Chapter 101. A Part of the Truth

"Spill it all out!" Ayaka slammed her cup down on the table with a sharp *clack*, liquid sloshing dangerously over the edge.

Her eyes blazed with frustration and fear—fear of what she might hear, and frustration that no one had told her sooner.

Takeshi raised an eyebrow, calm as ever despite the tempest brewing across from him.

He took a slow sip of his coffee and leaned back in his chair. "Don't you think you should change first? That ball gown looks like it weighs more than you."

Ayaka's glare could have sliced through steel.

"I'll change when you tell me everything." Her tone was clipped, no room for compromise.

Takeshi exhaled deeply, the amusement fading from his features. "Fine..." he muttered, setting his mug down with a heavy clink. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

He paused for a second, as if collecting the weight of what he was about to say.

"You remember that night? When we were all eating together, I got a call…"

Ayaka's breath hitched, already suspecting where this was going.

"…It was him." Takeshi said softly. "It was Nakamura."

**FLASHBACK…**

The bar was dim, almost melancholic, lit only by flickering neon signs from outside and the occasional flash of headlights.

Takeshi stepped inside, his steps heavy with unease. His eyes scanned the room—and there he was.

Sitting at the far end, half-shrouded in the shadows, was a man with silver hair and piercing blue eyes that seemed to carry galaxies of sorrow.

Akihiko.

Takeshi felt his throat tighten.

He's really here.

After all this time.

Drawing in a slow breath, Takeshi approached and slid into the booth across from him without a word.

"What do you want?" he asked coldly, his voice edged with years of unspoken fury.

Akihiko didn't flinch. He calmly sipped from a glass of red wine. "I heard from Toru."

Takeshi scoffed and started to rise. "Then there's nothing left to talk about."

"I still love her." Akihiko said, barely above a whisper—but the words struck like thunder.

Takeshi froze.

He stared at him, incredulous, then let out a bitter, hollow laugh. "Still love her? You abandoned her! I saw you with that girl in Fukuoka. You looked cozy. You think I'd believe a single word you say?"

"That girl." Akihiko said as he pulled out his phone, "Is my senior the hospital I was working. Her name is Reika Nakahara."

He turned the screen around.

A picture showed Reika, smiling warmly with a middle-aged man and three kids clinging to her legs like koalas.

"She looks young, but she's a lot older and that's her husband... And those are their children."

Takeshi narrowed his eyes at the image, then at Akihiko. "Why do you even have this?"

"I asked her to send it to me. I knew what it must've looked like. I didn't want Ayaka—or anyone—to get the wrong idea."

"You think a picture makes up for three years of silence?" Takeshi hissed, rage simmering beneath his skin.

"Ayaka locked herself in her apartment for months. She stopped writing. She stopped

living. And now you show up with your sad little slideshow, thinking what? That she'll just fall back into your arms?"

"I know I took too long..." Akihiko murmured, taking another sip. "But I wanted her to be the first to know. The truth... why I left..."

Takeshi sat back down heavily, his hand shaking slightly as he grabbed the wine bottle and poured himself a glass.

"You really thought about her? Even once?" he asked, quieter this time, the anger peeling away into something rawer.

"Every day." Akihiko replied, and this time, his voice cracked.

"Every goddamn day since I left. I watched every interview, read every article, And every time I saw her smile at someone else—especially him—I wondered if I'd lost her forever."

His hands were clenched so tightly around the glass they trembled. "But no matter how far I ran, she was always there. In every breath. Every regret. She's the only home I've ever known. I miss her so much..."

Takeshi stared at him.

And for the first time in years, he saw not the cold, untouchable Akihiko everyone admired—but a man barely holding himself together.

"...You really never stopped loving her." Takeshi muttered, his voice low.

Akihiko didn't answer.

He didn't need to.

A silence stretched between them, thick with things that had never been said.

After a beat, Takeshi reached into his coat, pulled out a small notebook, and scribbled something down with his favorite fountain pen.

He tore out the page and slid it across the table.

Ayaka's address.

"You carry that notebook everywhere?" Akihiko asked, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Of course. What kind of writer doesn't?" Takeshi replied with a weak grin. "You never know when inspiration strikes."

Akihiko picked up the paper, holding it like it was fragile. "Thank you."

"I'm not rooting for you." Takeshi said as he stood up.

"Don't get it twisted. I just think she deserves the truth—even if it breaks her."

With that, he walked out of the bar, leaving Akihiko alone with the ghosts he'd never quite shaken.

**END OF FLASHBACK...**

Ayaka sat frozen, lips parted in disbelief. Her chest rose and fell rapidly.

"Then?" she asked hoarsely.

Takeshi leaned back and yawned, as if he hadn't just detonated a bomb. "Then nothing. That was it."

"You didn't force him to tell you why he left?!" she snapped.

"I'm a writer, not a torturer." Takeshi replied calmly.

"He said he wanted you to be the first to hear it. And honestly? After what I saw in his eyes… I think he means it."

Ayaka clutched her head, fingers digging into her scalp. "I don't know what to do anymore… It's too much. Akihiko, Makoto, everything just feels like a tangled mess!"

"Then stop trying to untangle it tonight." Takeshi said gently. "Go to sleep. Cry. Scream into a pillow if you have to. But listen to your heart—not your fear."

She gave him a tired, tear-glassy smile. "Thanks, Takeshi…"

He stood up, stretched his arms, and moved toward the door.

"For what it's worth..." he added, glancing back over his shoulder, "I'll support you no matter who you choose. Just don't keep hurting yourself pretending you're fine."

And with that, he left—leaving Ayaka alone in the quiet apartment, the weight of the past and present pressing down on her chest like a stone.

------

As the door clicked shut behind Takeshi, silence flooded the apartment like a tidal wave.

Ayaka didn't move.

She sat there, still in her ballgown, her tea gone cold on the table, hands curled tightly in her lap.

Her heart thudded erratically against her ribcage, the echo of Takeshi's words crashing over her like relentless waves.

"He still loves you."

"There wasn't a single day he didn't think of you."

"He's back for good."

Ayaka's breath hitched.

Her throat clenched.

Her eyes blurred.

She stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor.

Her knees almost gave out, but she pushed forward—past the kitchen, past the hallway mirror she didn't dare glance at, all the way to her bedroom.

Her steps were heavy, like her body no longer belonged to her.

The moment the door shut behind her, she slumped to the floor.

She tried to breathe.

Really, she did.

But the moment she blinked, his image filled her mind.

Akihiko.

The way his eyes used to soften whenever he looked at her.

The warmth of his hand brushing hers when no one was looking.

The way he whispered her name like a prayer when he thought she was asleep.

And then—

The void.

The silence.

The days he stopped replying.

The cold, cruel months she spent waiting.

The heartbreak of seeing him vanish without a trace.

Ayaka buried her face in her palms.

She had spent years trying to build walls around that part of herself.

Brick by painful brick.

And Makoto…

Makoto had shown up like sunshine through the cracks—soft, patient, real.

She didn't even know when her heart had started leaning toward him.

Or if it had been trying to convince itself to.

Maybe it had simply wanted someone to choose her and stay.

She thought she had moved on.

But the way Takeshi spoke of Akihiko—so broken, so raw, so unmistakably real—it was like yanking off a scab that had never truly healed.

"Damn it…" Ayaka whispered.

Her voice cracked.

Her hands trembled. "Why now? Why come back now...?"

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

She tried to hold it in.

But the more she fought it, the more it pushed through—memories, longing, anger, fear.

She curled onto the floor, knees drawn to her chest as tears finally poured down her cheeks, silent and heavy.

Her fingers dug into the fabric of the gown, as if trying to hold herself together.

"I hate you..." she whispered through gritted teeth. "I hate that you still have this power over me."

And yet—

Her heart ached in that quiet, familiar way.

The way it always had for him.

For the man with silver hair and piercing blue eyes.

For the man who had once made her feel like the center of his universe.

Ayaka shook her head, as if the movement could shake him out of her bones.

But the truth—the awful, impossible, cruel truth—was that he had never left her heart.

Not really.

Even if Makoto's presence had started to fill the silence, even if she had smiled again, even if she had tried to move forward...

A part of her had always been frozen in time...

Waiting....

Bleeding...