The motion to unseal Ren's mother's medical records was filed on a Monday.
By Wednesday, it had been approved.
Judge Matsumoto, the same judge who had presided over Kenji's trial, signed the order without hesitation. "The public has a right to know the truth," he wrote in his decision. "Especially when there are allegations of foul play involving a minor's parent."
Ren read the decision on his phone, sitting on Takeshi's couch, a cup of cold coffee in his hand. Hikari was beside him, her head on his shoulder, her eyes closed.
"He approved it," Ren said.
Hikari opened her eyes. "Already?"
"Already. Matsumoto doesn't waste time."
"This is good, right?"
"This is dangerous. My father's lawyers will fight it. They'll appeal. They'll delay."
"But eventually, the records will be opened."
"Eventually." Ren set down his phone. "The question is how long 'eventually' takes."
Hikari sat up. "Then we don't wait. We use what we already have. The nurse's log. The witness testimony. The evidence from the hospital."
"That's not enough for a conviction."
"It's enough for an investigation. And an investigation is a start."
Ren looked at her. At her tired eyes, her determined jaw, her hands that were wrapped around his.
"When did you become so good at this?"
"At what?"
"At fighting."
She smiled — a small, sad smile. "I learned from you."
---
That afternoon, Ren received a call from Kobayashi.
"Your father's lawyers have filed an emergency appeal," she said. "They're arguing that the medical records are protected by patient confidentiality, even in death."
"Can they win?"
"Maybe. But Judge Matsumoto is unlikely to reverse his decision. He's not the type to change his mind under pressure."
"So what happens now?"
"We wait. The appeal will be heard in two weeks. Until then, the records stay sealed."
"And after?"
"After, we pray that Matsumoto's ruling stands."
Ren ended the call. He stood by the window, looking out at the river. The winter sun was low, casting long shadows across the water.
Two weeks. He could wait two weeks. He had waited longer.
---
On Friday, Kenji's sentencing hearing took place.
Ren sat in the gallery, Hikari beside him, their hands intertwined. The courtroom was packed — journalists, law students, victims' advocates, and a few of Kenji's remaining supporters. Kenji sat at the defendant's table, his face pale, his eyes empty. His lawyers whispered to him, but he didn't respond.
Judge Matsumoto entered. The room fell silent.
"Kenji Takahashi," the judge said, "you have been found guilty of human trafficking, coercion, stalking, and conspiracy to commit kidnapping. These are serious crimes, with serious consequences."
He paused, looking at the defendant.
"You have shown no remorse. You have offered no explanation. You have refused to cooperate with investigators or provide any information about your accomplices."
Kenji said nothing.
"Therefore, this court sentences you to life in prison, with no possibility of parole."
The gallery erupted. Some people cheered. Others cried. Hikari gripped Ren's hand so hard he thought his bones might break.
Kenji was led away by the bailiffs. As he passed the gallery, he looked at Ren.
Their eyes met.
Kenji didn't smile. He didn't frown. He just looked — empty, defeated, broken.
Then he was gone.
Ren turned to Hikari. She was crying, silent tears streaming down her face.
"It's over," she whispered.
"It's over."
She buried her face in his chest, and he held her, the noise of the courtroom fading around them.
---
That evening, they celebrated at Mrs. Tanaka's halfway house.
The other girls had prepared a small feast — rice, soup, grilled fish, and a cake that said "Freedom" in crooked frosting letters. Yuki sat at the end of the table, her long black hair hiding her face, but her shoulders were relaxed for the first time since Ren had met her.
"To Hikari," Mrs. Tanaka said, raising her glass. "And to Ren. And to everyone who never gave up."
"To never giving up," the girls echoed.
Hikari smiled — a real smile, bright and warm. Ren didn't smile, but he felt something he hadn't felt in years. Peace.
After dinner, Ren and Hikari sat in the garden. The stars were out, cold and bright, scattered across the dark sky.
"What happens now?" Hikari asked.
"Now we find an apartment. Somewhere new. Somewhere safe."
"And school?"
"We go back. We graduate. We figure out the rest."
"And your father?"
Ren was quiet for a moment. "We fight him. Together. Like we fought Kenji."
Hikari leaned her head against his shoulder. "I'm scared."
"I know."
"But I'm not going to run. Not anymore."
"Neither am I."
She turned to look at him. Her eyes were shining.
"I love you, Ren Akiyama."
"I love you too, Hikari Tachibana."
She kissed him. Not on the forehead — on the lips. Soft and warm and real.
And for the first time in his life, Ren didn't pull away.
---
The next morning, Ren and Takeshi went apartment hunting.
They found a small place in Nakano — two rooms, a kitchen, a bathroom with a window. The building was old but clean, and the landlord didn't ask questions. The rent was affordable, and the neighbors kept to themselves.
"It's not much," Takeshi said.
"It's enough."
Ren signed the lease. Takeshi co-signed, because Ren was still a minor and the landlord needed an adult's name on the paper.
"It's yours," Takeshi said. "Yours and Hikari's."
Ren looked around the empty rooms — the bare floors, the blank walls, the windows that faced the morning sun.
"We'll need furniture," he said.
"We'll get furniture. One thing at a time."
---
That afternoon, Ren told Hikari.
She was in the garden, kneeling in the soil, planting seeds that would become flowers in the spring. She looked up when he walked through the gate.
"I found an apartment," he said.
Her eyes widened. "Where?"
"Nakano. Two rooms. A bathroom with a window."
"And the landlord?"
"He doesn't ask questions."
Hikari stood up, brushing dirt from her knees. "When can we move in?"
"A few days. We need furniture first."
"I don't care about furniture. I care about being with you."
Ren smiled — a real smile, small but real.
"We'll be together," he said. "Soon."
---
The next few days were a blur of activity.
Takeshi helped them find furniture — second-hand, cheap, but sturdy. A table, two chairs, a sofa that smelled like someone else's cat. A bed — a real bed, not a futon — for the bedroom they would share.
Hikari insisted on bringing Saburo, the jade tree, from the halfway house. Mrs. Tanaka gave her a small cutting from her own garden — a tiny seedling that would grow into something beautiful, if they took care of it.
On moving day, Ren stood in the empty apartment, holding Hikari's hand.
"This is ours," she said.
"This is ours."
They unpacked together. Hung curtains. Made the bed. Placed the jade tree on the windowsill where the morning sun would reach it.
When they were done, they stood in the middle of the living room, surrounded by boxes and bags and the echo of a new beginning.
"Home," Hikari said.
"Home," Ren agreed.
---
That night, Ren received a text from an unknown number.
Congratulations on the new apartment. Enjoy it while you can. —Father
Ren stared at the message. His heart pounded, but his hands were steady.
He didn't respond. He didn't need to.
His father knew where they lived. His father would come for them.
But not today. Today, they had won.
Ren put down his phone and walked to the bedroom. Hikari was already in bed, her hair spread across the pillow, her eyes closed.
He lay down beside her. She turned and wrapped her arms around him.
"Who was that?" she murmured.
"No one important."
She didn't press. She just held him, her warmth seeping into his skin.
Ren closed his eyes.
The war against Kenji was over. The war against his father was just beginning.
But tonight, he would rest.
Tomorrow, he would fight again.