Next, we finally sat side-by-side on the tiny bed—Kairi's bed—in the small, almost too-clean flat, a place that seemed to keep its bloody history at bay.
The blanket was neatly folded, and a faint scent of soap emanated from the pillowcases. To the right, an owl-shaped wall clock ticked softly.
Ayaka looked at me, then opened the conversation again with a faint smile.
"By the way, you still haven't told me about Doctor Satoko."
I turned slowly. "Hm? What do you mean, Mom?"
"He told me a lot when you were in a coma. He said you even willingly covered his night shifts when he was sick."
"You told him, 'If I can help him get back to health, that's more important than sleep.'"
I nearly choked on my breath.
That… wasn't something easily made up, was it?
My brain immediately connected the dots. The image was clear.
Satoko—exhausted, coughing, barely able to stand for long. And Kairi, usually so aloof, probably just waved a hand and said nonchalantly,
"Fine, I'll do it then."
