Chapter 94. Shattered Hope

The room was dim, lit only by the faint orange glow bleeding through the thin curtains from the streetlights outside.

Takeshi sat hunched on the edge of his futon, one hand resting over his mouth, the other loosely clutching his phone.

He hadn't touched it in over an hour.

Makoto, already in bed on the other side of the room, turned slightly when he heard the creak of Takeshi shifting his weight.

"I saw him." Takeshi said, voice low. Strained.

Makoto sat up. "What?"

"I saw Nakamura." Takeshi's voice was bitter. "He was just standing there, outside a restaurant. Laughing with a woman."

Makoto didn't speak.

"They looked… comfortable. Like they'd done it before. Like this was his life now." Takeshi ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. "I didn't say anything. I couldn't."

Makoto exhaled slowly, watching him. "Why didn't you tell Ayaka?"

Takeshi laughed quietly, but it was humorless. "Because she was standing there like she was about to break into pieces if she didn't see him soon. And if I told her what I saw… I knew it'd crush her."

Makoto remained quiet, letting him speak.

"I don't know why we came." Takeshi muttered, his eyes narrowing toward the floor. "Maybe Kazumi was right. Maybe we should've just stopped looking. Maybe he doesn't want to be found."

"You regret coming?"

"I regret bringing her here." Takeshi replied. "She looked like she was finally starting to pick herself up again. Then I yanked her right back into the mess."

Silence settled between them.

Then Makoto shifted, his voice soft but steady. "You did it because you care. Because you want answers for her."

Takeshi didn't respond.

Makoto continued, "You're a good friend, Mori. A loyal one. You've always been there for her — before any of us and I'm sure Ayaka knows that, even if she's hurting now."

Takeshi looked over, his expression tight. "Yeah? Then why does it feel like I just made everything worse?"

"Because you're human." Makoto replied. "Because you feel things deeply, and you wanted something better for someone you care about."

Takeshi leaned back against the wall, eyes closing briefly. "I just wanted to give her peace."

Makoto nodded. "And you still might. Maybe not in the way you thought… but being there when she needs you, especially now? That matters more than finding him."

Takeshi stared up at the ceiling in silence, the guilt still heavy in his chest — but slightly less suffocating.

"…Thanks." he murmured.

Makoto leaned back down into bed. "Get some rest, man. Tomorrow's going to be another long day."

And with that, the room fell into quiet again — but this time, it wasn't hollow.

It was the quiet of two people holding pain and purpose side by side, not alone.

------

The morning air in Fukuoka was crisp, but Ayaka felt none of it.

She stood outside the inn, her coat wrapped tightly around her, eyes shadowed and swollen from a night of silent sobbing.

Her suitcase sat beside her, its wheels idle on the cobbled pavement.

Makoto and Takeshi emerged a few minutes later, both dressed and packed.

They hadn't said much to each other that morning — the heaviness from last night's truths still lingered in the space between them.

Ayaka looked up as they approached, her expression unreadable.

Then, without any tremble in her voice, she said. "Let's go home."

Neither of them argued.

Makoto gave a small nod, his hands tightening around the handle of his bag.

Takeshi looked like he wanted to say something, his mouth opening slightly — but then he caught the distant look in Ayaka's eyes and swallowed the words.

They made their way to the station in silence.

Even the streets felt quieter than usual, as if the city itself was echoing the hollowness between them.

On the train, Ayaka took the window seat.

Her gaze remained fixed outside, watching the scenery blur past — the buildings, the trees, the people living lives untouched by her heartbreak.

Her hands were clasped tightly on her lap, as if holding herself together with sheer force.

Takeshi sat across from her, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, glancing at her from time to time.

His chest ached with guilt and frustration, but her posture — still and silent — told him that anything he said would only make it worse.

Makoto sat beside her, his gaze shifting between her face and the floor, worried but respectful of her space.

His fingers twitched as if wanting to reach for her hand, to offer something — comfort, warmth, a piece of his heart — but he didn't.

Not yet.

Not when she looked so far away.

The train rolled forward, pulling them farther from Fukuoka and the ghost that haunted it.

But as the distance grew, so did the silence.

No one said a word.

Because sometimes, even the strongest words weren't enough to reach someone already falling.

And all they could do now… was be there when she landed.

------

The familiar scent of Tokyo filled the air as the train hissed to a stop at the platform.

The sky overhead was a muted gray, thick clouds rolling in as if mirroring the weight pressing down on their hearts.

Yuki and Keiko were already waiting just beyond the ticket gates, standing beside Kazumi, who leaned on a cane now — recently discharged but stubbornly refusing to stay home and rest.

The moment they saw the three approaching, Yuki waved enthusiastically.

But her smile faltered the second she caught sight of Ayaka.

Her face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin line.

The puffiness around her eyes was undeniable, and even her steps — usually light and certain — were slow and mechanical.

She walked ahead of Takeshi and Makoto, not looking left or right, not even when Yuki called her name.

"Ayaka—"

"I'm going home." Ayaka said flatly, brushing past them.

"Wait, at least let someone take you—" Makoto started, stepping after her.

"No." she cut him off, not even sparing a glance. "I want to go alone."

They all froze as she walked past without turning back.

The crowd swallowed her quickly, her figure blending into the flow of people until she was gone.

Kazumi blinked, looking unsettled. "What… happened?"

Takeshi let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "She didn't find him."

Yuki frowned. "But… weren't you sure he was there?"

Makoto glanced at Takeshi, who hesitated before finally speaking, his voice low.

"I saw him. Outside a restaurant with a woman."

The silence that followed was sharp.

Keiko's eyes widened. "You're serious?"

Takeshi nodded grimly. "I didn't confront him. I… couldn't. She was waiting just a few streets away, and I couldn't bring myself to destroy whatever hope she had left."

Yuki let out a shaky breath, her brows knitting in concern. "No wonder she looked like that…"

Kazumi leaned heavily on his cane. "I told you guys before—chasing after Nakamura might not bring the answers she's hoping for."

"I know." Takeshi muttered. "But I didn't think it would end like this."

Makoto stayed silent, jaw tight as he stared in the direction Ayaka had gone.

His fists clenched in his pockets.

Not from jealousy, but helplessness.

He wanted to protect her.

But there was no shield for this kind of pain.

"She needs time." Keiko said softly. "But someone should stay close. Just in case she falls too far."

Everyone nodded — no longer chasing answers, just bracing for the fallout.

Because Ayaka hadn't just lost hope in Akihiko…

She looked like she'd lost her belief in love itself.

------

Back in his apartment, Makoto finally peeled off his coat and let it fall onto the couch.

The place was quiet—too quiet without her voice, even when all she did was mutter complaints about his taste in ramen or the color of his mugs.

He stood in the kitchen, cracked open the coffee can he never drank, and took a long, bitter sip.

It tasted like guilt.

Not his own—but the guilt in Ayaka's eyes every time someone mentioned Akihiko's name.

The guilt Takeshi wore like a second skin.

The guilt that none of them could speak of but all of them carried.

Makoto leaned against the counter, head tilted back, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

He should've been angry.

Furious even.

He should hate Akihiko.

But instead, he felt hollow.

Like some unspoken part of him had already accepted this outcome the moment he Ayaka and the way she broke.

Makoto had only ever seen that kind of devotion once.

And it wasn't directed at him.

Still…

He wasn't going to walk away.

Not yet.

Because while Ayaka's heart might still be trapped in the past, her present was crumbling.

And someone had to be here to catch her when she stopped pretending she was fine.

Even if it wasn't romantic. Even if she never reached for him the way he wanted her to.

He could still be her anchor.

He could still stay.

Makoto ran a hand through his hair and reached for his phone.

He hesitated before typing the message. 'Don't forget to eat.'

Simple. Plain. Easy to ignore.

He hit send anyway.

Then he placed the phone face-down, crossed the room, and collapsed onto the couch.

Outside, the city moved on.

But inside his chest, something stayed behind—something patient, warm, and quietly breaking.