The Real Family
Yuuji lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling that seemed larger and darker than usual. The moonlight struggled to seep through the thin curtain he usually drew before eagerly anticipating the next day. The usual nighttime ambient sounds outside his window seemed almost muted, as if his room had been soundproofed, leaving only the ticking of the wall clock to echo in his ears, disrupting his sleep.
However, it wasn't the quiet surroundings that kept him awake.
Unable to shut his eyes, Yuuji sat up and reached for his phone, which nearly blinded him with its sudden bright screen.
It was well past midnight.
He let out a heavy sigh and turned to his left, pulling aside the curtain that had blocked his view of the outside.
From his room, he could see Sakamoto's family house just a few blocks away. Nestled on the lower slope of the residential area, it was attached to other shophouses.
"A family would never leave us alone…," Yuuji murmured to himself.
It was a line Sakamoto had said to him some time ago.
As he recalled that moment, memories from the past flashed through his mind. From the days when he first started chasing after Kenji, to the day he stepped into this house he lived in, and the time when Sakamoto taught him the true meaning of family.
"A family doesn't have to be bound by blood," Yuuji repeated Sakamoto's words from years ago.
He gazed at the shophouse where Sakamoto grew up after leaving the orphanage. At first, a light shone from one of the rooms on the first floor, but it soon turned off.
That was Sakamoto's room.
The light went out as Sakamoto left his room and headed downstairs to the kitchen. He didn't expect anyone else to be awake at such an hour, but to his surprise, his father sat alone at the dining table.
Their eyes met, and Sakamoto spoke softly, "You're still up, Dad?"
"Uh, yes… I couldn't sleep just yet," Sakamoto-san replied with a slight sigh, pouring himself a glass of beer. "What about you? I told you not to overwork yourself with studying, didn't I?"
"I… Please don't worry about me."
A sense of relief washed over Sakamoto-san's tired face. He took a long sip of beer as if quenching a deep thirst, while his son went to fetch a glass of plain water from the fridge.
"So, how's work?" he asked. "Is it as busy as running our restaurant?"
The seemingly straightforward question startled Sakamoto, even though he had mentally prepared himself for it. Suddenly, all the rehearsed answers in his mind got jumbled up, as if he were facing an official interrogation.
As new thoughts flooded his mind, he found himself struggling to respond.
But despite the confusion, he knew he couldn't let the conversation hang unresolved. So, calmly and after pouring water into a glass, he looked back at his father.
"Dad… do you hate the fact I'm working in Mokachino?" he asked.
Sakamoto-san lifted the glass of beer to his lips, but upon having a smile etched on his wrinkled face, he paused. Setting the glass back down on the table, he turned his attention to his son, who stood before him.
"I won't stand in the way of whatever you want to do, son," he spoke gently, his words filled with understanding. "As your father, I only wish for you to live life on your own terms."