How many days had passed?
Days turned into weeks—weeks into something heavier, harder to measure. At some point, Shiharu had stopped counting. The numbers had begun to blur, melting into a single, endless stretch of waiting.
December came and went, and with it, everything changed.
The Hotaru family left behind the snow-covered silence of Hokkaido. The winter there had grown too harsh, too unforgiving. South called to them instead—warmer, quieter. A new beginning.
Mr. Hotaru had been offered a position too significant to refuse: a private live-in physician for a distinguished household in a secluded coastal town known as Hakua-no-Sato. Wealthy. Peaceful. Far removed from the noise of the city.
Yurina had already gone ahead months before.
After the incident with Mei—the humiliation, the quiet fury—her father had intervened. Mei was expelled without question. But the damage lingered. Tokyo no longer felt like home. It felt loud. Suffocating.
So Yurina left.
Her maternal aunt, the only person she could tolerate for long, welcomed her into Hakua-no-Sato. There, Yurina transferred to Seiran Academy of Arts—an elite institution known for both academic excellence and its prestigious arts programs. Ballet, in particular, flourished there.
She had been attending since mid-autumn.
The one who brought the rest of the Hotaru family south was that same aunt—Lady Kaede Hotori. Young, wealthy, and quietly fragile, she held a deep appreciation for traditional medicine. Her offer to Mr. Hotaru was generous—almost excessive. Not just a position, but a home.
A place within her estate.
And so, in early January, the family moved.
By then, Shiharu was no longer an outsider looking in. The legal process had been completed. Papers signed. Names changed.
He was no longer just Shiharu.
He was Shiharu Hotaru.
A son. A member of the family.
With that, his enrollment at Seiran Academy of Arts followed naturally. It was the best school in the area, after all.
And so, they began attending the same school.
Living on the same estate.
Breathing the same quiet air.
Yet somehow—
They hadn't noticed each other.
The estate itself was vast. Traditional and elegant, with multiple buildings connected by winding paths and open courtyards. The main residence housed Yurina and Lady Kaede. Nearby stood the guest annex—a beautiful villa where Shiharu and the others stayed. Not far from that, a smaller residence had been built specifically for Mr. Hotaru's work as a healer.
Everything was tied together by nature—lush gardens, still courtyards, and long walkways draped in hanging wisteria.
It was a shared world.
But they lived in separate corners of it.
Shiharu barely stepped outside.
With Hoshiyuki gone, something inside him had gone quiet too. The thought of new people, new bonds—it all felt meaningless. So he stayed in his room, day after day, burying himself in books or sleep, as if either could make time pass faster.
Yurina lived differently, but just as distant.
Her world revolved around her ballet studio. Hours melted away in repetition, discipline, silence. When she did leave, it was often at night—when the estate was still and empty.
They existed side by side.
But never crossed paths.
Reika, on the other hand, had chosen a different route. She enrolled in Seiran Girls' Academy, a prestigious boarding school located about an hour or so away by train. It was quieter there. Structured. Focused.
She wanted independence.
Space.
She returned home on weekends, never fully gone—but no longer constantly present either.
As for little Yuki, the household adjusted.
A nanny was hired—Auntie Aiko.
Gentle, patient, and warm in a way that filled empty spaces without trying too hard. She lived within the guest annex, taking care of Yuki's daily routine—meals, playtime, rest—while Mr. Hotaru worked. Grandmother helped when she could, but Aiko carried most of the responsibility with quiet ease.
Servants maintained the estate itself, though meals were often simple, unstructured.
And slowly, Shiharu settled into it all.
The quiet.
The distance.
The waiting.
Days passed.
Then more.
And still—
Nothing.
But he waited anyway.
Silently.
Patiently.
Desperately.
For the day Hoshiyuki would return.