The Weight of Two Worlds

The air was thick, heavy with the remnants of the day's heat.

Yuer lay on her bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, her mind tangled in a web of thoughts.

She had dreamt of that world before.

But this time—it was different.

This time, the dream felt real.

She could smell the earth beneath her feet. She could hear the whisper of wind through the trees.

She was standing beneath a towering ginkgo tree, golden leaves scattering light across her face.

And she knew—she was waiting for someone.

Then, she heard footsteps.

"Where did you all go?"

The voice carried a mix of irritation and amusement, belonging to a boy just beyond her sight.

Yuer held her breath, gripping the rough bark of the tree, her heart pounding with a strange, childish anticipation.

Then—

"Found you!"

She leaped from behind the tree, crashing into the boy with enough force to make him stumble. Laughter erupted around them as the others came out from their hiding places, their faces flushed with excitement.

This was their world.

A world where they could run, play, argue, and share secrets—free from rules, free from obligations.

A world where they had no family.

But they had each other.

And yet—

This was not Yuer's world.

This was Takeda's.

The Vanishing of Childhood

Darkness swept in like a crashing wave.

The warmth of the sun was gone.

She was standing inside a vast hall, her breath tight in her chest.

Rows of figures stood before her, heads bowed, the air around them suffocating with unspoken tension.

She could feel her body—not her own body, but Takeda's— standing stiffly, fists clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her palms.

She was waiting.

For him.

The moment stretched unbearably, until a voice broke the silence.

"Takeda. From this moment on, you will bear your responsibility."

She lifted her head sharply, eyes locking onto the man before her—the one they called Kaichō.

His gaze was cold, his tone devoid of warmth.

But beneath that icy exterior, there was something else.

Something deeper.

Regret? Sorrow? Pain?

She didn't know.

Her lips parted slightly. She wanted to ask—

"Where are they?"

Her friends. The ones she played with. The ones who laughed with her beneath the golden trees.

Where did they go?

Why had no one told her?

But her lips didn't move.

The words did not exist for her anymore.

And in that moment—her world came to a standstill.

The Mirror Between Two Lives

Yuer woke with a start, cold sweat clinging to her skin.

The room was silent, except for the faint rustle of curtains shifting in the night breeze.

She stared at the ceiling, heartbeat still erratic.

Her world was like this:

Every day, after school, a familiar car would be waiting outside the gates.

Her mother would wave, smiling, asking, "How was your day?"

"So much homework," Yuer would grumble, slipping into the passenger seat.

She never had to think about responsibility. She never had to prove herself.

Her world was full of warmth.

Full of safety.

But Takeda—

Takeda's world had no gentle smiles, no warm lunches, no one asking if she had a good day.

Takeda never even knew if she would see her friends the next morning.

They were both just teenage girls.

But their lives could not have been more different.

Yuer pressed a hand to her chest, a dull ache settling there.

She could feel Takeda's world.

But she still couldn't reach Takeda's heart.

She Finally Understood

The sky outside was beginning to lighten. The first traces of dawn filtered through her window, painting soft streaks of gold across the floor.

Her fingers trembled as she curled them into fists.

She understood now.

Takeda was not born cold.

Once—she had been warm.

She had laughed, played, lived.

Until—

Her world had been ripped away.

And whatever she had lost—it had changed her forever.

A Warm Reality That Never Was

At the breakfast table, Yuer's mother placed a warm cup of Milo in front of her.

"There's a school event today, isn't there?" she said. "Do you want me to bring you lunch?"

Yuer blinked, staring at the drink in front of her.

Her heart ached.

Her mother had always been like this—always thoughtful, always making sure she was taken care of.

Even something as small as a home-cooked lunch was a silent act of love.

She suddenly wondered—

If Takeda had been born into this kind of life, if she had had someone like her mother—

Would she have turned out the same?

Would she have needed to become Takeda Ryūsei?

Would she have ever had to bear the weight of a name so heavy?

The Three Words That Shattered Everything

Later that evening, Yuer sat at her desk, flipping open the journal.

Her fingers hovered over the page, an icy chill creeping up her spine.

She traced the ink with her fingertips.

Only three words.

Simple. Final. Unrelenting.

"They're gone."

Her hands shook.

She shut the book, pressing it against her chest, her breath unsteady.

Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes, but she wasn't sure whose sorrow they belonged to anymore.

Because she knew, without a doubt—

Takeda did not choose to become cold.

She simply had no other choice.