Hayato's secret

The classroom buzzed with chatter, but Shiromi barely heard any of it. Her eyes were fixed on the boy who is chatting with other classmates.
He laughed with his friends, completely unaware of the storm raging inside her. That name… that surname… was proof of blood soaked in tragedy.
Yet the way he smiled—so effortlessly, so innocently—didn’t match the image of a killer’s son.
"Don’t be fooled." She clenched her pen so hard it nearly snapped. "He carries their blood. Their sin."
After school, while the others left in groups, Shiromi lingered behind. She followed Hayato quietly, her footsteps masked by the noise of the city.
Hayato stopped at a small flower shop. He bought a single white lily, handling it with unusual care. Shiromi ducked behind a wall, her breath shallow.
He walked further, until he reached a quiet cemetery. There, he placed the lily on a grave and knelt, his head bowed.
Shiromi’s eyes widened.
The name on the stone was clear: Kurokawa Miyuki—Hayato’s mother.
Hayato whispered softly, too faint for Shiromi to catch every word. But she heard enough:
“…I’ll be strong, Mom. I’ll live the way you wanted me to…”
Her chest tightened. This wasn’t the act of a monster’s heir. This was a boy mourning, carrying pain just like her.
For the first time, doubt spread like cracks in her resolve.
"If he’s suffering too… what am I supposed to do?"
She turned away quickly, with her path of revenge faltering, whether to hate on the killer's whole family or the killer himself? She couldn't decide yet...