"If I had three days of sight, what would I want to see?"
"On the first day, I would want to see the kind and gentle people who have made my life worth living."
— Helen Keller, The Story of My Life
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A strong heart might also mean the ability to bear or express deeper emotions.
Sakayanagi Arisu received her seventh birthday gift from her father. To her surprise, it came in two parts.
"This is the one I had prepared earlier," her father said a bit sheepishly as he handed her a beautifully crafted cane. "I debated whether it would still be appropriate to give it to you now, but in the end, I decided you should have it."
Arisu understood his original intention well. If not for the miraculous event a year prior, her frail heart and weak body would still have needed such a cane.
"Of course, now it can just be a decorative piece."
Despite the regret in his voice, his tone was lighthearted. He crouched down and took a photo of Arisu holding the cane.
"The second part is something I prepared just recently."
"Ta-da!"
Sakayanagi Narimori completely abandoned any pretense of dignity, clapping like a child as he unveiled the red cloth. Underneath it was a thick bundle of seasonal passes: amusement parks, zoos, aquariums, panda-themed parks—not only throughout Tokyo, but even famous spots in faraway places like Hokkaido were included.
"You can go anywhere you like for a while. Just don't get lost, okay?"
Arisu couldn't help but laugh at his teasing tone. It had been a long time since she had heard her father use words like "run" or "jump." His careful attitude was now even more cautious than when she had been sick.
"I really like it, Papa."
Lifting her face with sincere gratitude, Arisu expressed her thanks to the father she loved most. She had never met her mother and only had her father's warm recollections to go on. He played both roles in her heart, trying to fill in the blank spaces of memory on his own.
Sick children often feel like the unluckiest people in the world—but the parents usually suffer even more. For Narimori, perhaps twice as much.
That's why Arisu often thought back to what happened a year ago. She was a girl who had long stopped believing in fairy tales. Yet, everything that followed made her feel like she had stepped into one.
Unlike Alice who chased a rabbit with curiosity and childish wonder, Arisu had simply followed a cat in a moment of quiet despair, drawn to the living creature beneath the tree.
That was the turning point in her life.
As if it were designed for children with congenital heart disease, she had received a miracle.
The process of being sick was never a gradual satisfaction—only an ever-deepening pain.
All patients wish to be healthy, but often can't voice it plainly out of concern for their loved ones. Arisu was no different.
Could she blame her father?
Blame the man who gave everything to overcome his grief over losing his wife, only to devote himself entirely to loving her?
She had once read that children her age were still in the preoperational stage and couldn't truly empathize with others. She disagreed with that.
Once a child learns what "love" means, they instinctively think of the other person. Love can be the most selfish and selfless of emotions.
Arisu had seen children her age throw tantrums. Well-mannered and well-raised, they didn't scream or cry—they simply punished themselves by refusing to speak, hoping to make their parents feel worse.
"Can I bring Hotaru with me?"
But Arisu was different. Tilting her head up, she asked naturally.
"Of course."
Narimori nodded after a pause. The white cat who had led Arisu to the USB drive in the hospital courtyard had been adopted as a good luck charm.
It wasn't a stray. Around its neck was a small tag engraved with the name "Hotaru." After confirming it was healthy, the Sakayanagi family kept the name.
Still, Arisu had never shown much affection toward the cat. So Narimori was a little surprised by her request.
"I didn't like cats before," Arisu explained. "Because I didn't want to see creatures jumping around."
"Also... I feel like I've seen Hotaru before."
"Maybe from a picture book," Narimori laughed as he scooped up the cat, who had been staring out the window.
"I swear, even after a year, she still acts like a stray."
The cat glared at him viciously after being picked up by the scruff, making him mutter:
"She really is royalty."
Arisu took Hotaru from his arms and nuzzled her face into the soft fur.
"She's warm."
Running her fingers through the smooth coat, Arisu murmured:
"I think I understand why people like cats now."
"Let's go on a trip together."
With a rare childlike grin, she lifted Hotaru's paw playfully.
"Woo-hoo!"
It was as if the world had suddenly opened up. She laughed without holding back, ran without fear, and sprinted ahead with reckless abandon—releasing all the emotions she had once kept sealed inside.
Her fragile heart had rejected anything intense. Every bit of joy and sorrow had to be diluted to fit within its limits. But now, those feelings could finally swell, ferment, and bloom.
Flying down zip lines over forests, riding giant pendulums at theme parks, screaming alongside her father—Arisu was learning to be a healthy child again.
Like Helen Keller, who once imagined three days of sight, Arisu had long fantasized about this. And now that the miracle had truly arrived, she felt a little lost.
"Papa..."
Walking hand in hand through a twilight amusement park, she asked:
"Is what I'm doing now... a kind of revenge for the childhood I missed?"
Narimori chuckled softly. Pointing to the other children laughing with balloons beside their parents, he replied:
"This is what you were supposed to have all along. It's not revenge. Maybe just a little late. But not too late."
He was thankful she had recovered by age seven. As a father and educator, he had always disliked the term "precociously mature." Giving a child a joyful childhood was a parent's duty.
He walked over to a park mascot and handed them his camera, then pulled Arisu close to find the best angle for a photo.
He wanted to capture every moment of her life.
He wanted to walk with her through all four seasons.
He wanted her smile to shine in every frame.
After reassuring Arisu, Narimori took her to the seaside.
The sea breeze blew her sunhat off. Barefoot, she ran across the golden sand to retrieve it and waved to her father from the shore.
The waves lapped at her ankles again and again.
"Did you used to come here often, Arisu? Do you like the sea?"
"I do. Especially the sound of the waves."
Running back, hat in hand, she stood beside him and added:
"I didn't think I'd ever come back."
She flexed her ankles, letting the hot sand slip through her toes. It didn't burn—it just felt warm.
"If you want to come, we can come every day. Though I might not always be free."
"If you're busy, Papa, don't worry about me."
She clasped her hands behind her back, slipping back into her little-adult tone, though this time with a hint more playfulness:
"Your daughter is a genius. And a healthy one, too."
"I never doubted that."
His phone vibrated in his pocket. He glanced at the caller ID. Over the past few days, he had ignored most calls while spending time with Arisu. But this one, he couldn't.
"Sorry, I need to take this."
"Okay."
Arisu nodded sweetly and ran back to the shore to play in the waves with the other children.
"Ayanokouji-sensei? It's me. What is it?"
"Nothing urgent. Just heard your daughter's recovered. Wanted to offer my congratulations."
Though the tone was light, Narimori immediately picked up on the subtext. A year ago, he had agreed to visit the White Room once Arisu recovered.
"Thank you for your concern, Sensei."
He kept the conversation polite while carefully avoiding the topic. Back then, he had just wanted to spark Arisu's interest. Now he wasn't so sure.
Especially with the White Room now connected to the matter of [Engagement Contracts].
"If you have time, you're welcome to visit with Arisu."
Eventually, Ayanokouji Atsuomi stated his real purpose. He needed Narimori's support.
"I remember Arisu was curious about the White Room."
Looking at her in the distance, Narimori hesitated before replying:
"The fourth generation kids were her age, right?"
"Yes. And we have one near-success case."
"Kiyotaka-kun, right?"
Though he hadn't visited in a while, Narimori was still an insider. He knew that Kiyotaka had been the White Room's most outstanding student—and Ayanokouji's own son.
"There are a few other promising results too. The fifth generation's overall level is quite high. You'd be amazed."
Atsuomi's enthusiasm was obvious. Narimori agreed and casually raised a condition:
"Alright. In that case, I'd like a close look at both the fourth and fifth generations."
"Of course. Many are already elite prospects."
After hanging up, Narimori exhaled.
"Arisu."
He called her back and asked carefully:
"Do you remember what I told you about that facility for artificial geniuses?"
"Yes! I've always been curious. Is it really that amazing? Have they created geniuses?"
"Their goal is to turn every child they educate into a genius. But right now, it's still experimental. According to the official pitch, it's a project for the next 50 or 100 years. The kids inside aren't raised for their own potential, but to shape the future of others. Whether they succeed or fail, they're just data samples."
"I know what kind of person Sensei is. Those kids are basically imprisoned, used to extract data."
Narimori's profile twisted with subtle pain. He had once given Ayanokouji a suggestion in good faith. But what resulted was even more extreme psychological control.
"Papa, do you hate that place?"
Arisu asked gently.
"Honestly, I can't say I support it. If the children who grow up there truly become superior to everyone else; if the things in that facility become taken for granted—I think that would only be the beginning of misfortune."
He sighed.
"Don't worry. I'll destroy that plan for you."
Arisu declared confidently. Her recovery had removed her final physical disadvantage.
"I'll be counting on you, Arisu."
Narimori smiled with relief, taking it as a child's comforting words.
But in truth, he was visiting the White Room to find a child he wasn't even sure still existed.
The White Room held children whose hearts were already broken.
Just thinking of that made Narimori squeeze his daughter's tiny hand a little tighter.
If only he could save them...
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