tened her shoulders, forcing a smile. "Since that's the case, I won't pry about the assessment anymore. Go clean up. You've been out all day. Take a shower and get some rest."
"Eh?"
Akira stepped forward and pulled her into a hug.
Broad chest. Warm arms. The steady beat of his heart against her ear.
"Don't worry, Mom." His voice was low, meant only for her. "I'm capable of taking care of myself."
The gloom in Yumi's heart dissolved like morning frost under sunlight. She stood frozen for a moment, then slowly raised her arms and returned the embrace.
"You'd better be," she whispered.
Later, in his room.
Akira lay on his bed, phone in hand, scrolling through the evening's messages. Marin's enthusiasm radiated from every emoji. Kasumigaoka Utaha had sent a single line—Reading. Don't disturb.—followed by a string of thinking emojis that suggested she was deep in the outline he'd given her.
He replied to Marin first.
Akira: "See you tomorrow. Bring your designs. We'll figure it out."
Akira: "And Marin? Get some sleep. You'll need the energy."
Her response was instant.
Kitagawa Marin: "Okay okay okay! Good night, Bai-san!"
Kitagawa Marin: "Dream of me ☆〜（ゝ.∂）"
He snorted and set the phone aside.
His gaze drifted to the window, to the moon hanging low over the city.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges. New opportunities. New faces.
But tonight, he had earned his rest.
The stairwell was narrow—always had been, in this older section of the house. Yumi Suou's foot landed on the first step, and she looked up.
Akira stood three steps above her, shower things in hand, freshly changed clothes draped over his arm. The angle put them almost at eye level. Close. Too close.
"This..." Yumi's voice caught. "What is this feeling?"
Surprise colored her face—pink creeping up her neck, warming her cheeks. Akira reached out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from her temple, then lingering to stroke the long cascade that fell past her shoulders.
The gentleness of the gesture made her chest ache. For a moment—just a moment—she felt like she'd found something she'd been missing. A reliance. A anchor.
"Mom!"
Yuki's voice cut through the stairwell like a blade.
She stood in the living room doorway, arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the distance between her mother and her brother. Not angry. Not jealous, exactly. Just... calculating.
Why does he act more affectionate with Mom than with me?
She knew about the old man's assessment—vaguely—but not the specifics. Not the rule that Akira wasn't allowed to cross certain lines with her during the probationary period. So from her perspective, her brother's warmth toward their mother was simply... puzzling.
Is it because he lacked motherly love as a child? Before he was adopted?
Damn.
Have I been aiming in the wrong direction this whole time?
From today onward, Yuki resolved, I'll be more dignified. More gentle. I'll learn from Mother.
Yumi, flustered, pulled away from Akira's embrace. "Alright, alright. You're both grown now. I don't need to worry so much." She smoothed her clothes, searching for composure. "A bath? I'll go run the water for you."
"I'll just rinse off. No need for a bath."
Akira continued up the stairs, past her, toward the bathroom. Yumi watched him go, then walked—on unsteady legs—to the living room sofa.
Her heart pounded.
Not pure anymore, she admitted to herself. My love for him... it's not pure.
She no longer saw him simply as her son. During that hug—that brief, warm embrace—she had felt something else. Something that scared her.
No.
She crushed the thought.
I mustn't think about it.
"Yuki." Her voice came out steadier than she felt. "Go to bed early tonight. I'm tired. I'm heading up first."
"Mm, okay. I'll go up after this episode ends."
Yuki settled deeper into the sofa, swinging her legs, laughing at something on the screen. Yumi ascended the stairs.
And on the landing, she bumped directly into Akira.
He was coming down now, hair damp, smelling of soap and warm water and something else—something clean and male that made her breath stutter.
"Mom." He smiled. "All yours."
He stepped aside to let her pass, but the stairwell was narrow. Their bodies brushed. His hand—casual, accidental, deliberate?—found her hip to steady her.
Yumi's face went crimson.
She hurried past him without a word, locked herself in the bathroom, and leaned against the door, pressing her cool hands to her burning cheeks.
What is wrong with me?
Through the door, she heard his footsteps retreating to his room. Then Yuki's laughter from downstairs. Then silence.
She turned on the shower—not the bath—and stepped under the spray, letting the water wash away everything she couldn't afford to feel.
[Yumi Souo - Loyalty: 86 (+2)]
[Status: Conflicted, Denying, Deeply Affected]
Akira's Room
He sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, scrolling through messages. Marin had sent four more exclamation points and a photo of her design sketches spread across her living room floor. Kasumigaoka Utaha had sent nothing—probably still reading, still thinking, still processing.
He responded to Marin with a simple thumbs-up, then set the phone aside.
Yumi.
The look on her face when he'd touched her hair. The way she'd frozen. The heat that had flooded her cheeks.
She's getting close, he thought. Eighty-six loyalty. Almost to the threshold for a Platinum Ball.
But he wouldn't push tonight. Tonight was for rest.
He lay back, stared at the ceiling, and let his mind drift.
Tomorrow—shopping with Marin. Costume materials. Measurements. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and beneath it, there was something else. A vulnerability she tried to hide behind bright smiles and rapid-fire messages.
She's lonely, he realized. More lonely than she lets on.
He filed the observation away and closed his eyes.