The atmosphere at the dinner table was suffocating, thick with a silence that no one dared to break. The only sound was the rhythmic clink of silver against porcelain as the family ate in a state of cold, detached ritual. Dr. Naea sat among them like a ghost at her own feast; she forced herself to swallow a few meager bites, each one feeling like lead. Her appetite had long since vanished, yet she performed the mechanical act of eating simply because she had to, her mind clearly drifting miles away from the opulence of the dining room.
Once the joyless meal concluded, Kenji rose to assist his grandmother. With a tenderness he reserved only for her, he guided the elderly woman back to her quarters. He helped her settle into the crisp linens of her bed, his movements precise and practiced as he handed her the nightly regimen of medicine.
As the quiet of the room settled, Kenji looked down at her, his voice tinged with a familiar bitterness. "So... your daughter-in-law and son didn't bother to show up again today, did they?"
Grandma sighed, her eyes reflecting a weary sort of grace. "They were trying to come, Kenji, but they missed their flight."
A sharp, scoffing laugh escaped Kenji's lips. "Is that the best excuse they could come up with this time?"
"Kenji , you shouldn't speak about them like that," she chided gently, her voice a soft command.
Kenji immediately fell silent, the defiance draining out of him. He couldn't argue with her—not with the woman who had actually raised him. His parents had effectively abandoned him years ago, leaving him in his grandmother's care while they pursued a life that didn't include him. Because of that abandonment, a deep-seated resentment lived in his chest, making the very idea of them distasteful. Suppressing his anger for her sake, he leaned down and whispered a soft "Good night," before retreating to the isolation of his own room.
Driven by a sudden wave of concern, Kenji stepped out into the hallway. He wanted to ensure Naea was settling comfortably into the guest suite he had meticulously prepared for her, but when he pushed the door open, the room was cold and empty. Panic flared in his chest; he checked the balcony and the corridors, finding no sign of her. Just as he reached for his phone, convinced she had fled the house in the middle of the night, a small tug at his sleeve stopped him.
Standing there was Shuzo, his five-year-old nephew,
looking up with a sleepy but determined expression. "Uncle ken , come inside. Mumma is calling you," the boy whispered. Kenji, his mind still racing, barely heard him until Shuzo added, "Come on, the doctor auntie is calling for you too."
Relief washed over Kenji like a wave. He followed the young boy into Yumi's room, where the atmosphere was soft and hushed. There, tucked away on the edge of the large bed, Naea had finally succumbed to her bone-deep exhaustion. She was fast asleep, her features relaxed for the first time all day. Yumi looked up from where she sat with the children, her voice a barely audible breath. "Naea was completely spent, Kenji. She fell asleep before she could even say a word. It's better if she stays here tonight."
Yumi gestured to her children. "You should take Shuzo with you to sleep in your room. I'll stay here with Naea and little Sui."
Kenji glanced at four-year-old Sui, who was curled up near her mother, then back at his sister-in-law. "Are you sure? If it's too crowded, I can take Sui to her own room so you all can actually rest."
Yumi shook her head gently, her maternal gaze fixed on her daughter. "No, the children don't want to sleep alone tonight. That's why I'm asking you to look after Shuzo." Accepting the arrangement, Kenji reached out for Shuzo's hand. The boy followed his uncle, and Kenji led him toward his room, casting one last lingering, protective look at Naea's peaceful face before quietly closing the door.
The clock struck 2:00 AM, the deep stillness of the night broken only by Naea's sudden, gasping breath. She jolted awake, her heart hammering against her ribs, the haunting image of Akira—standing amidst the blood and shadows of the curse scene—still seared into her retinas. Trembling, she reached for the water jug on the nightstand, the cool liquid barely calming the rising panic in her throat. Beside her, Yumi and little Sui were lost in a peaceful, rhythmic slumber, oblivious to the storm raging inside her. Unable to bear the suffocating walls of the room, Naea slipped out of bed, her footsteps ghosting across the floor as she sought the sanctuary of the night air.
She found herself in the traditional engawa—the wooden veranda that wrapped around the back of the grand Japanese estate. The garden was bathed in a surreal, silvery glow from the full moon, the air crisp and fragrant. As she sat there, eyes closed against the moonlight, the floodgates of memory swung open, dragging her back to that fateful night after the crime scene.
She remembered stepping into her apartment, weary and stained with the day's horrors. While she was in the bathroom washing the grime from her face, her phone had chirped on the couch. Kenji, ever-present and overstepping, had answered it after the second ring.
"Hello, Auntie," Kenji had greeted Naea's mother, his voice tight.
"Kenji? Where is Naea?" her mother had asked.
"She's in the washroom. Auntie... things aren't good here. Minato is gone. He was shot."
The silence on the other end was heavy before her mother's sharp voice returned. "Shot? By whom?"
"By the Prosecutor, Akira Mizutsuki," Kenji spat, his voice rising with a volatile mix of grief and malice. When Naea's mother dared to suggest that Minato's own criminal dealings had led to his end, Kenji had lost his composure. "You're defending her? Akira is a murderer, and your daughter is in love with a murderer! I've seen it, I've felt it—Akira is obsessed with her, and Naea... she won't say it, but I know."
Naea had emerged from the bathroom just as those venomous words left his lips. She snatched the phone, her face a mask of cold fury, and retreated to her bedroom.
"Naea," her mother's voice had been like ice through the speaker. "I don't need to ask if what he said is true. If you have any feelings for this woman, end them now. Think of the Sato name. Think of our reputation. It sickens me to even hear this."
Naea's response had been hollow, performed with the duty of a soldier. "I am a Sato. I know I've made a mistake, and I will fix it. I promise you, I will do nothing to bring shame to this family."
"I trust my own blood," her mother replied, though the warmth was gone. "The funeral is tomorrow. After that, come home to Osaka for a few days. We all miss you."
When the call ended, Naea had marched into the kitchen where Kenji was brewing coffee, the domesticity of the act mocking her. "Who gave you the right to touch my phone?" she demanded.
"It rang twice, Naea! I didn't want your mother to worry," Kenji countered, trying to play the protector. "She deserves to know the truth."
"You had no right!" she hissed, her frustration boiling over.
"I'm sorry, Naea. Truly. What can I do to make it right?" Kenji had reached for her, his touch a boundary he shouldn't have crossed.
"Stay away from me," she had warned, her voice trembling with a rage she couldn't quite contain. "The guest room is clean. Stay there."
That was the exact moment Akira had rung the doorbell—the moment the world began to fracture.
Back in the present, sitting in the moonlit garden, Naea opened her eyes. They were blurred with tears she hadn't realized were falling. She pulled her knees to her chest and lowered her head, a soft, broken sob escaping her. The weight of the bitter, cruel words she had hurled at Akira now felt like shards of glass in her own heart. The regret was a physical ache, a silent confession to the moon that she had broken the person she was most desperate to protect.
The silence of the moonlit garden was gently punctured by a soft voice from behind. "Naea?"
Startled, Naea didn't turn immediately. She reached up with a frantic hand, scrubbing the dampness from her cheeks and smoothing her expression into a mask of professional calm before finally looking back. It was Yumi, standing in the shadow of the doorway. Naea began to stand, her movements stiff with the instinct to hide her vulnerability, but Yumi raised a gentle hand.
"Stay seated," Yumi whispered, her voice like velvet in the night air. She walked over and sank onto the wooden floorboards beside Naea.
"Did a bad dream wake you as well?" Naea asked, her voice hovering just above a breath.
Yumi shook her head slowly. "No, it was a simple thirst that woke me. But when I reached for my water and saw the bed empty, I grew worried. I checked the washroom, then the halls... and then I had a feeling I would find you here."
Naea looked out at the silver-tipped leaves of the garden. "Why here, of all places?"
"Because," Yumi said, her gaze fixed on the horizon, "whenever that monster used to beat me and fall into his drunken sleep, the air inside the house became too heavy to breathe. I used to come to this exact spot just to find my lungs again. I recognize that look, Naea. You aren't bleeding on the outside, but I can tell you are in pain mentally. If you want to share that weight, I am here to listen."
Naea felt a lump form in her throat, but she swallowed it down, forced a confident smile onto her lips, and lied with practiced grace. "It's truly nothing like that, Yumi. It was just a lingering shadow of a nightmare. We should head back inside; if Sui wakes up and finds you gone, her crying will wake the whole house."
Yumi studied her for a long moment, seeing through the lie but respecting the boundary. She stood up and extended a hand toward Naea. "You are a very good person, Naea," she said softly, her eyes full of a sisterly warmth as she helped her up.
They retreated into the house and settled back into the warmth of the blankets. Within ten minutes, Yumi's breathing became deep and even as she drifted back into sleep. But on the other side of the bed, Naea lay staring at the ceiling, the pull of sleep feeling like a distant, unreachable shore.
Naea squeezed her eyes shut, but the darkness behind her lids offered no sanctuary; instead, it became a canvas for flickering memories of the moments she had shared with Akira. Frustrated by the persistent ache of those flashbacks, she reached for her phone, the sharp glow of the screen cutting through the dim room. She opened her gallery, seeking refuge in the familiar faces of her past—the countless photos of her family.
As she scrolled, she saw them all: her mother, her father, and her four sisters. The images were a testament to a life built on duty and tradition. Her thumb paused on a series of photographs from her eldest sister Iyuzi's wedding. There they were, a portrait of absolute perfection—her parents standing tall with pride, and the three younger sisters gathered around the radiant bride. They looked like the ideal family, untouchable and flawlessly composed.
A phantom weight settled on Naea's chest as she traced the image of her sisters' smiling faces. "I miss you all so much today," she whispered into the hollow silence of the room, her voice cracking with a vulnerability she only allowed herself in the dead of night.
She continued to wander through the digital archives of her life, drifting through birthdays, holidays, and quiet afternoons spent in Osaka. The rhythmic motion of scrolling and the soft light of the memories eventually began to act as a lullaby, easing the tension in her soul. The sharp edges of her regret finally softened into exhaustion. With a heavy sigh, she set the phone aside on the nightstand, her grip loosening as she finally succumbed to a deep, dreamless sleep.