Winter 2011---
"Kintarō."
"Kintarō," came the voice again. "Look up at me."
Hesitantly, Okamura met the eyes of his father.
"I'm truly sorry for the choices I made," Leo whispered, cupping his son's cheeks in his hands. "What I'm about to say... you might not understand, but give it some time. It's not your mother's fault, okay? Don't hate her because of what she'll do."
"I promise—I promise I'll come back for you. Just endure this, Kintarō. I know you can."
(回想終了)
Okamura lay sprawled across his bed, body heavy with defeat and eyes red from all the crying he had done. It had been two days since Koyori had made the decision—the one that left him gutted. She had walked away, and since then, he hasn't moved from where he been.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
"Kintarō," came Mariya's voice from the other side of the door. "I bought some chawanmushi. If you want any, it'll be in the fridge."
Mariya stood with her ears gently pressed against the door, waiting for a response, but her concerns only fell on deaf ears.
"Kintarō..." she whispered this time. "You don't have to respond right now... but I heard what happened between you and Koyori."
She paused, almost as if contemplating her words. "You know you can't stay like this forever."
Mariya sighed and turned away, her slippers brushing softly against the hallway floor.
As she passed the living room, her eyes drifted to the coffee table, where a booklet lay opened—the one Koyori and Okamura used when she'd came over for study sessions.
She turned back, glancing out to the living room.
Mariya blinked, the weight of her youth pressing against her chest.
Twenty-four years had passed, and yet... in some small, stubborn corner of her heart, she hoped what her mother said wasn't true.
Mariya sighed, tracing a finger along the rim of her coffee cup, lost in the quiet ache of time.
"I know what you're going through, Kintarō."
---
«Μια αλλαγή οπτικής γωνίας δεν αλλάζει τίποτα».
---
March 20, 2017. Twelve fifty-seven. The end of another school day.
A petite-looking girl made her way off campus. Though she walked alone, it was by choice—her choice to be alone. Even so, a dark, unseen presence seemed to trail behind her with every step.
As she passed through the school gates, heading down the quiet sidewalk, she allowed herself a brief moment to revel in the solace the afternoon offered.
"Ai, why do you always walk alone?" someone called out, creeping up behind her. "Shouldn't you be enjoying your last year of junior high like everyone else?"
Masahiro Ai had never been the social type. In fact, she had few friends—if any at all. But Ashikaga Lilac was different.
"I'd rather be alone, Lilac-chan," Ai replied without sparing her a second glance.
"Come on, Ai, you're being way too uptight for someone your age."
Ai simply said nothing.
"Don't block me out. You're making me feel bad."
Lilac matched Ai's pace, hands tucked behind her back as she leaned in with a teasing grin.
"You know," she continued, "people are going to think you're some tragic heroine if you keep acting like this through senior high."
Ai took a deep breath, a slight trace of annoyance crossing her face. "Let them think whatever they want."
Lilac only giggled. "Ooh, I'm so scared. You're like a little kitten, cosplaying a lion."
That finally earned a sharp glance from Ai, but Lilac just smiled wider, utterly unfazed.
"You're even cuter when get mad," Lilac said playfully.
Once again, Ai didn't respond. Instead, she gripped her sketchpad tighter against her chest. Lilac noticed this almost instantly. With a mischievous grin, she reached out and snatched it from her hands.
"What are you doing, Lilac?!" Ai yelled, lunging for the book. "Stop messing around!"
"I just want to see your sketches, that's all. No need for you to be so hostile all of a sudden."
Holding the sketchpad out of Ai's reach, Lilac flipped it open, her fingers quickly skimming through each page.
"Ooh. I didn't know you were this good at drawing, Ai," she said, sounding genuinely impressed. "You should join the Literary and Art Club."
In one swift motion, Ai grabbed the sketchpad back, clutching it tightly in her arms.
"I'd... rather not," she said hesitantly. "Besides, it's only a hobby."
Ai stayed silent after that, her hands still gripping the sketchpad tightly, but it wasn't to keep Lilac away from seeing it anymore. It was just an old habit of hers, a way of holding herself together.
"You know," Lilac said, her voice softer this time, "you don't have to keep everything to yourself. Not all the time, anyway."
The bells above the door chimed softly as they stepped inside Cafè Daisuke, announcing their presence to the quiet atmosphere of the café.
"If you ever want to show me your stuff... or talk about anything... you can. No pressure."
Ai didn't know how to respond.
Intimate conversations had always made her feel awkward and out of place. Ever since the car crash that took her mother's life when she was just a child—and her father's decision to move overseas for work shortly after—Ai had learned to keep her emotions guarded. And with her current situation, she had retreated even further behind the mask she wore.
This time, her chest tightened with something unfamiliar, but she said nothing.
They approached the counter. Lilac spoke first.
"Tempura for her, donburi for me."
Ai paid for her order, then made her way further into the cafe. It was modest—sunlight filtered through the large windows, warming the pale wooden floors. A few other students, including students from their year group, sat scattered throughout the cafe.
Lilac nudged her gently. "That corner seat okay?"
Ai slid into her seat and tucked her sketchpad safely at her side. Her short, pale pink hair caught the warm glow of the overhead chochin lantern.
Lilac slid into the seat across from her. Ai didn't look at her.
"You okay, Ai?"
"Yeah. I'm fine."
"Great," Lilac said with a smile, stretching as she rummaged through her bag. "I gotta use the ladies' room. I'll be back soon, okay?"
Ai gave a small nod, watching her friend walk away before turning her gaze back to the table. For a moment, she simply sat there, listening.
The café buzzed with quiet life—the low hum of conversations, the occasional clink of chopsticks against ceramic, the muted sound of the kitchen bell ringing as fresh orders were placed on the counter. Even so, with all the noise, Ai felt like she was disconnected from the world around her.
She glanced down at the sketchpad resting in her arms.
Her fingers hovered over the edge before finally flipping it open.
Page by page, she turned through her own drawings—lines and shadows she didn't even remember making half of the time. But there she was, again and again.
The same woman.
Hourglass figure. Long, flowing blonde hair that brushed past her shoulders. Eyes that were sharp yet empty, other times soft and envious. Ai had drawn her dozens of times, maybe more. Always from memory. Always from the dreams.
The dreams that started the moment she was brought to this world, two years ago.
「あなたがコントロールできない未来.」