Chapter 30: A Sky She’ll Never See

The sun was high by the time I carried her down.

Her body was light—too light—as if all the weight that ever anchored her to this world had slipped away with her last breath. Her head rested against my chest, her hair brushing my chin, strands still carrying the faint scent of hospital soap and rain.

The hallways were empty now, silent except for the hollow echo of my footsteps. Each step sounded like a verdict, like the world reminding me that I had failed in the one thing I swore I’d do: keep her alive.

I don’t remember how I made it through the door of her hospital room. I just remember laying her down on the bed, carefully, as if she could still feel the comfort of the sheets. My fingers lingered on her face, tracing the curve of her cheek, the stillness of her lips.

I sat there for a long time. Too long.

Until Jin walked in.

---

He didn’t say a word at first. Just stood by the door, hands buried deep in his jacket pockets, jaw tight enough to crack. For once, there was no smirk, no cutting remark waiting on his tongue.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than I’d ever heard it.

“She’s gone.”

The words were pointless—salt on an open wound—but they still hit like a sledgehammer. I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. My eyes stayed locked on her face, memorizing every detail, like maybe if I stared hard enough, she’d open her eyes and smile that small, stubborn smile again.

“She wanted the sunrise,” I said, my voice hollow. “I gave her that.”

Jin took a slow breath, and for a second, I thought I heard something like sorrow in the sound.

“You did more than most would’ve,” he said.

I shook my head. “Not enough.”

He didn’t argue. Maybe because he knew it wouldn’t matter. Nothing would.

---

They came for her body later—nurses with stiff expressions and voices too gentle for the violence of this loss. I didn’t move when they entered. Didn’t speak when they asked. It wasn’t until Jin’s hand gripped my shoulder—firm, grounding—that I finally let go.

When they wheeled her out, the world dimmed. The fluorescent lights blurred into streaks as something inside me fractured beyond repair.

I walked out of the hospital into a city that didn’t care. Cars moved. People laughed. The sky burned bright, cruel in its beauty—a sky she’d never see.

And something inside me changed.

---

I ended up in my apartment, though I don’t remember getting there. The room was dim, blinds half-closed, the stale scent of sweat and blood clinging to the air. I sat on the floor, back against the wall, her scarf clutched in my hands.

That scarf was everything now. The last warmth of her presence woven into the threads. I pressed it to my face, breathing in until it hurt.

Her laughter echoed in my head.

Her voice—soft, teasing, alive—played on repeat, each memory cutting deeper than the last.

And then came the silence. The kind that doesn’t just fill a room but crushes you under its weight.

I thought the fights had made me numb. That the blood and bruises had beaten out every weakness. But this—this ripped me open in ways no blade ever could.

I screamed.

It tore out of me raw, primal—a sound too jagged for words, shattering the quiet like glass. My fists slammed into the floor until my knuckles split, blood pooling under my hands. But the pain wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

I had promised her always. And I had broken that promise.

---

Hours—or maybe days—blurred together. I didn’t sleep. Didn’t eat. Just sat in that room, drowning in ghosts.

Then the call came.

Jin’s voice, sharp and tense, crackled through the speaker.

“They want you back in the ring.”

I almost laughed. A bitter, broken laugh that scraped my throat raw.

“I’m done,” I said flatly.

“You think you get to decide that?” His tone was a growl. “You still owe money. You disappear now, they’ll come for me. And then for you. You think Yume wanted that?”

Her name in his mouth was a blade twisting in my gut.

“I don’t care,” I muttered.

“Well, I do,” he snapped. Then softer, almost like a plea: “Kazuki… don’t let this be the end of you.”

The line went dead before I could answer.

---

I sat there for a long time after that, phone heavy in my hand, his words echoing in my skull.

Don’t let this be the end of you.

But wasn’t it already?

Wasn’t I already just a hollow shell in a world that had stolen the only light I had left?

Then my eyes fell on the napkin pinned to the wall—the one smeared with coffee stains and written in her messy scrawl.

Yume’s Wishlist:

1. Play a real piano (✓)

2. See the ocean (✓)

3. Eat the most expensive dessert (✓)

4. Watch the sunrise (✓)

5. ???

That last line was blank. Empty. A space she never got to fill.

And something inside me sparked.

A small, vicious ember of resolve.

If she couldn’t finish her list… then I would.

Even if it meant burning myself alive in the process.

---

I rose slowly, every muscle screaming, ribs still raw and tender under the bandages. My reflection in the cracked mirror looked like a stranger—hollow eyes rimmed with red, bruises blooming across skin like dark flowers.

But in those eyes, there was something else now.

A fire.

I wrapped my hands, slow and deliberate, the tape sticking to blood and torn skin. I tightened it until my fingers ached, until the numbness turned sharp.

Then I picked up the phone.

“Jin,” I said when he answered. My voice was ice. “Set the fight.”

A pause. Then a low curse. “Kazuki—”

“Do it,” I cut him off. “And make sure they know. I’m not coming to survive this time.”

The line went silent. Then Jin said, almost in a whisper:

“You sound like a dead man.”

I stared at Yume’s scarf in my hand, the threads tangled like veins of memory.

“No,” I said quietly. “Just a man with nothing left to lose.”

---

That night, I stepped out into the city. The streets were slick with rain, neon lights bleeding across puddles like shattered constellations. The air was cold, biting against my skin, but it didn’t matter.

I walked with my hood up, fists clenched, each step echoing with the weight of everything I’d lost—and everything I was willing to destroy.

Above me, the sky stretched vast and indifferent, painted in colors she would never see.

And for the first time, I hated it.

Because it didn’t deserve her.

Because nothing did.

---

I stopped under a flickering streetlamp, head tilted back, rain sliding down my face like tears I refused to shed anymore.

In that moment, I made a vow—not to God, not to the world, but to her.

Yume.

I will finish what you started.

And when the last name on that list is done… so am I.