A knock echoed through the room, and Yumi entered. Masachika had organized his thoughts while waiting, understanding the rift between them ran even deeper than his issues with Gensei. Rising calmly, he offered his chair to Yumi. She seemed to have steeled her resolve, stopping a few steps away before slowly opening her mouth to speak.
“It has been quite some time, Masachika.”
“…Hi, Mom.”
She lowered her gaze, perhaps having mixed emotions over being called that, yet Masachika remained strangely calm even as she essentially looked away from him again.
“…Yuki’s asleep. She woke up briefly a little earlier, though,” he mentioned, gesturing for her to sit in the chair before turning his gaze toward Ayano.
“Sorry, Ayano, but do you think you could get us something to drink?”
“Ah… But of course. Would black tea be okay?”
“Bring us a pitcher of barley tea if you can.”
“Very well. I will be back shortly with your tea.”
After watching Ayano bow before leaving the room, Masachika faced Yumi, who was checking on Yuki.
…She looks dead inside.
His mother’s face, which he observed closely for the first time in years, bore shadows far deeper than his memory held. Though she had always been reserved and quiet, a profound melancholy now seemed to cling to her. Yet her gaze for Yuki remained untouched: pure, unwavering concern. That alone hadn’t changed one bit.
No… That’s not the only thing that hasn’t changed.
The love Yumi showed Yuki had never faltered, just as her feelings for Kyoutarou likely remained unchanged even now. The tender mother Masachika had once cherished wasn’t some illusion… Rather, it was the woman who had screamed at Masachika that one time who was—
“Stop! Just stop!”
“…”
He shut his eyes tightly as the memory played back in his mind.
Relax. Stop thinking only about the bad memories. It wasn’t all bad, right?
It was going to be okay. He could now look back at that day without getting upset. He could recall the remorse that had flickered across Yumi’s face after her outburst that day. He could remember how, save for that single moment, Yumi had been nothing but a loving mother to him.
“…Mom.”
“…Yes?”
Perhaps guilt kept her from looking him in the eye…but then, what emotion had driven Yumi to avoid Masachika’s gaze even before then?
I have to know the truth.
To end the regret and return to the right path—this was something that could not be avoided.
“I want to talk.”
“…”
Masachika’s resolute words slowly drew Yumi’s gaze toward his, and their eyes met. Perhaps Yumi, too, felt she could no longer run away.
“I want to know why…”
He swallowed thickly, licked his lips, and then, bracing himself, finally asked:
“You stopped looking me in the eye when I was living here.”
Yumi’s gaze wavered before darting away, but after a moment, she closed her eyes, then shifted her gaze back at him.
“Why did you…get so upset when I played the piano?” he asked, meeting her gaze. Yumi lowered her eyes and fell silent for a while before looking straight at Masachika and replying:
“Even if I told you…it would only hurt you.” In a voice tinged with resignation and regret, she continued, “All I can tell you is that you did nothing wrong. Your father didn’t do anything wrong, either… Everything that happened was because of my selfishness…and I feel bad for what I did to you.”
As she spoke and hung her head like a criminal…she reminded Masachika of himself from only an hour ago, when he had confessed his sins to Alisa.
She’s like a small child…
Strangely, the mother before him now seemed like a child his own age—a small, wounded child, frightened and trembling.
“I want to hear it. I want you to tell me everything.”
He knew he was ready. The mother etched in his mind, shaped by sorrow and bitter memories, was gone. Only the timid and gentle mother he had always known remained.
“I want to know what you were feeling that made you snap. I feel like I can accept it now, whatever it is.”
His mother remained silent with her face cast downward for a few moments. Before long, there was a gentle knock, and Ayano entered with a tray bearing two glasses and a pitcher of barley tea.
“…Shall we go somewhere else to talk?” Yumi suggested quietly, standing up from her chair and taking the tray from Ayano’s hands.
“Ayano, please take care of Yuki for me.”
“But of course.”
Yumi headed out of the room, switching places with Ayano, while Masachika hurriedly followed behind.
“Sorry about this. I’m counting on you,” Masachika said to Ayano.
“You can count on me.”
Leaving Ayano with that task, he followed Yumi down the hallway to her room, then took a seat on the couch at her suggestion while she placed the tray on the low table and picked up a framed picture from atop the chest. Once settled in the seat across from Masachika, she held the photo out to him.
“…?” Unsure of his mother’s intent, he glanced down and inclined his head slightly at the unfamiliar boy and girl in the picture. “Is that…?”
What struck him first was how much the girl resembled Yuki, enough to be mistaken for her at a glance. Yet her drooping eyes and the mole beneath one eye revealed this was not Yuki, but Yumi. Beside the teenage girl stood a boy with his arm around her shoulder, laughing with unbridled joy.
“Uncle Naotaka…?”
After he pulled that name from his vague memories, Yumi quietly nodded.
“Yes, that is my late brother.”
Then, as Masachika lifted his chin once again, she revealed with a faint, sorrowful smile:
“Your eyes and Yuki’s…look exactly like his.”