Chapter 16: Home Sweet Home

Back in middle school, every week after voice practice, Alan would buy her a cup as a reward.

“I really shouldn’t,” she’d protest. “I’ll gain weight.”

Alan would push the cup into her hands anyway, fixing her with that serious expression.

“Hojo, you have no idea how charming you are.”

“What if I do get fat?” she’d ask. “Will you stop liking me?”

“Not a chance. One cup of milk tea won’t change you. And even if it did, I wouldn’t stop loving you.”

“Then… will you stay with me forever?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

***

The past rolled in like a relentless tide, carrying with it memories she had tried, unsuccessfully, to seal away.

His voice seemed to whisper right beside her ear, close enough that she almost felt the warmth of his breath.

Hojo’s nose stung sharply, and before she could stop herself, tears welled up and spilled over.

The evening sky blurred in her vision, the deep crimson of sunset breaking apart into countless shards of color, like stained glass floating on the surface of dark water.

Stories always began this way. Filled with promises that felt eternal in the moment they were made.

Yet their endings so rarely lived up to that gentleness.

That couldn’t be allowed.

Hojo bit down on her lip, hard enough to hurt. She inhaled sharply, drawing the cool air deep into her lungs, then wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

Her fingers curled into fists, nails biting into her palms until the sting forced her back into the present.

When she lifted her head again, the wavering softness in her eyes had vanished. In its place burned a quiet, stubborn resolve.

She thought back to the conversation she had just had with Nino Kitagawa, replaying every word, every pause, every subtle shift in expression.

Seen through this new lens, everything made a cruel, almost mocking kind of sense.

There had never been some dramatic fight between Nino and Alan. No explosive argument. On the day Nino won the kendo championship, at the peak of her triumph, Alan had simply ended things.

With excuses so flimsy they wouldn’t survive even the lightest scrutiny.

And Nino, it seemed, had refused to cling or beg. Otherwise, Hojo would have heard about it back when Alan first began courting her. There would have been rumors, whispers, something, anything. But there had been nothing.

What unsettled Hojo the most was how closely Nino’s attitude toward Alan mirrored her own.

“I never agreed to break up, so how can you call it over?”

“As long as I refuse to let go, we’re not finished.”

“So what if you and Alan were dating? You broke up, didn’t you?”

“I’m going to stay by his side for the rest of my life.”

When Nino had spoken those words, her usually blank, unreadable face had softened. For just a moment, she had looked almost fragile, a dreamy smile curving her lips as if she were gazing at a future only she could see.

It was only then that Hojo truly understood.

She had had a rival all along.

And compared to Nino, perhaps she herself was the one who had arrived late, stepping into a story that had already begun long before she ever realized it existed.

The realization was bitter, frustrating enough to make her chest ache. Still, that exchange had clarified several things she hadn’t wanted to admit before.

Nino hadn’t been a kendo prodigy from the start. Her brilliance had come later, after she began dating Alan. Before that, she had been skilled, yes, but not exceptional.

Hojo’s own story ran almost perfectly parallel.

She had always loved music. Ever since she was a child, she had dreamed of standing beneath bright lights, singing into a microphone, her voice reaching people she would never meet.

But there was no denying it, much of her current success had been built on Alan’s guidance.

It was Alan who had gently nudged her toward competitions instead of small local performances.

Alan who had helped her refine her style, tempering raw emotion with technique.

Alan who had prepared songs for her early contests long in advance, quietly laying the foundation for her rise.

Those early performances had propelled her forward, one after another, until her name began to carry weight.

Now that Alan had broken up with her—and taken a new girlfriend—Hojo couldn’t help but wonder.

Had everything been part of some larger plan?

Her eyes clouded with doubt. For a brief, terrifying moment, she wondered if Alan had ever truly loved her at all.

The thought flickered… and died just as quickly.

Impossible.

Their shared memories couldn’t have been fabricated. No machine could replicate the warmth in his eyes back then, the way his voice softened when he spoke her name.

If Alan were truly heartless, he wouldn’t have fled like a coward, leaving behind only a letter. He would have cut things off cleanly, without hesitation.

And when she had gone to Tokyo to see him, the guilt in his eyes had been unmistakable.

Honestly… still hung up on his ex even after breaking up with me. He clearly still loves me.

The realization settled into her chest like a quiet victory. Hojo’s lips curved upward, just slightly, in restrained triumph.

Yet the relief didn’t last.

If he still loved her, then why had he done it?

What, exactly, was Alan trying to achieve?

***

How on earth am I going to persuade Sis?

In her room, Akari Honne sat hunched over her desk, scowling so deeply her brows nearly met.

Her slim, pale legs swung back and forth beneath the chair in restless arcs.

She chewed the end of her pen, teeth grinding against plastic, while her free hand clutched at her hair as if she could squeeze a brilliant idea straight out of her head.

Nothing came.

Her older sister wasn’t stupid. Even if Sis lost to her in written exams, she had an annoyingly sharp emotional radar.

If Honne’s true goal was to visit Alan in Tokyo, Sis would sniff it out within seconds.

With a frustrated groan, Honne tossed the pen aside, folded her arms across her chest, and clicked her tongue.

If only Sis were still dating Alan…

Then she wouldn’t have to scheme at all. She could see him whenever she wanted, no questions asked.

Honestly, Sis is useless. If it were me, I’d never let Alan go.

What’s the point of having such a big chest if you can’t even keep a man?

Total waste.

Honne ground her teeth, leaned back, and stared up at the ceiling as if it personally offended her. Her chair spun slowly beneath her, creaking in protest.

Fine.

Time to play the sincerity card.

The success rate might be low, but they were sisters, after all. She could cry if she had to. Tears were a powerful weapon when properly deployed.

The simplest plan was probably the best.

Honne took a deep breath and straightened, forcing resolve into her spine. She rehearsed her speech in her head, running through the scene again and again until she almost convinced herself.

Once she’d managed to stir genuine emotion—even within her own heart—she marched out of the room with the determination of a soldier heading into battle.

She padded through the house in slippers, checking the bedroom, the living room, even the bathroom. No sign of her sister.

Out on a date? Still not home?

I’m definitely telling on you to Alan.

Honne frowned at the clatter coming from the kitchen and hurried over.

“Mom, is Sis still out? Is she staying over somewhere tonight?”

Mrs. Akari, an apron tied neatly around her waist, glanced sideways at her. “She should be back soon. Why the sudden concern? What’s up?”

She gestured toward a pot of fish soup simmering on the stove. “Honne, carry this to the table. Carefully. Don’t spill it.”

“Okay.”

Honne lifted the pot gingerly, but something in her mother’s tone nagged at her. “I always care! We’re sisters.”

Mrs. Akari paused, rolling her eyes. “You care, huh? When your sister was crying her eyes out after the breakup, you were grinning wider than anyone.”

Heat rushed to Honne’s cheeks. “I… I wanted to cheer her up! Happiness is contagious, you know. Don’t make me sound so awful, Mom!”

“I’m the one who’s devastated here!” Honne protested. “My sister got dumped, and I’m more upset than anyone, okay?”

Mrs. Akari gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Oh my. That must be why you’ve brought it up seven or eight times in front of your sister today?”

“Forget it. You never understand anything.”

If this kept up, she’d be stripped bare emotionally. Honne couldn’t explain the burning shame twisting in her chest. She grabbed the fish soup, ready to bolt.

But Mrs. Akari seized her arm, her expression suddenly serious. “Listen. Your sister’s been struggling alone in Tokyo. She’s finally home. Don’t you dare make her unhappy.”

Honne rolled her eyes. “She seems pretty cheerful these past two days.”

And wasn’t she? Ever since seeing Alan, she’d been glowing. Keeping all the good stuff to herself, as usual. Going off to Tokyo without even thinking to take her little sister along.

“That’s exactly why you shouldn’t provoke her now that she’s finally feeling better.”

Mrs. Akari’s heart ached for her daughter’s breakup, but seeing Hojo looking healthier these past days had eased her worries as well.

“Who’s provoking anyone?” Honne shot back. “I’m sad about the breakup too! You think I’d begrudge her happiness?”

She spun around with the soup.

Clack!

The pot tilted. Hot liquid splattered across the floor.

Mrs. Akari looked down, horrified. “My God, Honne! I told you to be careful. Clean that up when you come back!”

“Did you hear me?”

But this time, Honne didn’t answer.

She stood frozen.

Hojo stood before her, calm and composed, the very picture of Yamato Nadeshiko grace. She smiled gently, as if nothing were amiss.

“Honne,” she said softly, “so my breakup made you this upset?”