Yuma continued to walk on eggshells around them, polite yet distant, present only in body, as though his heart had already stepped far away. Deep down, they had no choice but to admit it — they were losing him. Just as Himari had warned. And despite their clumsy attempts to close the distance, Yuma only withdrew further, shutting everyone out one by one.
It was on a quiet morning, when Yuma left town for two days on a work trip, that the entire family gathered in the living room.
“How did we end up hurting him so badly… all these years?” Shuuji murmured, his voice heavy with regret.
No one answered. One by one, they looked away.
Now that they had begun to see things clearly, it hurt even more — the memories, the omissions, the moments they had overlooked without a second thought. No matter how hard they tried to place themselves in Yuma’s position, they knew it would never be the same. Only Yuma had lived through it. Only he had endured the pain in silence.
“Maybe… it was my fault.” Haruma finally spoke, his voice trembling as he struggled to hold back his tears.
The thought had been festering in his heart for days.
Maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe the attention would not have centred so heavily on him. Maybe he would not have grown so dependent, so unaware of the sacrifices made quietly in the background. He had never realised — not until now — how much Yuma had given up, how carefully he had stepped aside, how small his place had become in everyone’s eyes.
“It wasn’t like that.” Sasaki objected immediately.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Kotarou added firmly. “It was ours.”
Silence followed.
Sasaki reached out and held Haruma’s hand, squeezing it gently, shaking her head as if to tell him — again and again — that he was not to blame.
“What should we do now?” Haruma asked softly, wiping at his eyes. “He doesn’t want to come close to us anymore.”
No one had an answer.
They had reached a dead end. No matter how much they tried, no matter how carefully they approached him, every attempt failed. Yuma remained distant, guarded, unreachable.
“Himari-san.”
Arisa stood abruptly, clapping her hands together as though something had finally clicked.
The others hesitated, then slowly agreed. Himari had been the one who forced them to confront the truth — perhaps she could guide them again.
That evening, they visited the Kitahara residence.
Their arrival came as a surprise. Awkwardness settled almost immediately, just as Himari had anticipated. Aside from work, they had barely spoken since that confrontation weeks ago — partly out of guilt, partly because they needed time to reflect.
Takeshi and Midori welcomed them inside. As greetings were exchanged, the tension gradually eased, though it never fully disappeared.
Himari was humming softly as she descended the stairs. The sound cut off the moment she noticed the unexpected guests. She paused, then composed herself, walking into the living room with calm steps. An awkward smile touched her lips as she took a seat on the single sofa opposite the Fujita family.
Midori excused herself to prepare tea and refreshments, taking Raito and Taiyou with her, giving the adults space to talk. Takeshi remained nearby, sitting quietly.
Silence filled the room.
“No—” Sasaki began in a panic, but Himari continued.
“I didn’t mean to make you look like the bad ones. Please forgive me. I truly am sorry.”
“Himari-san, please lift your head,” Arisa pleaded.
“And now that we’ve realised it,” Sasaki added quietly, “we’ve noticed how absent he’s been from our lives for a long time.”
“We pushed him aside,” Arisa admitted. “We failed him.”
Tea and sweets were served as the conversation continued.
Silence descended once more.
“That’s why we’re here,” Shuuji said at last.
They told them everything — from beginning to end. Their attempts to repair the relationship, the invitations rejected, the messages left unread, the growing distance. Yuma no longer informed them about his overtime. He no longer explained himself. He no longer tried.
Himari listened without interrupting.
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