Chapter 2

Hina stepped out of the shower, her damp hair wrapped in a towel, steam curling around her as she reached for her phone. The screen lit up, casting a soft glow on her face. A message appeared, and as she read it, a smirk played at the corners of her lips—subtle, fleeting, but unmistakable.

Meanwhile, Takeshi tightened the straps of his school bag and wheeled his bicycle out onto the damp stone path. The morning air was crisp, the scent of rain still lingering from the downpour earlier. Puddles shimmered under the muted gray sky, reflecting the towering pines that lined the quiet road.

As he pushed off, the wheels of his bike cut through the thin layer of moisture on the asphalt, sending tiny droplets scattering. The air felt cool against his face, rustling through his unkempt hair as he picked up speed. The countryside roads of Karuizawa were peaceful in the early morning—only the occasional car passed by, their tires hissing over the wet pavement.

He pedaled past the familiar wooden houses, their roofs still glistening from the rain, past the quiet convenience store where an elderly shopkeeper was setting up his morning delivery, and past the train station where businessmen in suits stood waiting, their umbrellas dripping onto the platform.

The school was still a few kilometers away, and with every push of the pedals, his mind drifted back to the scene at home. The Switch. The shopping bags. The cupboard was filled with expensive clothes. And now, that smirk on Hina's face.

His grip on the handlebars tightened.

He coasted downhill, letting the cool wind rush past him, but no matter how fast he rode, the uneasy feeling clung to him—like a shadow that wouldn't let go.

The Hoshizaki household was unusually quiet during dinner that Friday night. The faint clinking of chopsticks against ceramic bowls was the only sound accompanying the steady patter of rain against the wooden eaves outside. A single paper lantern cast a warm glow over the low dining table, flickering slightly whenever a draft slipped through the old wooden house. 

Takeshi chewed his food slowly, lost in thought, while Taro sipped his miso soup in silence. The scent of grilled fish and steamed rice filled the air, yet the meal felt heavier than usual—almost like an unspoken tension was hanging over them. 

Then Hina spoke. 

"I have to go to Tokyo again tomorrow for a meeting," she said, her voice calm and matter-of-fact as she placed her chopsticks neatly on her plate. 

Takeshi stopped mid-bite. His chopsticks hovered over his bowl as he turned to look at her, his eyes narrowing slightly. Taro, usually indifferent, also paused—his usual slow and methodical way of eating, breaking for just a second. 

Again?

"You just went last week," Taro said, his tone unusually firm, though his face remained neutral. "Why so soon?" 

Hina smiled faintly, pouring herself a cup of tea. "It's just how work is. Some things came up, and they need me there in person." 

Takeshi swallowed, setting his chopsticks down. The unease that had been brewing inside him for days stirred again. His gaze flickered to Taro, who looked at Hina for a long moment before exhaling quietly. 

"Don't stay out too late," Taro finally said, though his voice held an edge of doubt. 

Hina simply nodded, as if the conversation was already over. But for Takeshi, it was anything but.

Takeshi stepped out onto the engawa, the wooden floor cool beneath his socks as he opened his umbrella. The rain had picked up again, a steady drizzle that coated the night in a misty haze. The dim glow of lanterns reflected off the wet pavement, casting shimmering golden pools along the quiet street. 

The air smelled fresh—earthy and damp, with a faint scent of pine drifting from the surrounding trees. He adjusted his grip on the umbrella handle, the raindrops tapping softly against the fabric as he stepped out onto the road. 

The town was silent at this hour. Most houses had their lights dimmed, save for the occasional glow of a late-night television flickering through shoji doors. The distant hum of a train rumbled through the rain, a faint reminder that beyond this sleepy town, the world kept moving. 

His footsteps were muffled by the wet ground as he pedaled down the narrow road, his bicycle tires slicing through shallow puddles. He passed by the convenience store, its fluorescent lights buzzing in the darkness. A tired-looking cashier stood behind the counter, barely glancing up as Takeshi rode past. 

A few more turns, and he reached Shun's house, a modest, two-story home with a small, covered porch. The porch light flickered slightly, illuminating the rain as it dripped from the eaves. Parking his bike by the entrance, he shook off the excess water from his umbrella and knocked softly on the wooden door. 

Inside, he could hear footsteps approaching. A moment later, the door slid open, revealing Shun, his hair messy, his expression drowsy. 

"Takeshi?" he yawned, rubbing his eyes. "What are you doing here this late?" 

Takeshi hesitated for a second before stepping inside, lowering his voice. 

"I need to talk."

Shun stepped aside, gesturing for Takeshi to enter. "Come inside," he said, his voice still thick with sleep. 

Takeshi bowed slightly as he stepped in. "Sorry to bother you this late, Yamaguchi-san," he said politely to Shun's parents, who were seated in the living room watching television. 

Shun's mother waved her hand dismissively, offering a warm smile. "Oh no, dear, it's perfectly fine. You're always welcome here." 

"He forgot his notebook," Shun added casually before motioning for Takeshi to follow. "Let's go. I'll grab it from my room." 

They walked down the hallway, the wooden floor creaking softly under their steps. Shun slid open the door to his room, revealing a space that was both chaotic and comfortably lived in. 

Takeshi stepped inside, glancing around. The tatami mat felt soft beneath him as he sat down, crossing his legs in a relaxed manner. The walls were adorned with posters of baseball and soccer players, some of them slightly curled at the edges. A wooden bookshelf, crammed with manga and light novels, stood against the far wall, its shelves packed so tightly that some books were stacked horizontally on top of others. 

In the corner, a desktop computer rested on a sturdy desk, the faint glow of the monitor's sleep mode light blinking at intervals. Near it, a baseball bat leaned against the wall, and a well-worn baseball glove hung beside it. A school team photo was pinned next to his uniform, the neat blue-and-white fabric hanging carefully on a hook. 

Shun flopped onto the floor, yawning as he stretched his arms. "So," he said, reaching for a nearby manga, "you really came all this way just for a notebook? Or is something else on your mind?" 

Takeshi hesitated, glancing toward the rain-splattered window before looking back at his friend. 

"Yeah… I need to talk about something."

Shun leaned forward, his brows furrowed in concern. "What's the matter, Taka?" 

Takeshi hesitated for a moment before answering, his voice steady but serious. "I need money." 

Shun blinked. "Money?"

"Yeah."

"How much?"

"10,000 yen."

Shun frowned, clearly puzzled. "Why?"

Takeshi looked away, avoiding his friend's gaze. "I'll explain later." 

Shun studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. The rain outside continued to patter against the window, filling the silence between them. 

"Hmm…" Shun tapped his fingers against the tatami mat. "You're acting weird, Takeshi." 

Takeshi sighed. "I know. But I can't explain right now. I just... I need to go to Tokyo tomorrow." 

Shun's eyes widened slightly. "Tokyo?"

"Yeah."

"For what?"

Takeshi hesitated again before replying, his voice firm. "I need to confirm something." 

Shun narrowed his eyes. "Confirm?"

Takeshi nodded. "I swear, I'll tell you everything later." 

Shun exhaled, rubbing the back of his head. "Man, this sounds sketchy. But you're my best friend, Takeshi. I'll give you the money." He gave a small, wary smile. "I just hope you're not using it for something bad or wasting it." 

Takeshi met his gaze, his expression serious. "I won't."

Shun sighed again, then stood up. "Alright. Give me a sec. I'll get the money."

"Thank you, Shun," Takeshi said sincerely, standing up and dusting off his pants. 

Shun waved a hand dismissively. "Just don't do anything stupid, alright?" 

Takeshi gave him a small nod, though his mind was already elsewhere. He slid open the door and stepped into the dimly lit hallway, making his way toward the entrance. 

Shun's parents were still in the living room, their eyes flickering toward him as he approached. Shun's mother gave him a warm smile. "Leaving already, Takeshi?" 

"Yeah," he said, bowing politely. "Thanks for having me. Good night, Yamaguchi-san." 

"Good night, dear," she replied. 

Shun's father simply nodded from his spot on the couch, barely looking up from the newspaper in his hands. 

Takeshi slipped on his shoes, stepped outside, and opened his umbrella. The rain had softened into a light drizzle, the air cool and damp as he mounted his bicycle. He took one last glance at Shun's house before pedaling off into the quiet night, the faint glow of streetlights reflecting off the wet pavement. 

Tomorrow, he would go to Tokyo. And with it, he hoped, the answers he was looking for.

Takeshi pedaled as fast as he could through the wet streets, his breath steady, his mind racing. As he approached home, he saw Hina standing on the front porch, speaking softly into her phone. She hadn't noticed him yet, her voice carrying a light, almost playful tone that sent a strange feeling through his chest. 

He slowed down, just enough to hear the murmur of her conversation, but the rain and distance made it impossible to catch any clear words. The way she held the phone, the way she smiled slightly—it didn't feel like a work call. 

Takeshi shook his head, pushing the thoughts away. He parked his bike, entered the house, and wordlessly went to take a bath. The hot water soothed his tense muscles, but his mind remained restless. After drying off, he slipped into bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Tokyo. 

Early morning came with the soft chirping of birds outside. Takeshi stepped out of his room, already dressed and ready. 

Hina, sitting at the dining table with a cup of tea, raised an eyebrow. "Whoaa, Takeshi waking up this early? And on a weekend?" 

Takeshi forced a casual smile. "Yeah, we're playing a FIFA tournament at Shun's house. I'll be there all day." 

Taro, who was reading the newspaper, glanced up. "What about lunch?" 

"I'll eat at Shun's," Takeshi replied quickly. 

Taro shrugged. "Okay, that works." 

As Takeshi walked toward the entrance, he glanced at Hina. She was wearing makeup—more than usual—and dressed in fancy clothes, a stylish bag resting beside her. She looked more like someone going on a date than a tour guide heading to a work meeting. 

Takeshi's grip on his bag tightened. 

He suspects this wasn't just another business trip.

Takeshi gripped the handlebars tightly, his legs pumping as he pedaled through the empty morning streets. The air was cold, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine, with the last traces of mist clinging to the rooftops of old wooden houses. The town was still half-asleep, the only signs of life being the occasional shopkeeper pulling up their shutters and a few early risers making their way to work.

His breath came in steady puffs as he increased his speed, the wind biting at his face. He passed the narrow streets lined with vending machines, their fluorescent glow faint against the morning light. The sound of his bicycle chain clicking and the tires rolling over wet asphalt was the only noise accompanying him as he raced toward the station.

As he neared the train station, the roads became busier. Office workers and students in uniforms walked briskly, some carrying umbrellas despite the rain having stopped. Takeshi finally reached the free bicycle parking area outside the station. He skidded to a stop, his breath heavy, and quickly locked his bike in one of the metal racks before hurrying toward the ticket counter.

He bought a ticket for the Shibuya-bound train without hesitation. His hands felt slightly clammy as he clutched the ticket and made his way through the station gates, blending in with the morning commuters. The station was bustling now, filled with the murmur of conversations, the robotic announcements echoing over the speakers, and the rhythmic clatter of train doors opening and closing.

Takeshi navigated through the crowd, making his way toward Platform No. 2, where the Tokyo-bound train would soon arrive. Instead of standing near the main waiting area, he walked to the far end of the platform and sat on a bench, keeping his head low. His heart pounded—not from exertion, but from anticipation.

He made sure he had a clear view of the entrance but was hidden enough that Hina wouldn't see him.

Minutes passed.

Then, finally, she arrived.

Hina walked onto the platform, her heels clicking against the pavement. She was dressed elegantly, her hair styled neatly, her makeup flawless. Takeshi watched as she pulled her phone from her bag and checked the screen.

The distant hum of the approaching train grew louder, followed by the rush of wind as it entered the station. The metal doors slid open with a soft chime, and a wave of passengers moved forward to board.

Hina adjusted the strap of her handbag and stepped inside, seamlessly blending into the morning crowd. Takeshi waited for just the right moment, letting a few people pass before boarding the next car. His heart pounded, but he forced himself to act natural, his hands tucked into his hoodie pockets as he stepped onto the train.

The train was fairly crowded, filled with businessmen, students, and tired commuters clutching their phones. The low murmur of conversations, the occasional rustle of newspapers, and the soft mechanical voice announcing the next station created a rhythmic background noise.

Keeping his head down, Takeshi shuffled through the car, making sure not to draw attention. As the train doors closed and it began moving, he carefully made his way toward the door separating his car from the next. He peeked through the small window and spotted Hina standing near a pole, her posture relaxed, her gaze fixed on her phone.

He exhaled softly and entered her car, weaving through the crowd. Finding a seat near the window, he sank down, making sure to position himself just out of her line of sight but with a clear view of her. His fingers tightened around his knee as he watched her.

She looked like someone meeting someone.

The journey had felt endless, but finally, the Shinkansen slowed, the overhead announcement confirming their arrival at Tokyo Station. The doors slid open, and passengers poured out, moving in every direction.

Hina stepped off, adjusting the strap of her bag as she smoothly merged into the sea of people. Takeshi followed carefully, his heart pounding—not from excitement, but from the sheer intensity of what he was doing.

This was only the third time he had ever been to Tokyo. The first was a school trip, the second with his parents. But this? This was his first time alone.

The moment he stepped onto the platform, he felt overwhelmed. Tokyo was a completely different world. The sheer number of people, the noise, the flashing advertisements, the constant motion—it was like an entirely different universe compared to the quiet town of Karuizawa.

But he had no time to get distracted.

He kept his eyes locked on Hina, weaving through the crowd like a shadow. He had to be careful—too far, and he'd lose her; too close, and she'd notice.

Hina walked with purpose, exiting the station. Once outside, she stopped near a column and pulled out her phone.

Takeshi watched from about 50 meters away, ducking behind a group of tourists. He could see her scanning the area, searching for someone.

Then, suddenly, she smiled and waved—and hung up her phone.

Takeshi's stomach twisted.

A black Toyota Corolla approached from the street. Hina walked directly toward it, opened the front passenger door, and slid inside without hesitation.

Takeshi didn't hesitate either.

He turned and sprinted toward a bike rental stand, dodging people as he moved. His fingers fumbled as he unlocked a rental bike, jumping on it as quickly as he could.

By the time he looked up, the black Corolla was already moving.

Takeshi pedaled with everything he had.

The Tokyo traffic worked in his favor. The congestion slowed the car down, allowing him to catch up. Weaving through narrow gaps between vehicles, he stayed close, making sure not to lose sight of the Corolla as it crawled through the city streets.

Takeshi's legs burned from pedaling, his breath ragged as he finally came to a stop 80 meters behind the parking lot of the Love Palace Hotel. His heart was pounding—not from exhaustion, but from something far heavier.

The black Toyota Corolla had pulled into a parking space.

He watched, gripping the bike's handlebars tightly, as the passenger door opened.

Hina stepped out first, adjusting her clothes, brushing her hair back with practiced ease. She looked different—relaxed, almost eager. Not like the tired, overworked mother she always claimed to be.

Then, from the driver's side, a man stepped out.

Takeshi squinted, his breath catching.

The man was tall and slim, dressed casually in a blue full-sleeve T-shirt and jeans. He had a slick appearance, with silky hair neatly styled and round glasses resting on his nose. He looked to be in his late 40s—older than Takeshi had expected.

The two of them exchanged a few words, and then, without hesitation, they walked inside together.

Through the front entrance of a love hotel.

Takeshi's fingers trembled on the handlebars. His breath came out unevenly, his vision blurring as his eyes welled up.

He had hoped—prayed—that he was wrong.

But there it was. The undeniable truth.

Hina wasn't in Tokyo for work.

She was here for this.

A lump formed in his throat. His chest tightened painfully. He wanted to scream, to demand answers, to drag her out of that place—but all he could do was sit there, gripping his bike as the world seemed to collapse around him.

His hands shook as he reached into his pocket, pulling out his smartphone.

The screen lit up. 10:34 AM.

With trembling fingers, he opened the camera app and raised it, snapping a photo of the black Toyota Corolla in the parking lot. Then, he lifted the camera again, capturing an image of the Love Palace Hotel's entrance—the place where his mother had just walked in.

Takeshi's throat was dry, his body still trembling from the shock of what he had just witnessed. His hands clenched into fists, fingernails digging into his palms. He forced himself to take a slow breath, then turned away from the love hotel.

He needed to calm down—at least enough to think.

Spotting a vending machine nearby, he walked toward it, his footsteps unsteady. The bright LED lights of the machine flickered as he fumbled for coins, barely paying attention to the selection. With a mechanical clunk, a bottle of water dropped down, followed by a can of green tea. He retrieved them with shaky hands and twisted the cap off the water, taking a long gulp. The cool liquid soothed his dry throat, but it did nothing for the storm in his chest.

Still gripping the drinks, he slowly made his way back to a safe distance from the love hotel entrance. He couldn't afford to be seen.

He settled into a spot far enough not to be noticed but close enough to keep an eye on the entrance.

Every time someone walked in or out, his breath hitched.

He checked his phone again. 10:42 AM.

How long would they stay? An hour? More?

The green tea in his hand was getting warm, but he didn't drink it.

He just sat there, waiting—watching. 

The hours dragged on like an eternity. Takeshi kept his eyes glued to the love hotel entrance, his body tense despite the exhaustion creeping in.

Then, finally—

At 2:25 PM, the front doors slid open.

Hina stepped out first, adjusting her hair with a satisfied expression, followed closely by the man in the blue full-sleeve T-shirt. They weren't holding hands, but their body language spoke volumes. They walked closely, speaking in hushed tones, a relaxed ease between them that made Takeshi's stomach twist.

His fingers clenched around his phone.

This is it.

With quick, steady movements, he raised the camera and began snapping photos—Hina and the man standing together, the black Toyota Corolla, the two of them walking toward the car. His hands trembled, but he kept going, capturing everything.

They got into the car.

The engine rumbled to life, and the vehicle pulled out of the parking lot.

Takeshi rushed back to his rental bike, jumped on, and started pedaling furiously. The chase continued. 

After several minutes of weaving through Tokyo's afternoon traffic, the black Corolla slowed down and pulled into a parking lot in front of a small, elegant Italian restaurant. The sign above the entrance read "Trattoria Fiore", a cozy place tucked between larger buildings.

Takeshi came to a stop a safe distance away, his breath heavy. He watched as Hina and the man stepped out of the car again, walking side by side toward the restaurant.

There was no rush in their steps.

No secrecy.

As if they were just another couple on a casual date.

Takeshi's grip tightened on the handlebars. His heart pounded in his ears, but he forced himself to stay put.

For the next hour, he sat outside, waiting. The minutes ticked by agonizingly slow.

He wanted to storm inside, to demand an explanation, to drag his mother out and make her face him—but he knew he couldn't. 

The restaurant doors finally opened, and Hina stepped out, laughing softly at something the man had said.

Takeshi snapped more photos.

The black Corolla was parked just ahead.

As they walked toward it, Takeshi could feel the boiling in his chest intensify.

What now? Where will they go next?

Takeshi continued trailing them, weaving through the Tokyo streets as discreetly as possible.

After leaving the Italian restaurant, they drove through the city center before stopping in front of a law firm. The polished glass doors reflected the afternoon sun, and a golden nameplate glimmered near the entrance.

Hina and the man walked inside together.

Takeshi furrowed his brows. A law firm?

He hesitated, considering what it could mean. But after about half an hour, they both exited the building, their expressions unchanged.

Takeshi pushed the thought aside.

Maybe it was unrelated. Maybe it was important. But right now, it wasn't his focus. 

The black Toyota Corolla rolled back onto the streets, and Takeshi once again followed on his rental bike, weaving through traffic to keep up.

Their next stop?

A luxury shopping district.

For the next few hours, Takeshi watched as his mother and the man went from store to store—designer boutiques, jewelry stores, perfume shops, and high-end clothing retailers.

Everywhere they went, Hina picked out expensive items, laughing and chatting with the man as if they were a couple on a honeymoon.

Takeshi followed them everywhere.

He watched as they entered a luxury handbag store.

He saw her trying on watches and necklaces at a jewelry boutique.

At a high-end department store, she walked out carrying multiple bags filled with expensive clothing—similar to the ones Takeshi had seen in their house back in Karuizawa.

Each time, the man paid without hesitation.

Takeshi took more photos, his chest tightening with each snapshot.

He wasn't sure what hurt more—his mother's lies, or how easily she was living this double life.

As the sun began to set, Takeshi clenched his jaw.

How much longer is this going to continue?

And more importantly—

Who exactly is this man?

Takeshi gritted his teeth, his legs sore from all the cycling, but he couldn't stop now.

He had followed them through boutiques, high-end stores, and now… a massive convenience store.

From behind a shelf, he watched as Hina and the man filled their shopping baskets—stacked with fresh ingredients, premium snacks, high-quality meats, alcohol, and expensive desserts.

It wasn't just a casual dinner purchase—this looked like a feast.

Takeshi's stomach churned.

They were celebrating something.

Or maybe… this was something they did often.

After they paid, they returned to their black Toyota Corolla, loaded the bags into the trunk, and started driving again.

Takeshi hopped onto his rental bike, pedaling through the dimming Tokyo streets, tailing them as streetlights flickered on.

After a long ride, the car finally pulled into a quiet, well-off residential area.

The houses were large, modern, and expensive-looking—completely different from their traditional wooden home in Karuizawa.

Takeshi came to a stop across the street, watching as the man parked the car in the driveway of a sleek two-story house.

Hina stepped out, laughing, carrying multiple shopping bags.

The man joined her, unlocking the door.

Takeshi lifted his phone and took pictures—the house, the car, the entrance.

Then, he waited.

Minutes passed. The sky turned darker.

Then—two girls arrived.

One had long, platinum blonde hair styled in loose waves. She wore a short skirt, a designer hoodie, and had thick makeup—long lashes, glossy lips.

The other had reddish-brown dyed hair and a similar gyaru-style fashion—short shorts, high boots, heavy makeup.

They giggled as they entered the house, the door shutting behind them.

Takeshi's stomach twisted.

Who the hell are they?

He just waited—the cold night air biting at his skin, but he didn't care.

Takeshi gripped his phone tightly, his hands shaking with anger.

The cold air around him felt suffocating, but he forced himself to keep his voice steady.

He dialed Hina's number, bringing the phone to his ear. It rang… and rang… until finally—

"Hello?"

Hina's voice sounded as smooth as ever, like nothing was wrong.

Takeshi swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Mom…"

"Yes, Takaki?" she replied, using his childhood nickname.

His jaw clenched.

She's lying.

He took a deep breath, gripping the phone harder.

"Did you board the Shinkansen?" he asked, forcing a casual tone.

There was a pause—just for a second.

Then, Hina let out a soft sigh, as if she were tired.

"Oh, dear, the meeting is still going on. I'll be staying here tonight and coming home in the morning."

Takeshi gritted his teeth.

His fingers dug into his palm, his nails pressing painfully against his skin.

"Where are you, Mom?" he asked, his voice sharper than he intended.

Another pause.

Then, Hina chuckled lightly, the same way she always did when brushing something off.

"I'm at the meeting, of course. Bye now, I'll call back later."

Click.

The call ended.

Takeshi stood frozen, staring at the screen.

His mother had just lied to his face.

And she had done it so easily.

His breath came out in short, shaky exhales.

The house behind him remained silent, the lights glowing warmly from within.

Hina wasn't at a meeting.

She was inside that house.

With that man.

And with those two gyaru girls.

Takeshi's chest burned with fury.

But he couldn't stay here any longer.

He needed to go back to Karuizawa.

Takeshi pedaled hard, the freezing Tokyo air biting at his face, but he didn't care.

His thoughts swirled in a storm—rage, betrayal, disgust.

How do I tell Dad?

The city lights blurred past him, neon signs flickering as he weaved through the streets. The bustling sounds of nightlife surrounded him—laughing couples, honking cars, the chatter of strangers.

But inside his head, there was only one voice.

She lied.

The Tokyo Station entrance came into view. Takeshi slammed the brakes, skidding slightly before parking the rental bike.

His legs felt numb, both from exhaustion and the dread creeping into his chest.

He bought his ticket, boarded the Shinkansen to Karuizawa, and sank into his seat.

The train hummed to life, speeding toward home.

But for Takeshi, home no longer felt the same.