Chapter 93. Fragments of Him Scattered

The sun was beginning its slow descent behind the Fukuoka skyline, casting soft gold hues over the city.

Despite the bustling streets and the scent of street food lingering in the air, there was a subtle heaviness pressing against their chests. 

The three stood just outside the hospital gates.

"We'll cover more ground if we split up." Takeshi suggested, checking his phone again for any word from Toru.

"I'll take the commercial area around Tenjin Station. He might be grabbing something, or meeting someone."

Makoto nodded. "We'll check the parks, cafes—maybe the waterfront."

Ayaka didn't say anything at first.

She only looked up at the sky, lips slightly parted as though something were caught in her throat.

Then she gave a small nod.

"Alright. Let's go."

Takeshi gave them a short wave before heading off alone into the crowd.

------

Ayaka and Makoto wandered in silence at first.

The city was beautiful—quietly vibrant, clean, and full of life—but to Ayaka, it felt like walking through a dream she couldn't wake from.

Every man with silver hair made her heart jump, only to fall again.

Every alley or cafe entrance became a question mark.

Could he be here? Watching? Hiding?

They found themselves walking along a Park's edge.

The lake shimmered under the soft light, a pair of swans drifting lazily across the water.

Makoto glanced at her. "You've barely said a word."

"I'm just… tired." Ayaka replied softly. "Every part of me feels like it's chasing someone who doesn't want to be chaded."

Makoto stopped walking. "Ayaka—if this is too much, we can rest. We don't have to find him in one day."

She turned to him, her expression unreadable. "I know. But the thought of turning back without even seeing him—after everything—it feels worse."

Makoto looked down, then shoved his hands into his coat pockets. "You're braver than you think, you know."

She gave a tired smile. "I'm just desperate."

They walked again, this time toward a small cafe nestled near the park.

Ayaka peered through the window.

A man with silver-gray hair sat near the corner, sipping coffee.

Her breath caught. She grabbed Makoto's sleeve instinctively. "There—"

But as the man turned his head, her hope dissolved.

Older.

Not Akihiko.

She stepped back, placing a hand over her chest. "I keep doing that…"

Makoto watched her carefully. "Because you still love him."

Ayaka didn't answer.

She just looked out over the lake again, her reflection rippling in the water—uncertain, wavering.

------

Meanwhile, Takeshi moved quickly through the streets near Tenjin.

His eyes scanned every crowd, every alley, every glass storefront.

A street musician played a slow jazz tune on the corner, a couple laughed near a food stand, and in every face, Takeshi searched for the one man who refused to be found.

His phone buzzed. Toru again.

'Still trying. No response. I swear I didn't think he'd vanish like this.'

Takeshi gritted his teeth. "Damn it, Nakamura. Why now? Why disappear again when she's right here?"

He shoved the phone into his coat and crossed the street, determined not to waste a single second.

------

As the evening deepened, Makoto and Ayaka sat beneath a tree near the waterfront, the sea breeze brushing strands of her hair across her face.

She was quiet, her thoughts far away.

"He really never changed his name." she said suddenly.

Makoto looked at her, puzzled. "What?"

"The receptionist today—she knew him as Akihiko Nakamura. I thought maybe he'd try to become someone else. But he didn't."

Makoto said nothing.

Just watched her as she stared off into the horizon.

"Maybe he never planned to disappear completely..." she added, almost to herself.

"Maybe he was just… waiting."

Makoto's chest tightened.

The way she said it—it wasn't hope. It was a resignation.

"I don't know what we'll find, Makoto." she whispered, "But I'm scared."

He swallowed hard. "Whatever it is, you won't face it alone."

Ayaka finally looked at him, eyes glassy but grateful.

The sky was already darkening as Takeshi wandered through the quieter side of the city.

The crowd had thinned.

Most of the stores had closed or were closing, the warm glow of cafes bleeding softly into the streets. 

He was tired.

Feet aching, throat dry, patience running on fumes. 

Then he saw him.

Across the street, under the awning of a modest soba restaurant, Akihiko Nakamura stood.

No disguise.

No effort to hide.

The silver hair was unmistakable even beneath the dim lighting.

His blue eyes almost stood out as well.

Takeshi stopped in his tracks.

Akihiko took the takeout bag as a woman handed it to him.

She smiled warmly, and Akihiko returned the expression Takeshi hadn't seen in years.

The woman looked about their age, her hand brushing Akihiko's briefly as she said something.

Takeshi's fists clenched at his sides.

For a brief second, he thought about crossing the street.

Saying his name.

Demanding answers.

Grabbing him by the collar and yelling, "Do you even know what she's been through?!"

But he didn't.

Instead, he stepped back, into the shadow of the alley behind him, and watched silently as the two walked off side by side.

Not touching.

But not far apart either.

Akihiko said something, and the woman laughed, her hand rising to cover her mouth.

Takeshi turned around and walked the opposite way.

------

When he returned to the inn that night, Ayaka was pacing in the lobby, the collar of her coat still on, hands fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve.

Makoto sat nearby, his phone untouched in his lap, eyes flickering to her every few seconds.

The moment Ayaka saw Takeshi enter, she rushed toward him. "Did you find anything?"

Takeshi didn't answer right away. He removed his coat slowly, brushed his hands over his face, and avoided her gaze.

"Takeshi?" she asked again, quieter this time.

He finally looked at her, and in his eyes was something she didn't recognize—something tight, guarded and pained.

"Stop waiting for him, Ayaka."

The words hit like a slap. She blinked. "What?"

Takeshi swallowed hard. "I said stop waiting. He's not the person you think he is anymore."

Makoto straightened. "What happened?"

Takeshi looked away. "It doesn't matter."

Ayaka's heart sank. "Takeshi, please—if you saw him, just tell me. Did you see Akihiko?"

"I said—" Takeshi's voice cracked, then he exhaled, softer this time, "—just let it go, Ayaka. Some people choose to disappear for a reason. And when they do, maybe we shouldn't go chasing them anymore."

Ayaka stared at him, her hands trembling, her voice barely above a whisper. "You saw him, didn't you?"

Takeshi said nothing.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. "Was he… alone?"

Again, silence.

That silence spoke volumes.

Makoto stood, his jaw tight, as he placed a hand gently on her back. "Come on, Ayaka. Let's go back to the room."

She shook her head, stunned. Her feet didn't move.

Takeshi finally muttered, almost to himself, "He looked fine. Happy, even."

Ayaka pressed a hand to her chest.

Her voice came out as a whisper. "Then maybe he never really loved me."

Neither of the men responded.

------

The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the heater and the muffled city noise outside the window.

Makoto had returned to his shared room with Takeshi, though reluctantly, casting one last look at Ayaka before gently closing the door behind him.

Ayaka sat on the edge of the futon, still wearing her coat.

Her fingers dug into the fabric of her sleeves as her mind spiraled.

She felt cold, but it wasn't from the weather.

Slowly, she reached the necklace, resting on her rest — the one Akihiko had given her before he vanished.

The chain slipped through her fingers like sand.

She clutched it tightly, as if doing so could summon some fragment of the man she used to know.

But all she could hear was Takeshi's voice.

"He looked fine. Happy, even."

The image burned behind her eyes — Akihiko, smiling, laughing with another woman, another life.

Not with her.

Ayaka pressed a hand to her chest as her breath caught.

A choked sob escaped her lips before she could stop it.

And once the dam cracked, it all came pouring out.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, hot and fast, blurring the room around her.

Her body folded inward as if trying to protect itself from the pain clawing its way out.

"I waited…" she whispered into the stillness, voice shaking. "I kept waiting… Every day, I thought maybe he'd just walk in through the hospital doors. Maybe I'd get a letter. A sign. Something…"

She laughed bitterly through her tears. "But he was just living... Like I never even existed."

Her hands trembled as she set the necklace down on the table, as if it had suddenly become too heavy to bear.

"I'm such a fool."

The ache in her chest twisted tighter, and she curled up on the futon, clutching a pillow to her stomach.

She didn't try to stop the sobs anymore.

The silence didn't need her to pretend.

No one was watching.

No one was asking her to be strong.

In the quiet corners of the night, the mask shattered.