The quiet beeping of hospital monitors was the only sound filling the tense air.
The scent of antiseptic lingered like a veil between Makoto and the woman lying in the hospital bed—his mother.
Her face, once warm in childhood memories, was now stony, eyes sharp with unspoken resentment.
Makoto stood motionless at the foot of her bed, heart pounding, hands clenched.
It had taken everything in him to come here.
But nothing could have prepared him for the moment she finally spoke.
"How could I believe you?" She was rasped, voice brittle and cold. "You betrayed me the moment you chose to become a writer."
Her words hit like a slap.
Makoto's breath hitched. "I didn't betray you." he said, his voice low, tight with restraint. "I chose a different path. One that made me feel alive."
His mother scoffed, turning her face toward the wall. "You abandoned me. You chose to follow the footsteps of your bastard father!"
"Mom! We're not the same. I am never going to be like him!" Makoto whispered, pain etched into every word. "And I can't live in the dream you set for me. I had to live mine."
The door opened, halting the rising storm.
Ayaka entered first, still catching her breath.
Behind her was Akihiko—now Dr. Akihiko Nakamura—wearing a crisp white lab coat.
His silver hair was slightly wind-tossed from the rush over, but his presence was composed, commanding.
"Good afternoon." he said with professional calm, offering a slight bow. "I'm Dr. Akihiko Nakamura, a general surgeon here. The one appointed to you. I've reviewed your test results, x-rays and ultrasounds. You have a complete bowel obstruction."
Makoto's mother glared at him. "I didn't ask for a surgeon. I don't need anyone, especially not someone he dragged here."
Akihiko remained unaffected. "Ma'am, I understand your hesitation. But your condition is serious. Without immediate surgery, your intestines may suffer necrosis. The infection could spread. This is not something time or pride will heal."
"I said I don't care!" she snapped, her hands gripping the blanket. "I'd rather die than let him decide anything about me again."
Makoto's face turned pale. "Please—Mom, listen to reason—"
"You stopped being my son when you chose fiction over your family!" she seethed, eyes flashing. "You lied to me for years."
The finality in her voice was more than Makoto could take.
"I don't care anymore if you hate me..." he snapped, the raw emotion in his voice stunning even Ayaka. "I've called. I've visited. I've begged to be let in, even just to see how you were. But you pushed me away."
He took a step closer, eyes shining with fury and pain.
"So if that's what it takes to get you to do this surgery, fine. I'll disappear from your life. Forever." His voice cracked. "If it makes you happy, I'll stop being your son. Just—please—live."
Silence fell like a curtain.
Then, without waiting for a response, Makoto turned and stormed out, shoulders trembling, disappearing into the corridor with heavy, echoing steps.
Ayaka looked between the door and the hospital bed, heart torn.
"I'll stay with her." she said quickly, reaching for Akihiko's sleeve. "Go after him. Please."
Akihiko's gaze lingered on her for a moment.
Then he nodded and turned on his heel.
"Keep her calm. Don't let her pull out her IV." he said firmly, then disappeared through the doors.
Ayaka turned back toward the hospital bed.
She gently walked over and sat beside Makoto's mother, her voice soft and steady.
"He wasn't trying to hurt you. He's just… been hurting on his own."
Makoto's mother didn't answer.
But for the first time, the tears she'd refused to show began to gather quietly in the corners of her eyes—unseen, unspoken.
And Ayaka held her hand.
------
The sky was gray with the promise of rain, clouds curling low over Tokyo like silent watchers of everything unsaid between sons and mothers.
Outside the hospital entrance, Makoto leaned heavily against a concrete pillar near the emergency bay, his coat fluttering slightly in the summer wind.
His hands were shaking as he ran them through his hair, then over his face as if trying to rub the frustration out of his skin.
Footsteps approached—steady, calm, deliberate.
Akihiko.
Still dressed in his white coat, Dr. Akihiko Nakamura slowed his pace as he reached Makoto's side but didn't speak at first.
He stood beside him, leaving enough space for pride to breathe and pain to linger.
Makoto broke the silence first, his voice hoarse. "I always knew she wouldn't forgive me."
"She's your mother. She's hurt, not heartless." Akihiko said quietly.
Makoto gave a bitter laugh. "No. You don't understand. It's not just about what I chose… It's who I am."
Akihiko turned slightly toward him. "Then tell me."
Makoto hesitated, the confession caught behind his clenched jaw.
But Akihiko didn't push.
He waited.
After a long moment, Makoto exhaled hard and spoke.
"My father…" he started, voice low. "He was a famous author. The kind people studied in university. Literary genius, they said. But no one knew he had another side. He fell in love with another writer. Had an affair and left my mom when I was a child."
Akihiko's expression sobered.
"She begged him to choose us." Makoto continued, his voice catching. "But he said he couldn't betray his 'passion.' So she raised me alone, built a dental clinic, poured everything she had into keeping me away from that world."
He chuckled darkly.
"But the joke's on us, huh? Because I became Moonlight Sonata, the very thing she feared—a writer. A romance writer, no less. And when I came clean during that live TV special, the moment I admitted who I was… she shut me out completely."
Akihiko finally spoke, his tone reflective. "So, you inherited more than talent. You inherited the wound."
Makoto tilted his head, brow furrowing.
Akihiko's gaze wandered toward the gray skyline. "You're wrong, though… I do understand."
Makoto raised an eyebrow.
"My parents didn't want me to become a doctor." Akihiko began, voice steady but low. "They had other plans. Music. Politics. Anything else. But never medicine. I begged. Fought. When I was finally accepted into university, I ran away from home to study without their permission."
He paused, a shadow falling over his usually cool eyes.
"They were out looking for me one night. That was when the accident happened. Their car collided with Ayaka's parents'. Both families died."
Makoto turned, stunned. "You're… serious?"
Akihiko nodded solemnly.
Makoto's throat tightened. "So that's why you disappeared after your resignation. You were afraid Ayaka would hate you… if she found out."
A beat.
Akihiko looked down for a moment, the weight of the past pressing on his shoulders. "Yeah. I thought she'd look at me and see the man who took everything from her. But…"
He glanced toward the hospital doors, where Ayaka was likely still with Makoto's mother.
"She didn't..." he whispered.
Makoto swallowed hard, the wind momentarily stealing both their voices.
The two men stood in silence, bonded not just by Ayaka or their rivalry, but by the scars of family, of guilt, of becoming what others feared.
Akihiko placed a hand on Makoto's shoulder—firm, grounding. "Your mom… she's not angry about your success. She's scared you'll become like your father. She's guarding her heart the only way she knows how."
Makoto's jaw tensed. "By pushing me away?"
"By trying to survive." Akihiko corrected gently. "But if she didn't care, she wouldn't be this angry. She wouldn't refuse surgery. Sometimes pain masks love in the ugliest ways."
Makoto's eyes burned, but he didn't let the tears fall.
Akihiko continued, "Just… stay by her side. You don't need to prove anything. Just show up. That's all she needs."
Makoto exhaled shakily, staring out into the city where dreams were both made and crushed.
"She may never accept me."
"She doesn't have to accept your path right away." Akihiko said. "But she has to live long enough to try. You said you'd disappear forever if she had the surgery… don't make that promise."
Makoto let out a breath between a laugh and a sob. "I didn't mean it. I was just—hurting."
Akihiko nodded. "So is she."
They stood there for a long time, letting the silence mend what words couldn't.
The storm didn't come—but a quiet drizzle began to fall, washing away some of the heat and tension.
Eventually, Makoto turned toward the doors.
"I should go back."
Akihiko smiled faintly. "Good. That's the right chapter to write next."
Makoto chuckled weakly. "You and your metaphors."
Akihiko gave him a look. "Says the one who named himself Moonlight Sonata."
Makoto rolled his eyes, but there was relief there too—a bit of light cutting through.
They walked back into the hospital together.
Not as rivals.
Not as perfect sons.
But as men trying to make peace with the ghosts of their pasts.
------
Makoto pushed open the hospital room door quietly, his heart pounding in his chest.
The sterile smell mixed with the faint scent of disinfectant and faint traces of his mother's perfume filled the air.
There, sitting by the bedside, was Ayaka — her presence calm yet resolute, offering a silent comfort to his mother.
His mother's eyes were closed, her face pale and drawn, but the tension in the room was thick.
Makoto hesitated for a moment, then stepped inside, his footsteps soft on the linoleum floor.
Ayaka looked up and gave him a small, reassuring smile. "She's resting for now." she said softly.
Makoto nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.
The door suddenly swung open again, and Akihiko entered briskly, his white coat slightly billowing behind him.
He scanned the room quickly, his gaze sharp yet measured.
He approached Ayaka and took her hand gently.
"We'll leave you two to decide for now." Akihiko said firmly but kindly.
His eyes then shifted to Makoto's mother, who stirred slightly on the bed. "But please, decide quickly. This is an emergency case."
Akihiko's words hung in the air like a weight — urgent and unavoidable.
Ayaka squeezed his hand briefly, then looked back to Makoto. "We'll be right outside if you need us."
With that, Akihiko led Ayaka out of the room, leaving Makoto alone with his mother — the silence now heavy with the knowledge that the decision would shape everything.