Part 7 — The Child Who Couldn't Let Go
Then the figure spoke again, voice lower.
"Haruto… I'm sorry."
Haruto turned sharply. "For what?"
"All those sicknesses," the figure said. "Your changes at such a young age. That wasn't you. That was me."
Haruto froze.
"I wanted to stay with Mom and Dad," the figure continued. "At least one either mom or dad. And when you chose to train with Big Brother that day… I got angry."
Haruto's eyes widened.
"Every time you went somewhere without Mom and Dad," the figure said, "I took one strand of your blue hair… and left my red behind. It was childish. It was wrong. But I was scared of losing them."
The words hit Haruto harder than anything that night.
"…I'm sorry," the figure said again.
Haruto's shoulders shook. Slowly, he nodded.
"…It's okay," he whispered. "We were just kids."
The figure smiled faintly.
"That's why I trust you now."
The exhaustion finally caught up to Haruto. His legs gave out, and he slumped forward.
Before he could fall, the figure caught him.
Haruto's eyes closed.
The other Haruto lifted him gently onto his back, standing tall despite his own injuries.
"I'll carry you this time," he said quietly. "You've carried both of us together for long enough."
And with slow, steady steps, the figure began walking—away from the water, away from the night—carrying Haruto toward home.
The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
Ayame woke up thirsty.
Her leg still ached, but she pushed herself up anyway, careful not to wake Kaito. She padded downstairs slowly, the lights dim, the house half-asleep. The kitchen tap clicked softly as she poured herself a glass of water.
That's when she noticed Akari.
She was sitting on the sofa, arms folded, eyes fixed on the dark ceiling like she was counting breaths instead of seconds.
Ayame walked over and sat beside her, the glass held in both hands.
"…Did Haruto come back?" she asked quietly.
Akari didn't look at her.
"No," she said. "Not yet."
Ayame nodded, took a small sip.
"Renjiro and Raizen went out to look for him," Akari added gently. "You should sleep. I'll wake you if he comes."
Ayame hesitated. Then, softly, almost like she didn't want the words to exist—
"He always comes back late when he's hurting."
Akari finally turned to her.
Ayame gave a small smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Tell him… tomorrow I'll sit with him properly. Even if it hurts."
She stood, careful again, and headed back upstairs.
The sound of the door sliding shut echoed faintly.
Minutes later, the front door opened.
Renjiro and Raizen stepped in, jackets heavy, faces darker than when they left.
Akari straightened immediately.
"Did you find him?"
Renjiro shook his head.
"No trace. No scent. Nothing."
Raizen leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
"He knows how to disappear," he said quietly. "Too well for a kid."
They all sat on the sofa—three figures waiting in the same silence.