She looked at Takashi, her eyes shining with tears she was fighting to hold back. Professional. But barely.

  Behind her, the nurse stood in silence, Sota’s clothes folded in her arms.

  Kenta didn’t know where to look.

  So he stepped forward and took the clothes from the nurse.

  Something caught the light.

  The necklace.

  Takashi’s breath faltered.

  Sota had never taken it off.

  And now it lay there cold, separated from him, tangled in blood-soaked fabric.

  For the first time, the thought became real.

  He could lose him.

  “Go home, Mr. Mori,” Dr. Akiyama said quietly.

  “I’ll stay with him tonight. If anything changes, I’ll call you.”

  “I’m not leaving,” Takashi said.

  “There’s nothing you can do right now,” she replied softly.

  “Please.”

  She looked at Kenta.

  “Take him home.”

  “Give me the clothes,” Takashi said quietly.

  Kenta let go without protest.

  Takashi unfolded the fabric just enough to reach the necklace.

  He didn’t look at the blood.

  He slipped the chain into his pocket, his fingers shaking as the cold metal brushed his skin.

  Behind those doors, Sota was fighting for his life.

  Alone.

  Takashi lowered his head.

  People passed through the hallway, slowing down when they saw him.

  Blood on his sleeves.

  Rain still clinging to his hair.

  Eyes that didn’t seem to focus on anything.

  They stepped around him carefully.

  He felt it.

  The distance.

  The way no one wanted to meet his gaze.

  Dr. Akiyama was right.

  He couldn’t stay here like this.

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  “Let’s go,” Takashi finally said.

  Kenta reacted instantly.

  He couldn’t stand looking at him like this, hollow, barely holding himself together.

  Takashi turned one last time toward the closed doors of the operating room.

  Dr. Akiyama was still standing there.

  Her eyes were shining with tears she refused to let fall.

  He had promised her nothing would happen.

  Those words echoed in his mind now, cruel and empty.

  He had always known this could happen the moment he chose this war.

  But knowing it was possible… and standing here like this… were not the same thing.

  Outside, the world was unchanged.

  It was almost morning.

  Cold. Clouded. Heavy.

  As if the night hadn’t just tried to take everything from him.

  Kenta opened the car door.

  Takashi sat down slowly, still clutching Sota’s clothes.

  “My car is parked near the restaurant,” he said, his voice distant.

  “I’ll take care of it later,” Kenta replied, starting the engine.

  “No.”

  The word came out firm but empty.

  “Take me there. I’ll handle it.”

  “Are you sure?” Kenta asked, glancing at him.

  “Yes. I’m sure. Just take me there,” Takashi replied.

  Calm.

  Too calm.

  Kenta’s grip tightened slightly on the steering wheel. He knew that voice. Once Takashi closed himself off like that, nothing could reach him.

  “I’ll drive behind you,” Kenta said. Casual. As if it didn’t matter.

  “No need. I can drive.”

  Takashi finally looked at him.

  His eyes were steady. Empty.

  “I’ll be all right.”

  It wasn’t reassurance.

  It was dismissal.

  As they arrived, Takashi stepped out of the car.

  With one hand he searched for his keys.

  With the other, he held Sota’s clothes.

  He found the keys at last.

  Unlocked the car.

  Placed the folded fabric carefully on the passenger seat as if it were fragile.

  Then his eyes drifted to the alley.

  The place where everything had happened.

  The asphalt was still dark from the rain.

  Kenta stepped closer and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

  “They’re already looking for them,” he said quietly. “I memorized their faces. Their names. I won’t forget.”

  Takashi didn’t answer.

  For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the alley.

  Then he lifted his hand and tapped Kenta’s once.

  “Make sure they regret it.”

  The words were calm.

  But the anger underneath them wasn’t.

  He got into his car.

  “Call me when you get home,” Kenta added.

  Takashi nodded once.

  “I will.”

  The door closed.

  Kenta stood there long after the car disappeared down the road.

  He wasn’t sure it was wise to let Takashi go alone like this.

  But he couldn’t stop him.

  And he couldn’t force him to speak.

  Maybe he needed to be alone.

  Maybe this was the only way he knew how to survive it.

  Kenta exhaled slowly.

  It would have been easier if Takashi had shouted.

  If he had broken something.

  If he had blamed someone.

  Anything but this.

  This silence.

  This silence was worse.

  Kenta remained where he was for a moment longer, staring at the empty street.

  Then he turned and walked back to his car.

  Instead of going home, Takashi drove in the opposite direction.

  He parked near the cemetery.

  He was still wearing the same clothes stained with blood, wrinkled, stiff from dried rain. He didn’t care.

  The paths were quiet.

  Gravel crunched beneath his steps as he walked toward the familiar stone.

  He stopped.

  Bowed.

  Then slowly knelt in front of it.

  He cleaned a small patch of the stone with his sleeve before lighting the incense.

  A thin line of smoke rose into the cold morning air, trembling in the wind.

  For a long moment, he said nothing.

  He just stared at the carved names.

  “Mom…” he whispered.

  His voice was barely there.

  “I’m sorry for coming to see you like this.”

  His eyes dropped to the dark stains on his sleeves.

  “I didn’t know where else to go.”

  “Dad…”

  He bowed again. Deeper this time.

  “I’m sorry.”

  The words barely made it past his throat.

  “I was supposed to bring Sota here today.”

  His breath trembled.

  “I wanted you to see him.”

  A pause.

  “But instead…”

  His hand tightened against the cold stone.

  “I came here covered in his blood.”

  The silence that followed felt heavier than the sky above him.

  The smoke from the incense drifted between him and the stone, thinning the world around him.

  “They say I’m just like you…” he said, his voice rough.

  “They’re wrong.”

  His jaw tightened.

  “You would never have done this.”

  A breath.

  “You wouldn’t have… dragged someone else into it.”

  His fingers pressed harder against the stone.

  “You wouldn’t have let him bleed for you.”

  “But… hey,” he whispered.

  He wiped his face, only then realizing his cheek was wet.

  “I almost beat them. I almost finished what you started.”

  His breath shook.

  “But now… I don’t know what to do anymore.”

  A pause.

  “Is it worth it?”

  His voice dropped to almost nothing.

  “Can you help me fight this?”

  The wind moved through the trees above him. Dry branches brushing against one another.

  He was shivering.

  He didn’t know if it was from the cold.

  Or from the weight pressing against his chest.

  The tears fell without sound.

  He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the cold stone.

  “This goddamn place… the power, the money, the rules…”

  His fingers curled against the base of the gravestone.

  “To hell with all of it, Hiroto.”

  His voice broke.

  “He had nothing to do with this.”

  A breath.

  “And I let him bleed for me.”

  “Help me stop hating myself for what I’ve done.”

  His voice barely carried.

  He slowly lowered himself onto the ground in front of the grave, no longer caring about the cold stone beneath him.

  He wiped his face again.

  The tears kept coming.

  Then the first drop hit his shoulder.

  Another.

  Within seconds, the rain fell steadily, soaking through the thin fabric of his shirt, darkening the blood that had already dried there.

  It clung to his skin.

  Ran down his face.

  Mixed with the salt of his tears.

  Takashi lifted his head and let it fall over him.

  He didn’t move.

  He didn’t shield himself.

  He didn’t try to stand.

  He just stayed there.