Chapter 30 Epilogue: Ten Years Later – Everyday Forever

Ten years.

It sounds dramatic, but it sneaks up on you the way bills do—suddenly and without mercy.

I’m thirty now. Let that sink in. Thirty. Once upon a time, I thought hitting twenty would mean I had life figured out. Joke’s on me. The only thing I figured out is that my back hurts more often and I can’t eat spicy ramen at midnight without regretting it the next day.

And yet… life isn’t bad. Not at all.

---

Morning at the Kazama Household

The alarm blares. I groan. A warm hand smacks me in the chest.

“Reiji, get up,” Asuka mutters, half-asleep.

I squint at her. Ten years later and she’s still unfairly beautiful in the mornings, even with messy hair and no makeup. Actually, especially like that. Not that I’d ever say it aloud—my pride is fragile.

Instead, I roll out of bed, only to nearly trip over Yume’s schoolbag.

That’s right. Yume is in high school now. Fifteen years old. Terrifying, right? The kid who once clung to my leg calling me “Punch-kun” now rolls her eyes and says things like, “Ugh, Dad, don’t embarrass me in front of my friends.”

I thought I’d prepared myself, but nothing prepares you for watching your daughter grow up. Especially when she looks at boys. Especially when boys look back.

---

By the time I shuffle into the kitchen, Asuka’s already making breakfast. She insisted on keeping the routine, even though we could technically afford takeout every day now. She says cooking grounds her. I say it’s just another way for her to boss me around with recipes.

Yume storms in, uniform slightly crooked, hair still damp from a rushed shower.

“Dad, stop glaring. It’s too early for your scary face.”

“This is my face,” I deadpan.

She smirks, clearly inheriting Asuka’s dangerous sense of humor. “Then maybe you should get a new one.”

Asuka chuckles, sliding miso soup onto the table. “Don’t bully your father.”

“She started it,” I mutter, like a petulant child.

Yume sticks her tongue out. Asuka sighs, exasperated but fond, and suddenly I realize: this is it. This is happiness. Bickering over breakfast. Spilled tea. Yume rushing out the door while shouting, “I’m late!” like she’s auditioning for an anime.

The kind of mundane chaos I used to think I’d never deserve.

---

My job? Still a corporate grind. Meetings that could’ve been emails, bosses who love buzzwords like “synergy,” coworkers who think I’m scary because I don’t force a fake smile 24/7.

But when I come home, Asuka is there. Yume is there.

Sometimes Yume’s doing homework at the table, headphones blasting. Sometimes Asuka’s correcting papers, glasses perched on her nose, muttering about “hopeless students.”

And sometimes, like tonight, we’re all just sitting in the living room. Asuka reading, me pretending to read but actually sneaking glances at her, and Yume sprawled on the floor scrolling her phone, snickering at memes.

It’s nothing special. Which is why it’s everything.

---

Sometimes I think back.

To the rainy days when I forgot my umbrella on purpose. To the fireworks when I stumbled through my confession. To the nights Asuka cried quietly, thinking she had to be strong alone.

And I think—what if I hadn’t been there? What if I’d walked away?

But then Yume laughs, or Asuka scolds me for leaving socks on the floor, and I stop. Because what-ifs don’t matter. What’s here, now, is what matters.

--

One Sunday, we go for a walk in the park—the same park we picnicked in years ago.

Yume, taller now, walks ahead, pretending she doesn’t know us. Typical teenager defense mechanism.

Asuka walks beside me, her hand brushing mine. Ten years married, and that small touch still makes my chest tight.

“Do you ever regret it?” I ask suddenly.

She tilts her head. “Regret what?”

“Choosing me. Raising Yume with me. All of this.”

Her smile is soft, amused. “Every single day.”

I choke. She laughs, squeezing my hand. “Regret? No, Reiji. Not once. You gave me a family. You gave Yume a father. And you…” She pauses, eyes glinting. “You gave yourself a chance to grow.”

I look away, embarrassed. “…Cheesy.”

She leans closer. “But true.”

--

That night, after Yume’s gone to bed, we sit on the balcony. The city hums quietly below.

Asuka leans against me, head on my shoulder. My arm wraps around her automatically. It feels natural. Like it’s always been this way.

“You’re quiet,” she murmurs.

“Just thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

I smirk. “…About how, even if the world fell apart tomorrow, I’d still be fine. Because I have you. And her.”

She doesn’t reply right away. Just holds me tighter.

Above us, fireworks explode—someone celebrating something in the distance. The sound startles Yume, who pokes her head out sleepily. “Again? You two always hog the balcony.”

I snort. Asuka laughs. Yume yawns, then squeezes between us, resting her head on my lap like she used to when she was little.

And in that moment, under the fireworks, with my wife’s hand in mine and my daughter’s weight grounding me, I think—

This is it. Not perfection. Not some fairytale. Just… life. Messy, loud, exhausting.

And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

---

Once, I thought I was broken. That I’d never belong anywhere, never have anything worth holding onto.

But Asuka showed me I was wrong. Yume proved I could be more.

And now, ten years later, I know the truth:

Happiness isn’t some grand achievement. It’s a thousand little moments. Shared glances. Stupid jokes. Quiet nights.

It’s her.

It’s them.

It’s us.

And if that’s all I ever get—

Then that’s more than enough.