Ren woke to sunlight and the smell of coffee.
Not the cheap instant kind that he usually drank—the kind that came in a jar and tasted like regret. This was real coffee. Freshly ground. The kind that Hikari had started making every morning because she said his brain "needed proper fuel" and also because she liked the way the apartment smelled afterward.
He opened his eyes.
The ceiling was different. Not his ceiling—not the cracked plaster of room 305 with its water-stain constellations. This was Takeshi's ceiling. Smooth. White. Boring.
Right. They were still at Takeshi's apartment. Kenji was still out there. The war wasn't over.
But for a few moments—just a few—Ren allowed himself to forget.
He sat up. The couch was lumpy and too short for his legs, but he had slept better than he had in years. Maybe because Hikari had been in the next room. Maybe because he was too exhausted to stay awake. Maybe because, for the first time in a long time, he had done everything he could and there was nothing left to do but wait.
Hikari appeared in the doorway.
She was wearing one of Takeshi's old t-shirts—gray, faded, too large—and her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. No makeup. No armor. Just her.
"You're awake," she said.
"I'm awake."
"I made coffee."
"I smelled it."
She walked over and handed him a mug. Their fingers touched. Neither of them mentioned the kiss from last night. Neither of them needed to.
"Takeshi went out," she said, sitting on the arm of the couch. "He said he had to talk to someone about Kenji. He'll be back later."
"And Kobayashi?"
"She called. The court date is set for next Wednesday. Five days."
Five days. Ren took a sip of coffee. It was perfect—black, no sugar, the way he liked it. She had learned that without being told.
"That's not a lot of time," he said.
"It's enough." Hikari looked at him. "We have the evidence. We have the witnesses. We have a lawyer who actually cares. All we have to do is show up and tell the truth."
"You make it sound simple."
"It is simple. Not easy. But simple."
Ren set down his coffee. "Kenji is still out there. He could be anywhere. He could be watching us right now."
"He could be." Hikari's voice was steady. "But he's not here. And we're not going to let him control us by being afraid of where he might be."
She was right. Of course she was right. But knowing something was right and feeling something was right were two different things.
"What about school?" Ren asked.
"What about it?"
"We haven't been in days. They'll notice. They'll ask questions."
"Let them ask." Hikari smiled—a small, tired smile. "We have bigger problems than truancy notices."
Ren nodded. She was right about that too.
---
The morning passed slowly.
They ate breakfast—leftovers from yesterday, rice and miso soup that Hikari reheated on Takeshi's small stove. They washed the dishes together, standing side by side at the sink, their hips bumping occasionally. They didn't talk much. They didn't need to.
At 11 AM, Takeshi returned.
His face was grim. He didn't take off his jacket. He didn't sit down. He just stood in the middle of the room, his hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere between Ren and Hikari.
"They found Kenji's car," he said. "Abandoned near the port in Yokohama. No sign of him. No passport, no credit card activity, nothing. He's disappeared."
"That's not good," Hikari said.
"It's not bad either." Takeshi finally sat down, heavily, on the chair by the window. "If he's gone, he can't hurt you. He can't interfere with the court case. He can't—"
"He can come back," Ren interrupted. "He can come back anytime. And when he does, he'll be angrier than before."
Takeshi nodded slowly. "That's the risk."
"So what do we do?" Hikari asked.
"We live." Takeshi looked at her. "We go to school. We go to work. We see our friends. We don't let him take our lives just because he might come back."
"That's easy to say."
"It's hard to do. But it's the only way." Takeshi leaned back in his chair. "I've been doing this for two years. Running. Hiding. Waiting for him to make a mistake. And you know what I've learned?"
"What?"
"He's not the only one who gets to live his life. I get to live mine too." Takeshi's voice was quiet, almost gentle. "So do you."
Ren looked at Hikari. She looked at Ren.
"School tomorrow?" she asked.
"School tomorrow," Ren agreed.
---
That afternoon, they went back to their apartment.
Not to stay—Takeshi had made it clear that room 305 wasn't safe anymore. But to pack. To gather the things they had left behind. To say goodbye to the place where everything had started.
The building looked the same. Stained concrete. Mildew smell. Broken elevator. Ren climbed the stairs to the third floor, Hikari behind him, their footsteps echoing in the stairwell.
Mrs. Kawaguchi's door was open. The old woman stood in the doorway, her eyes watery, her hands trembling.
"You're back," she said. "I was worried. I heard noises. Men. Loud voices. I called the police but they said—" She stopped. Swallowed. "Are you okay?"
"We're okay," Hikari said. "Thank you for worrying."
Mrs. Kawaguchi nodded. She looked at Ren, then back at Hikari. "You take care of each other. The world is hard. But you two—you have something special."
She closed her door.
Ren unlocked room 305—the new lock, the one he had installed, still shiny and unused. The apartment was exactly as they had left it. His futon. Her futon. The fabric divider. The jade tree on the windowsill—no, they had taken Saburo with them. The windowsill was empty.
"It feels smaller," Hikari said.
"It's always been this size."
"I know. But it feels smaller."
They packed in silence. Clothes. Books. The few photographs Hikari had kept from her old life. The letter from Ren's mother, still folded in the drawer where he had left it.
When they finished, they stood in the center of the room, surrounded by boxes and bags and the echo of everything that had happened here.
"I'm going to miss this place," Hikari said.
"It's just an apartment."
"It's not. It's where I stopped running. It's where I started living." She looked at him. "It's where I found you."
Ren didn't know what to say to that. So he didn't say anything. He just picked up his bag and walked to the door.
Hikari followed.
They didn't look back.
---
Takeshi was waiting in the car.
"All set?" he asked.
"All set," Hikari said.
He drove them back to Kamata. The river was gray under the overcast sky. A heron stood on the opposite bank, motionless, watching the water for fish that might never come.
That night, they ate dinner together—Takeshi cooked, which surprised both of them. He made curry, the cheap kind from a box, but he added vegetables and meat and somehow made it taste like something more.
"You're not a bad cook," Hikari said.
"I'm a terrible cook. But I'm good at following instructions." Takeshi pointed at the box on the counter. "The instructions are very clear."
Ren ate in silence. The curry was warm. The company was warm. For a few minutes, he almost forgot that Kenji was out there somewhere, waiting.
After dinner, Hikari went to take a shower. Ren sat on the couch, staring at the wall, his mind running through scenarios.
Takeshi sat beside him.
"You're thinking too much," Takeshi said.
"That's what I do."
"Maybe try doing something else for a change." Takeshi pulled out his phone and handed it to Ren. "Here. Play a game. Watch a video. Read the news. Anything but planning."
Ren took the phone. He didn't play a game or watch a video. He read the news.
Kenji's disappearance wasn't on the front page. It was buried in the local section, a few paragraphs about a missing person, no details, no connections to the Tachibana case. Someone was keeping it quiet. Someone with influence.
"Someone's protecting him," Ren said.
Takeshi nodded. "Probably. The question is who. And why."
"Same reason as always. Money. Power. Fear."
"Or all three." Takeshi took his phone back. "We'll find out. Eventually. These things take time."
"We don't have time. The court date is in five days."
"Then we focus on what we can control." Takeshi stood up. "Get some sleep, kid. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
---
That night, Ren couldn't sleep.
He lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of the apartment. The refrigerator hummed. The pipes groaned. Hikari's breathing, soft and steady, from the bedroom.
He thought about Kenji. About where he might be. About what he might be planning. About the look in his eyes when he had said, You have no idea what I'm willing to do to survive.
He thought about his mother. About the documents Kenji had claimed to have. About whether they were real or just another lie.
He thought about Hikari. About the kiss in the parking garage. About how her lips had felt against his—warm, soft, uncertain.
About time, she had said.
He almost smiled.
At 3 AM, his phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
His heart stopped. Then it started again, faster.
He answered.
"Hello, Akiyama-kun."
Not Kenji. A woman's voice. Low. Calm. Familiar.
"Who is this?"
"My name is Saito Yuki. I'm the court-appointed psychologist for the Tachibana guardianship case." A pause. "I need to speak with you. Alone. Tomorrow. Can you meet me?"
Ren's mind raced. A psychologist. Court-appointed. That meant she had been assigned by the judge. That meant she had power—the power to recommend custody, to evaluate fitness, to influence the outcome of the case.
"Why?"
"Because I've read your file. And I've read Kenji's file. And I think there's more to this case than either side is telling the court." Another pause. "I want to help. But I need to hear it from you first."
Ren looked at the bedroom door. Hikari was sleeping. He could wake her. He could tell her.
No. The woman had said alone.
"Where?" Ren asked.
"Shinjuku. The coffee shop on the corner of Omoide Yokocho. Tomorrow at 2 PM."
"I'll be there."
He ended the call.
The ceiling stared back at him. The refrigerator hummed. Hikari breathed.
Ren didn't sleep for the rest of the night.