CH14 Life’s Next Chapter

I ran my hand through my hair, sighing softly. The answers weren’t going to come today, I knew that much. But at least now, I had something to focus on. A goal. And maybe, just maybe, that would help me figure out what had been lost in the first place.

Getting enrolled in the program was easier than I expected, all thanks to Yumi and her connections. She and her seniors really pulled through for me, smoothing out the process in ways I didn’t even know were possible. It was surreal—what had once seemed like a distant, unreachable goal was suddenly right in front of me.

To my surprise, not only did they process my application quickly, but they also applied for a

scholarship on my behalf. I couldn’t believe it when I got the news that I had passed the exam and received a grant. It was more than I could’ve hoped for, and for the first time in a long while, I felt like I was moving forward—like my life was starting to fill into place.

My schedule was tight, but it worked. I studied in the mornings and worked part-time at the convenience store in the afternoons. Balancing both wasn’t easy, especially when the coursework started to pile up, but the routine was comforting in its own way. It kept me grounded, gave me something to focus on.

I chose a programming course. Something about the idea of becoming a developer, of creating games that could transport people into new worlds, appealed to me. Maybe it was because I

spent so much time lost in games when I felt disconnected from everything else, or maybe it was just the idea of building something meaningful with my own hands. Either way, I knew this was what I wanted to do.

The program was set to run for two years, and the first few months were a whirlwind of learning new things, making mistakes, and figuring out how to balance everything. I was incredibly grateful to Yumi. She and her senior contacts didn’t just help me get into the

program—they were there every step of the way. Yumi was always checking in on me, making sure I was keeping up with my studies. When I got stuck on something, especially in coding, she’d find time in her packed schedule to sit down with me and explain it, her patience never faltering. It amazed me how she could juggle everything she was doing and still have time to support me.

A year passed before I knew it. I’d completed the first half of my course, and I could finally see the finish line on the horizon. It was both exciting and terrifying—this thing that had felt impossible was now within reach, and I had only one year to go before I would be a certified developer.

Yumi, meanwhile, had finished her own journey. She’d graduated from college and landed a job as an IT analyst at a well-known company. I was proud of her. She had worked so hard, and now she was thriving in her new career. She was busier than ever, but she still found time to check in on me, to make sure I was okay. Even though she had her own life, her own responsibilities, she never stopped being there for me.

Her guidance was invaluable. There were times when I felt overwhelmed by the sheer amount of knowledge I was trying to absorb, or when I hit a wall with my coding projects, unable to find the right solution. During those moments, I’d shoot her a message, and somehow, despite her hectic schedule, she’d find time to sit with me—whether in person or through a video call—and talk me through the problem. She had this way of making everything seem clearer, easier to tackle.

There were days when I’d sit back and wonder how I got so lucky. Not just with the scholarship or the program, but with having someone like Yumi in my corner. She never asked for anything in return—she just genuinely wanted to help me succeed. Her belief in me was what kept me going, even on the days when I doubted myself.

Life had taken a turn I hadn’t expected, and it was because of her. I couldn’t deny that part of me still felt like something was missing, though. There were moments when, despite everything going well, I felt a strange emptiness—a fleeting sadness I couldn’t explain. It wasn’t overpowering, but it was there, like a shadow lurking at the edge of my thoughts. Sometimes, I’d catch myself staring at the plushie on the sofa, feeling an odd sense of loss I couldn’t put into words.

Still, I pushed forward. One more year. One more year, and I’d be a developer. One more year,

and maybe that strange heaviness would finally fade.

But for now, I had a goal, and I had Yumi’s unwavering support. For that, I was more grateful

than words could express.

The more time passed, the more I started to notice Yumi in ways I hadn’t before. I didn’t realize it at first, but somewhere along the line, my feelings for her began to shift. It wasn’t just the gratitude I felt for everything she had done for me, though that played a huge part. It was more than that. Her kindness, her determination, her willingness to help me without expecting anything in return—it made me start to see her in a different light. I appreciated her in ways I hadn’t appreciated anyone before, and before I knew it, I was falling for her.

It was gradual, almost imperceptible at first, but it became clearer with time. Every time we talked, every time she smiled at me or sent me a random message to check in, I felt something warm settle in my chest. I caught myself thinking about her when she wasn’t around,

wondering what she was doing or if she was thinking of me. It wasn’t the kind of overwhelming love you see in movies—it was softer, more like a steady glow that slowly grew brighter with each passing day.

And as my feelings for Yumi deepened, something else started to change in me. The nightmares from the past, the ones that used to haunt me relentlessly, began to fade. The fear and anxiety I used to carry around like a weight on my chest started to lift. It wasn’t an overnight transformation, but little by little, I felt myself focusing more on my goals, on the future, and less on the things that had once held me back.

I began to trust people again. At first, it was a cautious, tentative trust, but as time went on, I realized that not everyone was going to hurt me or betray me. I found a small circle of friends— people who were reliable, trustworthy, and genuine. They weren’t many, but I didn’t need a large group. What I needed was authenticity, and in this small group, I found it. Slowly but

surely, I started to open up to them, allowing myself to be vulnerable in ways I hadn’t in years.

Creating social media accounts was another step in this new chapter of my life. The programming course I was taking required me to build an online presence, so I reluctantly re- entered the digital world. At first, it felt strange, putting myself out there again after so long, but it was also freeing in a way. I posted about my projects, shared my progress, and even

reconnected with a few old acquaintances. It wasn’t just about the course—it was about reclaiming a part of myself that I had lost.

But even as things improved, as I found my footing and built a new life for myself, there was something that never fully went away. A strange feeling that lingered just below the surface,

like a shadow I couldn’t quite shake. It wasn’t as intense as it had been in the beginning, but it was still there, a quiet sense that something important had slipped through my fingers— something I had lost and forgotten.

I didn’t know what it was, and no matter how much I tried to piece it together, it always eluded me. Sometimes, late at night, I would sit and stare at the stars through my window, and the feeling would wash over me like a wave. It was like trying to remember a dream that fades the moment you wake up—vivid for a split second, then gone before you can grasp it.

Even after a year, the feeling hadn’t faded. It would come and go, subtle yet persistent, making me feel like there was a part of me missing, something I had left behind. But what? There was no obvious answer. My life was on track, I had my goals, my friends, and Yumi by my side, yet this strange emptiness remained.

I sometimes wondered if I was overthinking it, if it was just a part of growing up and leaving the past behind. But deep down, I couldn’t shake the sense that there was more to it—something I couldn’t quite remember, but something that had once been vital to who I was.

The night at the bay was perfect—calm, serene, with the soft sounds of the water lapping against the shore. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery glow over everything, and the lights from the nearby festival stalls flickered like fireflies in the distance. It was one of those rare nights where everything felt right, and after the whirlwind of the past year, I finally had a moment to breathe. School was on break, and I was looking forward to a brief escape before the second year started. Yumi and I had decided to meet up, as we often did, just to relax and catch up.

We sat on a weathered bench overlooking the bay, the sea stretching out in front of us like an endless sheet of black glass. Couples and families strolled by, their laughter and conversations blending with the gentle breeze. I watched them for a moment, taking it all in, before my gaze shifted to Yumi. She sat next to me, close but not too close, her eyes fixed on the horizon. The soft glow of the moonlight danced across her face, illuminating the thoughtful expression she wore. She seemed so peaceful, so content, and I felt a warmth grow inside me.

Without thinking much about it, the words just spilled out. "Hey, Yumi. Do you think we should date?"

The question hung in the air for a moment, almost suspended in the stillness of the night. I didn’t mean to just blurt it out like that, but as soon as I said it, there was no taking it back. I kept my eyes forward, staring at the horizon as if it held all the answers, but I could feel Yumi's gaze turn sharply toward me.

"What?!" she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of shock and disbelief. She looked at me wide- eyed, her posture stiffening in surprise. "Is that... is that a confession?"

I blinked, realizing how sudden and unpolished my question must have sounded. My heart raced as I tried to backtrack, but the words came out clumsily. "Uh, well... I mean... sort of? Yeah. I guess it is."

Her reaction was so different from what I had imagined. She was bewildered, her face turning a light shade of pink as she processed what I’d just said. She fumbled for a response, her fingers tightening around the hem of her jacket. "But... where is this coming from? I thought we were just friends... I mean... You’re serious, right?"

I chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of my neck. "Yeah, I am. I’ve just been thinking about it lately, you know? About everything we’ve been through... about how much you mean to me. You’ve been there for me, Yumi. Through all the ups and downs. And somewhere along the way, I started... well, I started to fall for you."

The words felt heavy as they left my mouth, not because I didn’t mean them, but because I knew what I was risking by saying them out loud. Yumi had been my rock, my guide through some of the hardest times in my life, and the last thing I wanted to do was make things

awkward between us. But at the same time, I couldn’t deny my feelings any longer. They had

grown too strong to ignore.

Yumi stared at me, her expression softening as the initial shock faded. She let out a small, incredulous laugh and shook her head. "I can't believe this... You're really confessing to me right now, under the moonlight, just like that?" Her voice was teasing, but there was a warmth behind it. She looked away for a moment, her eyes scanning the bay, as if searching for the right words.

"You know," Yumi started, her tone shifting to something more serious, a slight furrow forming on her brow, "I always wondered if you’d ever feel that way." Her gaze softened, but there was a trace of something else—uncertainty, maybe? She hesitated for a moment, her fingers absentmindedly toying with the edge of her jacket. "I mean... you rejected me a year ago.

Remember? I never thought you’d actually... confess."

Her words hung between us like the quiet hum of the bay breeze, stirring up memories of that time—when she had expressed her feelings, and I, so caught up in my own emotional turmoil, had turned her down. I had been in a completely different place then. Distracted, lost, and honestly, not ready for anything. But things were different now.

Yumi let out a soft laugh, though there was a trace of something thoughtful behind her smile. "I knew we were close, but I guess I never let myself think you'd come around to feeling the same way. I mean, after I put myself out there... and you..." Her words trailed off, and she bit her lip, glancing away as if she was revisiting her own memories of that time.

I felt a pang of guilt at the reminder of her confession. Back then, I hadn’t been in the right

mindset to accept or even properly acknowledge her feelings. "Yumi... about that—"

But she quickly waved it off, shaking her head. "No, it’s okay. I understand. You were dealing with so much back then. I never blamed you, you know." She turned to face me again, her expression softer but tinged with a vulnerability I hadn’t seen from her in a long time. "It’s just... I never expected you to say something like this now, after all that time."

I sighed, running a hand through my hair, feeling the weight of her words. "I know. I was... lost back then. And I didn’t want to hurt you by dragging you into whatever mess I was in. But Yumi, over this past year, things changed. You’ve been there for me, helping me pick up the pieces of my life, encouraging me, pushing me to be better." I looked into her eyes, hoping she could see how much I meant every word. "And somewhere along the way, I realized I wasn’t just grateful for your help—I started to care for you in a way I didn’t before."

Yumi’s expression softened even more, though she still seemed hesitant. "I won’t lie, it hurt at first when you turned me down. But we moved past that, and I never wanted to bring it up again." She exhaled, her breath misting in the cool evening air. "I just didn’t expect you to... come back around to this."

I nodded slowly, feeling the weight of the moment. "I get it. But I’m not the same person I was a year ago. I’ve grown, and it’s because of you, Yumi. You helped me find my way back, and

now that I’ve found it, I can’t help but see you differently." I paused, then added quietly, "I just

couldn’t stay silent about it anymore."

She was quiet for a long moment, her gaze drifting toward the horizon where the lights of the festival reflected on the water. The sounds of the night surrounded us—gentle laughter in the distance, the rustling of the trees, and the rhythmic crash of the waves. Finally, she spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. "You’re brave, you know? Saying this now, after everything... Most people wouldn’t. And after what happened back then... I didn’t think you’d want to revisit this."

Her eyes finally met mine, and there was a depth to her gaze that made my heart skip a beat. She was vulnerable but strong, like she was weighing everything in that one look. "But... you’re really sure about this?" she asked, her voice steady now, but laced with something deeper. "This isn’t just... some impulse or feeling like you owe me for helping you?"

I shook my head firmly. "No. It’s not about owing you anything. It’s about how I feel."

Yumi searched my face for a few seconds, as if looking for any sign of doubt. When she found none, she let out a small, almost relieved laugh, leaning back against the bench. "Well, you’ve certainly surprised me tonight." She gave me a teasing smile, though her eyes still held that serious undertone. "But... okay. Let’s give it a try." Then, with a playful smirk, she added, "But I’m warning you—if you mess this up, I won’t go easy on you."

I chuckled, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. "Deal," I said, grinning at her. And just like that, the tension between us eased, replaced by a new and unfamiliar excitement.

We had been dating for several months now, but as time went on, our schedules seemed to conspire against us. What had started as a joyful, shared routine between us—grabbing coffee, late-night calls, and spontaneous dates—began to dwindle under the weight of our growing responsibilities.

Yumi’s work demanded more and more of her. She had risen quickly in her company, securing important projects that required her constant attention. I could see the exhaustion on her face during our rare meetups, her smile not quite reaching her eyes as it used to. She barely had time for herself, let alone for us. And as much as I missed her, I couldn't bring myself to ask for more. I knew how important her career was to her—this had been her dream all along.

I was no different, though. Between classes and part-time work, my own free time had evaporated. I felt the same exhaustion, the same weight of responsibility pulling me in all

directions. But it wasn’t just that—I missed her. Every day felt a little emptier without her, but I knew I had no right to demand her time, especially when she barely had any for herself.

And then came the news that felt like a deathblow.

Yumi had been offered a chance to train and work abroad—an incredible opportunity, one that would propel her to the top of her industry. It was everything she had worked for, her dream coming to fruition. She was ecstatic, her eyes glowing with the excitement of the future. But as much as I wanted to share in that excitement, a cold, heavy pit formed in my stomach at the thought of her leaving.

I didn’t want her to go. I didn’t want her to leave me behind, didn’t want to lose the moments we had, the little pieces of us that still made me feel whole in the midst of my busy life. But how could I clip her wings? How could I be the one to hold her back from achieving everything she had worked so hard for?

So I supported her.

I told her I was proud of her, that she should take the opportunity. I forced a smile every time we talked about her leaving, about the new chapter in her life. And when the time came for her to leave, I kissed her goodbye at the airport, holding onto her a little longer than usual, even though I knew I had no right to keep her.

The first few months were fine. We still talked often, late-night phone calls filling the silence where her presence used to be. We messaged frequently, sharing stories about our days, about her new life abroad and my progress with school. We kept trying, holding onto the connection, even as the physical distance between us grew.

But as time passed, the calls became less frequent. The texts that used to be constant turned into something sporadic, a few here and there. Weeks began to slip by without hearing her voice. Every time I picked up my phone, hoping to see a message from her, I was met with nothing but an empty screen. I tried to reassure myself that she was just busy, that this was temporary, that we would get back to the way things were once her schedule settled down.

But deep down, I wondered if she was alright. If she was still thinking about me. If maybe—just maybe—she was beginning to slip away.

I wanted to reach out, to demand to know how she was, to ask her if we were still okay. But I knew how selfish that would be. I had promised myself I wouldn’t hold her back. And yet, as the days passed without a word, I couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that I was losing her, that I was already becoming a distant memory in the whirlwind of her new life.

I threw myself completely into my studies after Yumi left. It was the only way I knew how to cope with the growing distance between us, and in the end, it paid off. Graduation day finally came, a day I had worked so hard for. I stood among my fellow graduates, cap and gown in hand, the culmination of years of effort and persistence finally realized.

I was happy—proud, even. I had made it. But as I stood there with my diploma in hand, the first

person I thought of wasn’t there to share it with me. I wanted to celebrate with Yumi, to tell her in person about this huge milestone. But she wasn’t here. She was thousands of miles away, living her own life.

I sent her a message, sharing the news. A part of me was still hopeful that maybe, just maybe, she would find the time to come back or even just to call and celebrate with me, even if only from afar.

She replied a few hours later, her message short and simple: “Congratulations! I’m so happy for you!”

And then… nothing. That was it. I stared at my phone for a while, waiting for more, but the

silence stretched on.

Several days passed after graduation, and I found myself moving on with life, but with a strange sense of emptiness that I couldn’t quite shake. Then one day, my phone rang. I didn’t even have to check the caller ID. Somehow, I knew it was her.

“Hey,” Yumi said, her voice sounding distant even over the phone.

“Hey,” I replied, bracing myself for whatever was coming.

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” she began, “and… I’ve decided to stay here abroad. Permanently.”

I wasn’t surprised. Maybe I had been preparing myself for this for a while now. For the past year, I had slowly come to terms with the fact that Yumi and I were living in different worlds. The time we once shared had been replaced by responsibilities, and the connection we had was being stretched thinner and thinner by the distance. The truth was, we had drifted apart long before this phone call.

“I understand,” I said, my voice steady, though my chest felt tight. I had rehearsed this

conversation in my head many times, and yet, now that it was happening, it still hurt. “I think… we both knew this was coming.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, her voice tinged with sadness. “I don’t want this to be about us hating each other or anything like that. It’s just… we’re living completely different lives now. We don’t have the time for each other like we used to.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I know. It’s no one’s fault.”

And with that, we both agreed to end it. Not with anger or resentment, but with the quiet acceptance that sometimes, no matter how much you care about someone, life pulls you in different directions. We weren’t breaking up because we stopped loving each other, but because the space between us had grown too vast to bridge.

When the call ended, I sat there in silence, staring at the phone. The feeling of finality was heavy, but I also felt strangely calm, like I had already come to terms with it long before the words were spoken. In some ways, I had been mourning the relationship for months. Now, it was simply official.

I sat on my couch for what felt like hours, the memories of us together—our laughter, our late- night conversations, and even the awkward first confession—playing like an old film in my mind. I loved her, I always would, but the reality was that love wasn’t always enough to keep people together.

As I put my phone down, I realized that maybe, I was just unlucky in love. First with Rikka, though I could never quite understand the depth of that loss, and now with Yumi. Both times, life seemed to take away the people I cared for most.

And now, once again, I was left with an empty space in my life, wondering what would come next.

After everything, I knew it was time for a real change. I quit my job at the convenience store, a place that had been my steady refuge all these years. I thanked the manager sincerely for

keeping me employed through thick and thin. It wasn’t easy to let go of the routine, but I knew I had to move forward. I had outgrown that phase of my life.

I landed a job at a large gaming company as a programmer—something I had always dreamed of but never fully believed I could achieve. The first few months were brutal. The workload was overwhelming, with tight deadlines and endless coding. There were days I felt like I was drowning under the weight of my tasks, my skills constantly being tested in ways I hadn’t imagined. But I adapted. Slowly, I learned how to manage my time and balance the demands of the job. Eventually, I found my groove and became more efficient, gaining confidence along the way.

Now, I was a regular employee at the company, no longer just a newbie trying to find his footing. It felt good—satisfying, even—to know that I had made it this far on my own. I had worked hard for this, and I could finally see the results.

Kenjie and I stayed in touch. We still hung out from time to time, catching up over drinks or just chilling at the park like old times. What really surprised me was that Kenjie ended up dating Eri. They were complete opposites—Kenjie’s carefree, optimistic nature clashing with Eri’s serious, analytical mind. I never saw that coming, but somehow, they made it work. It was funny how life had a way of surprising you like that.

Yumi, though living abroad, still reached out every now and then. We’d exchange messages, and she’d tell me about her career. She was thriving overseas, living the life she had always dreamed of. I was happy for her, even if there was a lingering sense of bittersweetness. We had shared something important once, but that chapter had closed.

Rikka, too, had found happiness. I saw her posts on social media, smiling brightly with her soon- to-be husband and their baby girl. The old pain and betrayal from our past had long since faded, replaced by a sense of peace. Seeing her happy, settled with her family, made me smile. She had moved on, and so had I, in my own way.

Even Saki, the girl I had met at the beach, had someone in her life now. I saw occasional updates, catching glimpses of her life through mutual friends. Everyone around me seemed to have found their path, their happiness.

And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had been left behind. While everyone was pairing off, settling down, and building lives together, I was still alone. Not unhappy, but… alone. I had achieved my career goals, rebuilt my life, and moved past my heartaches, but there was still an empty space that nothing seemed to fill.

Maybe love wasn’t in the cards for me, at least not yet. Or maybe I was just meant to focus on other things for now. Either way, I couldn’t deny the quiet loneliness that crept into my thoughts during these moments of reflection. I had come so far, but there was still a part of me searching, waiting for whatever—or whoever—came next.

“You know, I’m surprised Eri lets you smoke, Kenjie,” I said, sitting at the same old convenience store, now as a customer rather than an employee. It was odd being on this side of the counter, looking at my old job with a sense of nostalgia.

Kenjie grinned sheepishly, flicking the remains of his cigarette into the bin. “Nah, she doesn’t know. Please don’t tell her, man. I’m trying to cut down, I swear.”

I chuckled. “Sure, sure. Your secret’s safe with me.”

He started scrolling through his phone, seemingly lost in thought, before suddenly stopping and

thrusting the screen toward me. “Hey, man, do you know this band?”

I glanced at the phone, taking in the image of an all-girl band—guitars slung low, a fierce- looking bassist, a cool vocalist, and a drummer with wild energy. Typical rock band set-up.

“And what of it?” I asked, not particularly impressed at first glance.

“What of it?” Kenjie practically exploded. “They’re phenomenal! And they’re pretty. Especially

the drummer—she’s HOT.” His eyes widened as he spoke, clearly excited.

I smirked, leaning back in my chair. “Good luck when I tell Eri about your little crush on the drummer.”

Kenjie waved his hands in the air in protest. “No, man, please don’t! It’s just admiration. You’ve

gotta listen to their music, though—they’re banging. Seriously, it’ll blow your mind.”

He handed me one of his earbuds, and I popped it in as he queued up one of their songs. The

name of the band appeared on the screen, Mika’s Revenge. Something about the name

stopped me in my tracks. It was… strange. It tugged at something deep inside me, like a half- forgotten memory.

“Mika’s Revenge?” I muttered the name aloud, trying to place why it felt so familiar, why it

was making my chest tighten for no reason I could explain.

Kenjie raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, what’s up? The name cool or what?”

“Yeah, it’s… it’s cool,” I replied, though my voice sounded distant even to my own ears. I felt like I was on the verge of remembering something—something important, something I had buried deep in my mind. But it slipped away, just out of reach.

The band started playing through the earbud, the heavy beats of the drums pounding like a pulse, while the guitars roared through the melody. The sound was raw, visceral, and intense, but underneath it, I couldn’t shake the odd feeling creeping over me.

“Do you hear that?” Kenjie grinned, nodding to the rhythm. “That’s talent, man.” I pulled the earbud out, feeling strange. “Yeah… it’s good.”

Kenjie noticed my hesitation. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“No, I’m fine. Just… that name, ‘Mika,’ it feels like I’ve heard it before. I can’t put my finger on it.” I frowned, trying to sift through the fog in my brain.

Kenjie shrugged, oblivious. “Maybe you’re just overthinking it. Lots of bands have weird names. Anyway, you should check them out more. They’re blowing up.”

I nodded absently, but the unease stayed with me. Mika’s Revenge. Something about the name haunted me. It was like a whisper from the past, a ghost of something I had lost and could never quite remember. But no matter how hard I tried to recall, the memory remained just beyond my reach.

As Kenjie kept talking, I stared out at the dimming sky, feeling like I was on the edge of

discovering something I wasn’t ready to face. The air around us was filled with the sound of traffic and the buzz of distant conversation, but inside, I felt the slow stirrings of something long buried, something that might soon come back to the surface.