.
Harumi stood still… but inside… she wanted to DESTROY that woman.
But she knew—this conversation mattered.
The woman continued, like she was pouring out years of poison:
— I took medication. I did everything right. EVERYTHING. But she insisted on being born! She ruined my health, my career… I never asked for them! I never wanted any of them! I never wanted any of this disaster!
Harumi felt her heart drop.
And before she realized it, her own voice came out louder:
— They didn't ask to be born as your children!
The woman froze.
Turned slowly, as if she couldn't believe what she heard.
Harumi realized the bomb she had just dropped.
But she didn't step back.
The woman laughed.
A dry, hollow, sick laugh.
— So now they have a babysitter. How cute. You pity them, is that it? Their pathetic story touched your kind little heart?
She turned to Harumi, no trace of irony.
— Then do me a favor. Take them. Raise them. I don't care. Just… take them away.
The silence that followed wasn't normal.
It was heavy.Freezing.
As if the temperature in the room had dropped ten degrees.
"How… how can she say that?"
Harumi didn't move a muscle.
Then suddenly… something inside her changed.
Her body straightened.Her shoulders aligned.Her chin lowered slowly.
Her eyes—usually bright, silly, warm—
Turned cold.
Dangerously cold.
Her voice came out low.Soft.But sharp like a blade.
— So… you think this is pity.
The woman finally looked.
Those eyes—both of them—cold, dull, angry.
This wasn't the Harumi who kicked doors and burned food.
This was someone else.
An older Harumi.
Silent.
One almost no one knew.
And no one woke up without consequences.
Harumi took a step forward.
Slow.Controlled.Precise.
— Pity… is what you want people to feel for you, spoiled girl.
The woman's eyes widened for half a second.
Harumi continued:
— They weren't born to serve you. They weren't born to be your cure. Or your excuse. Or your tragedy.
Another step.
— And even so… they love you. And how do you respond? By rejecting them.
The woman held her breath.
Harumi tilted her head slightly, just enough for their eyes to meet directly.
— I don't pity you.
The woman went pale.
Harumi straightened her posture.
And smiled.
Not sweet.
Sharp.Determined.Unbreakable.
— I'm going to rewrite their story. Without your name in it.
She turned toward the door.
But stopped before leaving.
Looked over her shoulder, like throwing one final arrow:
— Stay with the emptiness you dug for yourself. — and stuck her tongue out, just to irritate the bedridden woman even more.
Clack.
The door closed.
"What an annoying woman…" Harumi muttered.
Outside, the seventh floor was silent.
Harumi leaned her back against the door.
She wasn't shaking.Wasn't crying.Wasn't gasping.
She took a deep breath.
It felt like she had just walked out of a war.
And she had.
She walked down the hallway.
Calm steps.Head held high.
Because now she knew.
She hadn't just found two children.
She had found two shattered lives.
And what she carried now wasn't a burden.
It was a commitment.
She would take care of them.She would love them.She would protect them.
And she would do all of it
without needing permission
from anyone.