In that beautiful dining when a voice raised "But... you're both women," Taksi stammered, his voice laced with a confusion that bordered on disbelief.
Akira turned her gaze toward him, her eyes sharp and unapologetic. "And so? Is there a problem with that? Is it written in some sacred book that a woman's heart is reserved only for a man? Show me where it says she cannot love another woman."
Taksi shifted uncomfortably. "No, but... it's just so different."
Akira didn't back down. She reached for a wine glass, holding it up like a specimen. "Think of this glass as a woman, and this bottle as a man." She picked up a full bottle, hovering it over the rim. "The wine represents a man's love, his ego, and his raw emotions. He pours it into the glass—into the woman—whenever he pleases, simply because they are 'married' or 'together.' But a glass has a limit. When a man's love turns into domestic violence, frustration, or a shallow display of affection, the glass overflows. It shatters under the pressure of his expectations."
She set the bottle down and picked up a second, identical wine glass. "Now, look at this. Two glasses. Two women. They understand the weight of each other's emotions because they carry the same burdens. They know the 'when,' the 'what,' and the 'why' of a woman's soul." She began to pour the wine from the full glass into the empty one until the levels were perfectly equal. "Here, there is balance. There is understanding. There is peace. Now tell me, Taksi—which relationship is truly right?"
Taksi hesitated. "According to your metaphor, the two glasses are stable, but—"
"Men like you and Yamato are rare," Akira interrupted, her voice softening but remaining firm. "Not every woman is blessed with a man who respects her. To most of the world, a woman is a toy for satisfaction, a target for lust, or a vessel for frustration. For every fifty men who hunt women like prey, there are fifty who protect them—only because they were raised by a mother who taught them the value of a woman's soul. But if a woman finds that true, safe love in another woman... how can that be wrong?"
Her grip on the wine glass tightened, her knuckles turning white. "I have no room for men in my life, except for you, Yamato, my father, and my brother. The rest..."
A sharp crack echoed through the quiet dining area. The glass in Akira's hand shattered, the shards biting into her palm. The group gasped in unison, the atmosphere turning from a debate into a panic.
"Are you out of your mind, Akira?" Yamato shouted, leaning over the table.
Yumi rushed to her side, her face pale. "You really have no sense, do you? You're bleeding!"
But Akira wasn't listening to them. Her eyes were locked onto Naea, searching for something in those calm, dark depths. Naea stood up slowly, her movements fluid and authoritative. She walked around the table and stood before Akira, her presence commanding silence.
"Get up," Naea said, her voice a low, steady whisper. She looked at Yumi. "Is there a first-aid kit nearby?"
"I'll have to check with the hotel staff," Yumi replied, already signaling a waiter.
"Bring it to the room immediately," Naea instructed, before turning back to Akira. "Come with me."
Yumi nodded quickly. "Yamato, go to the playroom and take the kids back to their rooms. It's late. I'll handle the first aid." Taksi remained frozen, staring at the broken glass on the table in a state of total shock, while Macau watched Akira and Naea walk away.
How stupid, Macau thought to herself, watching the blood drip onto the floor. If she wanted to leave, she could have just walked out. Why break the glass? Why break yourself?
Naea led Akira through the quiet, dimly lit corridors of the hotel toward her private suite. The only sound was the soft thud of their footsteps and the occasional drip of blood onto the plush carpet. Yumi followed closely, clutching the freshly retrieved first-aid kit from the hotel staff, her face etched with a mixture of concern and frustration.
As they stepped into the room, Naea turned to Yumi. Her voice was low, almost a whisper, but it carried the weight of an undeniable command. "You should go back, Yumi. The children will be alone, and there's only so much Yamato can handle on his own. I'm here. I'll take care of her treatment."
Yumi paused, looking between the two women. She reached out, placing a hand on Naea's head in a gentle, elder-sisterly gesture—a silent acknowledgment of the storm they had just witnessed. "Take care of her," Yumi said softly. "And if there's any real trouble, let me know immediately."
Naea gave a sharp, solemn nod. With a final lingering look, Yumi turned and left, the click of the door echoing through the now-silent room.
Naea picked up the medical kit and moved toward the couch where Akira was sitting, looking exhausted and defiant all at once. Naea knelt on the floor in front of her, a familiar position that felt both clinical and deeply intimate. Without a single word, she reached out and took Akira's hand. Her touch was incredibly soft, a stark contrast to the violence with which Akira had shattered the glass just minutes before.
She began to examine the damage. Shards of glass were still embedded in Akira's palm, the jagged edges glinting under the room's soft lighting. With the steady, practiced hands of a surgeon, Naea began the delicate process. She removed the pieces one by one, cleaned the deep cuts with antiseptic, and meticulously applied the bandages.
Throughout the entire process, Naea didn't utter a single syllable. No scolding, no questions, no judgment. Her silence was heavy, filled with everything she wasn't ready to say out loud. Akira, too, remained quiet, her gaze fixed entirely on Naea. She watched the focused concentration in Naea's eyes, the way her fingers moved with such care, and for the first time that night, the fire in Akira's heart began to settle into a dull, aching warmth.
The silence in the room finally broke as Akira looked down at her bandaged hand. "I'm sorry, Naea," she whispered, her voice heavy with regret. "I didn't mean to create such a scene."
Naea paused, neatly tucking the medical supplies back into the kit. Her voice was cool, but there was an edge to it. "For this, Akira, there is no forgiveness."
"I didn't do it knowingly!" Akira countered, trying to find the words to justify the outburst. "I was just holding the glass... and Taksi's questions... my frustration just boiled over before I realized what was happening."
Naea stood up and walked toward her, her gaze piercing through Akira's defenses. "Before, I couldn't always tell when you were lying. But right now? Your lie is transparent. I know you weren't comfortable there. I know you couldn't find the words to say it, so you chose action over speech. You broke that glass just so you could be here, in this room."
Akira's head dropped, her silence a quiet admission of the truth. Naea had read her perfectly. As Naea turned to walk away, Akira instinctively reached out, her uninjured hand catching Naea's wrist. "If you already know why I did it... then please, just forgive me."
Naea turned back, and for the first time, Akira saw the shimmer of unshed tears in her eyes. "Where does this courage come from?" Naea asked, her voice trembling. "How can you be so brave that you don't even feel the bite of shattered glass? Does it not burn? Does it not hurt? How hard are you trying to be 'strong,' Akira? Tell me."
Akira stood up, closing the distance between them. "These shards, these cuts... they don't hurt nearly as much as the tears you're holding back right now."
That was the breaking point. Naea stepped forward, her fingers bunching the fabric of Akira's collar, pulling her close. "Why do you do this?" she hissed, her voice a broken whisper. "Don't you know? Don't you realize why these tears are in my eyes?"
"Because of my injury, I suppose," Akira replied softly.
Naea pulled her even closer until their foreheads were touching, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. A single tear finally escaped, trailing down Naea's cheek. "If you knew that, then why did you do it? You could have just said you didn't want to sit there anymore. You have no idea... the moment you did that stupid thing, my heart felt a pain I couldn't show anyone. You stood there trying to look strong in front of everyone, but as I walked toward you, seeing that blood... feeling those shards in your palm... I felt every bit of it. The injury was yours, but the pain was mine."
Naea was weeping openly now, the tears flowing uncontrollably. Akira reached up, her thumb gently brushing Naea's dampened cheek. "I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry. It won't happen again. Just... please stop crying."
Naea pulled back slightly, her face flushed a soft crimson, her eyes luminous in the dim light of the room. She looked at Akira with a mixture of exhaustion and deep, aching affection. Slowly, her hand slid from Akira's shoulder to the nape of her neck, her fingers tangling in her hair.
She leaned in, her lips meeting Akira's in a sudden, passionate embrace. It began with the saltiness of Naea's tears, a poignant reminder of her fear, but as the kiss deepened, the lingering taste of wine on Naea's breath sent a surge of heat through Akira. The world outside the room—the dinner, the friends, the secrets—faded into nothingness. There was only the rhythmic pull of the kiss and the desperate, honest connection they had finally allowed themselves to feel.
The lingering taste of wine on Naea's lips acted like a catalyst, igniting a sudden, desperate hunger within Akira. Shedding her usual restraint, Akira took the lead, deepening the kiss until it became something far more profound and primal than the fleeting, stolen moments they had shared before. It was a slow, deliberate heat—less a frantic explosion and more a steady, rising flame that eclipsed the passion of any other couple they knew.
Gently, Akira guided Naea back toward the couch, the movement fluid and rhythmic as they refused to break the connection. She sank into the cushions and pulled Naea onto her lap, tucking her close as the room's temperature seemed to climb with every erratic breath. Outside, the Kyoto rain continued its cold, rhythmic drumming, but inside the suite, the chill of the night was forgotten, replaced by a sweltering, intimate intensity.
Eventually, the sheer weight of the passion forced Naea to pull back, her chest heaving as she sought air. She stayed close, her eyes searching Akira's face, when something minute caught her attention. It was a detail only someone as clinically observant—and as physically near—as Naea could ever hope to see: a faint, almost invisible line near Akira's right eyebrow.
With the tender precision of a surgeon, Naea traced the mark with the tip of her finger. "When did this happen?" she murmured, her voice laced with a new kind of concern. "These stitches... they were done with incredible skill. They're nearly impossible to see."
Akira leaned forward until their foreheads rested against one another, her bandaged hand coming up to rest gently against the small of Naea's back. "Osaka," Akira confessed, her voice dropping to a nostalgic hum. "Back when I used to haunt that library just for a glimpse of you. Every day, I'd sit there, hoping you'd look my way or that we'd finally have a reason to speak. I remember the first time I saw you—I was sitting quite far from your usual spot, but then, for the first time, you started walking toward my side of the room."
"If our paths hadn't crossed that day," Akira whispered, her fingers tracing a gentle, grounding rhythm against Naea's back, "it would have been my lifetime's greatest regret. Whether I hadn't shown up at all or had been sitting in a different corner of that room... it doesn't matter. You're here now, with me. That makes that day the luckiest of my life."
Akira's gaze went distant, lost in the hazy golden light of the past. "I remember the library incharge walking toward my section and calling your name. 'Come, Naea,' they had said. That was the first time I really saw you. You looked so innocent, so ethereal... I didn't know why, but a voice inside me whispered that I had to make you my best friend. I wanted a bond that lasted forever. But then, you just walked away. I didn't understand why you left, but in that moment, I knew I had to see you again."
Naea let out a soft, breathy laugh, her forehead still resting against Akira's. "I was already in the library that day," she admitted quietly. "But someone else was in my spot. The incharge tried to seat me near you, but I wasn't comfortable. I'm a creature of habit, Akira; I needed my usual seat. I went back to the desk and insisted on it. Eventually, the student there understood and moved... and I got my sanctuary back."
Akira chuckled, the vibration rumbling through her chest. "And what about me? You had no idea that I was sitting there, desperate to just talk to you, to start that friendship I'd imagined. Luckily, a day finally came when the library was nearly empty. The row next to yours was vacant, and I moved there, practically screaming for your attention with my presence alone. But you? You were like a statue. So concentrated, so focused on your books and your studies. I couldn't break through that shell of yours from any angle."
A playful smirk tugged at Akira's lips as she recalled the turning point. "But then, opportunity knocked. A group of boys had taken the seats near you, and I saw my chance. I called out to you—not by name, because I didn't want to seem too eager—just a simple 'Hey, listen.' That was the very first time we actually spoke. Even now, that moment feels as fresh as if it happened this morning. Talking to you felt... incredible. Though," she added with a teasing glint in her eyes, "I'm sure I was just an annoyance to you then. I was the person keeping you distracted from your books."
"I had actually thought about switching seats to be in your row," Akira continued, her voice a low, melodic hum against the quiet of the room. "But no one was willing to budge. And the boys... they wouldn't stop staring at you. It drove me crazy with jealousy. But seeing you so focused, so absorbed in your world, it gave me a strange kind of motivation. I started studying just to keep up with you. I'd purposely look for doubts in my lessons—little gaps in my understanding—just so I'd have an excuse to lean over and ask you a question. Just to hear your voice."
Akira's fingers tightened slightly against Naea's back as she smiled at the memory. "We didn't learn everything about each other back then, but the fragments we did share? They were enough. Every second was special to me. Even on the days when I felt lazy, when I didn't want to step foot in that library, I went anyway. Because the thought of missing a single day of seeing you was worse than any long study session. I came for you... and maybe, just a little bit, for the books."
Naea pulled back just enough to look Akira in the eyes, a soft, knowing shimmer in her gaze. "So," she murmured, her voice like velvet, "you've been adoring me from afar since the very beginning."
"Always," Akira whispered.
Naea's expression softened, but her fingers returned to the faint mark near Akira's eyebrow, her doctor's intuition taking over once more. "You've told me everything about how we met," Naea said, her tone turning serious yet tender. "But you still haven't told me... how did you get these stitches? What happened that day?"
"It was a November morning," Akira began, her voice soft as she drifted back into the memory. "The air was crisp, and I was getting ready for the library. There was some trouble with the shower, so I called my dad. He fixed it in minutes, but my father... he's always been the funky, playful type. He had this sudden urge to prank me, a decision that would end up costing us both dearly."
She let out a small, huffing laugh. "As I turned to lock the bathroom door, he jumped out with a loud 'Bhoo!' to startle me. The floor was slick with water, and in my haste to move, my slippers lost their grip. I tumbled, my balance vanishing in an instant. My head slammed right against the sharp corner of the entry step. It was a miracle my eye was spared, but the impact was brutal. The bleeding started almost instantly... and then, the sobbing began."
Naea let out a tiny, rare giggle. "Sobbing? You?"
"Hey!" Akira protested with a mock pout. "It hurt like hell, okay? I was terrified." Naea's expression melted into something incredibly tender. She leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss directly onto the scarred eyebrow.
"I'm glad you cried," Naea whispered against her skin. "It means you were human long before you were a soldier."
"You're the only person who knows the truth about that prank," Akira admitted. "I told everyone else I just slipped. My parents were in such a panic, especially my dad. If I had told my mom it was because of his joke, she would have never let him live it down. He didn't mean any harm; he just wanted to see me smile."
Naea gazed deep into Akira's eyes, her own blurring with a sudden mist of unshed tears. "You have such a beautiful bond with him. It reminds me so much of how I was with my father."
Akira pulled Naea closer, sensing the weight of the memory. "I'm not like you, Naea. You're brilliant and wise, just like Professor Sato was. Wherever he is, I know he is incredibly proud of the woman you've become." She pressed a gentle kiss to Naea's lips, a silent promise of support. "He's watching you, Naea. Always."
Overwhelmed by the emotion, Naea stood up, clearing her throat to regain her composure. "It's late. We should get some sleep."
They moved to the bed, the tension of the night finally settling into a peaceful exhaustion. As they lay down, Akira moved to wrap her arms around Naea, craving the comfort of her touch. But Naea remained still, her eyes closed.
"Naea? Can we not... sleep while hugging?" Akira asked hopefully.
"No," Naea replied, her eyes still shut. "Your hand is injured, Akira. If I move in my sleep, I might hurt you. Just sleep peacefully for now."
Akira sighed, obeying the "doctor's orders," and within minutes, the sheer exhaustion of the day pulled her into a deep slumber. Only then did Naea open her eyes. She turned toward Akira, watching her breathe in the moonlight. She reached out, her fingers tracing the line of Akira's eyebrow with heartbreaking gentleness.
"This Akira is different," Naea whispered to the empty room. "More peaceful than Osaka, less haunted than Tokyo... a quiet, slightly aggressive Kyoto version of herself."
She leaned down, pressing a final, feather-light kiss to Akira's lips before carefully pulling her into a protective embrace, ensuring her bandaged hand remained safe and undisturbed.
"Sweet dreams, Akira," she murmured, finally letting her own eyes close as they drifted into the quiet Kyoto night together.