A New Beginning

Yuna wipes down the kitchen counter after dinner. Across from her, Hiroki sits silently, eyes fixed on his phone. She catches a glimpse of the name "Shimaki" in his messages.

The counter is spotless now. She hangs the towel back on the rack, pulls out a chair, and sits down opposite him. Her face bears quiet unease. Absentmindedly, she twists the ring on her finger.

"Hiroki," she calls softly.

He looks up. "Hm?"

"Why… did Shimaki have those photos?"

Hiroki holds her gaze for a moment. He's known this question would come, even after she hastily deleted all the images from her phone. Still, nothing has been resolved. And he knows—he can't keep her here forever.

The truth is, even he doesn't know where Shimaki got that "evidence." Or why he sent it to Hiroki first. They've hardly ever messaged before.

And selfishly… Hiroki just wants her to stay a little longer.

His eyes, now heavy with thought, drift back to Yuna.

 "I don't know," he says quietly, turning his gaze to some distant point beyond the room. "He just... sent me a bunch of photos out of nowhere. Didn't say a word." He pauses, then adds, "But lately... Ryusei's been calling and texting me nonstop."

 "What…?" Yuna's head snaps up. "You mean… he's been messaging you?"

 "Yeah. Calling to ask where you are. Said he'd come to my place to find you. Said he wanted to talk."

Yuna lowers her head, stunned. But in the midst of that surprise, something faint like relief flickers in her expression.

 Hiroki can guess what's running through that lovely head of hers. Of course. She's glad—glad to think that bastard still cares after all these weeks, isn't she?

 "I-I see," she murmurs, biting her lip, her face clouded with hesitation.

"Yuna."

 "...Yeah?"

 "There's something I want to tell you tomorrow. So sleep early tonight, okay? I'll wake you up in the morning."

 "Mm."

….

Morning light spills into the room through the wooden blinds. The sounds of children playing downstairs echo faintly, mixed with cheerful chatter from the neighbors outside. Hiroki is probably still asleep on the couch.

Those sounds have woken her up every day lately, whether she likes it or not. But instead of feeling refreshed and ready to move, she just lies there, still and heavy.

She's never counted how many hours she actually sleeps. Most mornings, she wakes before dawn and stays curled up in bed for hours. Her body just... refuses to move.

The door creaks open slightly. A pair of feet come into view. Then a figure steps in, blocking the sunlight.

 "Yuna, time to get up."

She lifts her face. Hiroki.

 "Good morning," she says with a sleepy smile, reaching a hand out. "Help me up?"

 He chuckles, tucking his hands behind his back. "Get up yourself, you dummy."

Their laughter rings through the morning air. Yuna throws off the blanket, sits up, and stretches—groaning like an old man.

Looking at the girl in front of him, still endearingly messy, Hiroki tries not to let his imagination run wild. He leans in, gently cupping her cheek. His eyes are tender.

 "Can you dress up nicely today?"

 "Why?" she asks, confused.

 "Because," he says, voice warm, "we've got a class reunion."

 "A class reunion?"

 "Kurosawa Shimaki called me the other day," he explains gently, tracing little circles on her cheek with his thumb. "He said he'd come pick us up today, so... try to look presentable, okay? At least a little."

 He glances over her—her dull pajamas, her tired eyes. She looks so lifeless. He isn't asking much. Just a bit of color. A bit of light.

 "So? Got anything decent to wear? Or should I go buy you something?"

 "Why do I even have to go?"

 "Because…" he coaxes, the same way she used to coax him, "everyone's been saying they miss you... You'll see a lot of old classmates there."

 She thinks for a moment, then shakes her head. "No thanks. I'm not going."

 "Come on, Yuna."

 She flops back down onto the bed, waving her limbs like a stubborn child. "I don't want to. I'm tired."

 "You idiot. Get up."

 With a little extra force, Hiroki grabs her hand and pulls her upright—bursting into laughter as he does.

….

The car glides smoothly through the wide city streets. A dazzling cityscape stretches out before Yuna, glinting in the late sunlight. She rests her head against the window, her forehead knocking softly against the thick glass.

They've been on the road for six and a half hours—the full length of the journey from Osaka to Tokyo. Yuna's body aches all over. She longs to lean on someone but can't. Hiroki has insisted she sit in the front with the driver, claiming it would help her feel less carsick.

It doesn't. If anything, her stomach churns even worse.

 "This is... Tokyo, isn't it?" she murmurs, eyes still on the window. "I thought the reunion was at our old school."

 Shimaki, who is driving, casts her a quick glance.

 "Change of plans. We're meeting at a fancy hotel here in the city."

 "Is Ryusei... coming too?" she asks, hesitating.

 "Hm. Not sure. Maybe... maybe not."

 "He didn't tell you?"

 "I don't talk to him anymore."

 His reply is blunt. Cold, even. His hands move smoothly over the steering wheel as the car pulls up near a high-rise hotel—the reunion venue.

Yuna anxiously looks around, her fingers clenching the hem of her blouse. Shimaki tells her to stay put and wait for the others to arrive, but she can't.

She slumps down in her seat, head resting on her folded arms. Her entire body feels like it might fall apart. The world around her dulls—voices muffle into static. She can barely make out Hiroki and Shimaki's conversation.

Then she sees it.

A slim figure appears near the hotel entrance, her back turned. The woman's shoulders tremble violently. Her hands are pressed against her face, as if she's crying.

She looks fragile.

She looks like Yuna.

Moments later, a man approaches. He gently wraps his arms around the woman's shoulders from behind.

That movement—his stride, the way he reaches for her, the way he pulls her into his chest.

Yuna shoots upright. Her heart thunders in her chest.

The man leans in, whispering something into the woman's ear. His tenderness is suffocating, as if they are the only two people left in the world. And then, as if sensing something, he pauses.

He turns. His eyes land directly on the car. On her.

That face. That gaze—

Ryusei.

Yuna freezes. Then panic surges through her. Her hand fumbles desperately at the door handle.

 "Open it... please, open the door."

 Shimaki calmly reaches over and unlocks it.

The door clicks open. Yuna flings herself out of the car—but it's already too late.

Ryusei only hesitates for a moment. One breath. One heartbeat. Then he turns away, guiding the other woman toward a waiting car.

The door shuts. The vehicle drives off, melting into the rush of Tokyo traffic.

Yuna's steps slow to a halt. Her eyes follow the retreating car until it disappears completely. She curses her own eyes for seeing. For witnessing everything.

She stands motionless, blank-faced.

No tears come.

The sun beats down relentlessly overhead. Strands of sweat-soaked hair cling to her temples. Beads of sweat roll from her forehead, down her nose, and into her eyes.

They sting. Salt stings her lips.

She squeezes her eyes shut. More sweat—or something else—spills from the corners of her lashes.

 "Don't cry... don't cry..." she mutters to herself, wiping her face furiously with the back of her hand.

 She is tired of being weak. So damn tired.

 She tugs her collar up to wipe her face, uncaring that her lipstick smears into the pale fabric of her shirt.

 Inside the taxi, Shimaki watches it all unfold. His face is unreadable—hardened, emotionless.

 The cigarette in his mouth has long since burned out, but he hasn't noticed. His lighter refuses to spark.

 Growing impatient, he slams his foot against the pedal.

Hiroki, beside himself, lurches forward. "So this—this was real?!"

 "Told you," Shimaki rasps. "You get it now, don't you?"

 Hiroki does get it. But he never imagines they'd act so brazenly. So intimate.

 Shimaki's message from the day before has been cryptic: "Bring her to Tokyo. I'll show you the truth about Takahashi Ryusei."

 Turns out, the photos are real. Irumi's letter hasn't lied.

 "After high school, I keep in touch with Ryusei," Shimaki begins, his voice flat. "I am a screw-up—flunk out, work odd jobs for years. Eventually, Ryusei hires me as his private driver. Pays me well, too. He runs a big company, comes from money—super successful."

 He takes a breath, then continues.

 "At first, he rode around with different women all the time. We all figured he was a playboy—too busy for real relationships anyway. Even when we hit the bars with Kairo and Kizuha, he always brought someone new along."

 "But then... things changed. Work got rough. And suddenly, he's only ever with one woman. Gorgeous. Name was Hayame or something. They went everywhere together—in my cab, to drinks, to his company... and to this hotel. They looked like a real couple.

 Then one day, he stopped hiring me. I went back to driving gigs, traveled all over—until I ran into Yuna."

 Hiroki's hands are clenched tight in his lap, white-knuckled with restraint. Shimaki's words keep going.

 "She looked pale. Different. I drove her a few times before realizing who she was. Then comes the real shock—she told me she was married. To Ryusei."

 "The next morning, I drove straight back to Tokyo, parked outside that same hotel Ryusei used to visit with Hayame. And sure enough... he was still there. Still with her."

 Shimaki turns slightly in his seat.

 "I could't stay quiet, not after that. Yuna doesn't deserve it. That's why I tell you everything, Hiroki."

 Hiroki exhales sharply, letting out a bitter laugh.

 "So that's how it is."

 "It's all real. I see it with my own eyes."

 That is enough.

 Hiroki bolts out of the car without another word. He runs toward Yuna.

 All this time... she has been suffering. And it's because Ryusei has locked her away in the shadows.

 All these years, and only now does Hiroki understand just how cruel the man really is.

 He stops behind her, torn between heartache and hesitation.

 The one who should have held her. Comforted her. Loved her... isn't him.

 Still, when Yuna finally turns around, she manages a faint, fragile smile. She takes a slow step toward him.

 Her voice is soft.

 "Wanna get lunch?"

 In that moment, Hiroki sees it clearly—

 Something in her eyes has died.

Shimaki's taxi drops them off at a small izakaya tucked along a narrow side street. The place is packed—patrons come and go in a steady flow; the midday heat and noise mix into an almost unbearable tension.

 As Hiroki helps Yuna out of the car, Shimaki gives him a single parting line: "Take good care of her." Then the car speeds off.

 Hiroki stands there for a moment, watching the trail of dust Shimaki leaves behind. In his mind's eye, he sees not the rough, weathered man who just drove them, but the stubborn teenager from years ago—the one who once chased after Yuna with countless failed love confessions.

 He guides her into the restaurant.

 At a glance, she looks calm. But Hiroki can see right through her: that vacant stare, those smudged lips, the way she clutches at the hem of her skirt with trembling fingers—every gesture screams pain.

 She orders sake. Then more. She downs each cup in large gulps, not flinching at the burn as it tears down her throat. She doesn't care how her lipstick has smudged or how disheveled her hair has become.

 Slurring slightly, she begins talking about Ryusei, about their years together, about the moments that made her believe love could be real.

 Hiroki says nothing. He quietly picks at the food, listening. He has heard these stories before. They used to sting—used to twist his chest with jealousy. But now… now all he feels is numbness. A dull ache that has worn down into stone.

 She pours herself another glass. Her hand shakes, spilling sake down her chin. She laughs—soft, bitter—and wipes it away with the back of her hand, smearing her lipstick even more.

 Hiroki sighs and reaches out, gently wiping the smudge from the corner of her mouth with his thumb. Yuna freezes. Then suddenly, she bursts into broken, breathless laughter that echoes through the restaurant. Her eyes glisten under the soft, golden light, rimmed red from tears that haven't fallen.

 She leans forward, extending her hand toward him. Her cold fingertips brush the edge of his lips. She picks off a small grain of rice stuck there.

 "Haha... Hiroki," she murmurs, her voice rough with intoxication. "You're messy too."

Still smiling, she pops the rice into her mouth as if it's the most normal thing in the world.

 Hiroki stares at her, throat tightening. The food on his plate tastes like nothing.

 This girl in front of him—she is falling apart. This is the same girl who once shone so brightly in his eyes, proud and full of fire. Now, she is drowning.

 By the time they leave the izakaya, night has fallen. The cool Tokyo air mingles with the remnants of alcohol, but Hiroki's whole body feels hot. Maybe from the drinks he reluctantly takes with her. Or maybe… it's something deeper—something boiling in his chest.

 Yuna stumbles beside him, barely able to stand. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, supporting her fragile frame. She leans against him, murmuring incoherently. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, clouded with alcohol.

 Hiroki lets out a quiet breath and tightens his grip.

 The road ahead stretches long and uncertain. The streets around them are quiet now, broken only by the occasional hum of a distant car. They can't go home. They are still in Tokyo—a city that feels foreign and cold.

 "I'll call a taxi, okay?" he says softly. She shakes her head, murmuring something under her breath. Then, slurring:

 "No… I get carsick… don't wanna…"

 Hiroki stops walking. There is no one else. Shimaki is gone. Ryusei is long gone. No one remains but him.

 And in this moment, as she clings to him so helplessly, a selfish part of him begins to rise. Dark, unspoken thoughts take hold—thoughts he knows will haunt him later. But he can't silence them.

 His eyes scan the street. In the distance, a faint glow catches his attention—a small, old‑fashioned motel. He leans down, his voice low and steady against her ear.

 "Then… let's rest there tonight, okay?"

 Yuna doesn't answer. She only shifts slightly, her head resting against his shoulder—a silent yes.