Chapter 30: The Day The World Went Away (2)

Reina wandered the upper levels of the mall, her footfalls disappearing into morning’s quiet. Last night refused to leave her. The weight of Ren’s palm against hers, his whispered confessions unraveling in the dark, their kiss suspending her above an endless drop she hadn’t feared enough to avoid. His promise echoed in her thoughts, and beneath her trembling hope lay something she didn’t want to name—a shameful pride that he had trusted her with his secret, choosing her to hear his truth.

The peace on his face as he’d spoken of his own ending lingered. This man who had crashed into her life might disappear just as abruptly. She drifted past empty shops with metal gates drawn, stepping around fallen ceiling panels. Through a shattered sheet of glass, she glimpsed a colorless sky streaked with smoke rising from the city.

Barely an hour had passed since she’d entrusted Lilly to Sakura’s care. When she’d tried to slip away, Sakura’s hand had caught her shoulder. Their gazes met, and Reina recognized the quiet desperation there—the expression of someone who had already lost too much. “Don’t disappear on me,” she had told her. “I need to know exactly where to find you if things go sideways.” Reina nodded, smiled. “I’ll check the upper levels for supplies,” she’d said—an easy lie.

The thought of sitting beside Sakura and Aki organizing what would almost certainly become a slaughter made her stomach twist, especially knowing Ren was somewhere in the ruins of the city doing the same. “He’ll be fine,” she whispered. The reassurance felt hollow.

She found herself drifting toward the makeshift command center they’d formed in what had once been a food court. Around the corner, she caught fragments of conversation, voices sharpened by tension, clipped by restraint. “It makes no sense! I should be out there helping, not stuck here babysitting.” Midori leaned against a makeshift table, jacket hanging open, one hand gripping the dangling straps of his unused harness.

Across from him, Haruka stood, arms crossed, shoulders rigid. And off to one side, seated at a low table where medical tools were arranged with precision, sat Shion. Morning light threaded through her hair, turning the black strands fluid and metallic. When she lifted her attention to Reina’s approach, something cool flickered across her face.

“Look, I get it, someone needs to stay behind. But why us? Why me? I could be out there making a difference instead of just waiting around.”

“You heard what my mom said,” Haruka said.

“That’s supposed to be enough?”

“Midori…” Haruka’s voice was gentle. “She left me behind, too. I’m standing here the same as you.”

Reina heard the pain beneath. She stepped into their circle, hands relaxed at her sides. “Mrs. Sumire must have her reasons,” she added. “We should trust her judgment, even when we don’t understand it.”

They both turned to her at once, their argument stalling mid-breath. She lifted her hand in a small wave, arranging her lips into the practiced smile she’d worn at countless business dinners.

“Oh—sorry. Good morning.”

Haruka’s shoulders eased slightly. “Aokawa.”

“Morning,” Midori echoed, though his attempted grin collapsed at the edges. “Guess you heard all that?”

“Everyone’s entitled to vent,” she said.

“Hey,” Midori straightened, hopeful. “Have you seen Ren this morning?”

A faint quirk touched the corner of Shion’s mouth—barely there, but she caught it, and it sent a shiver along her spine. She kept her expression neutral despite the warmth rising in her cheeks. “I did see him,” she said carefully. “He wasn’t feeling well.”

“If Ren isn’t here,” Haruka said quietly, “then Mom probably already took him for whatever mission she’s running. She seems to trust him more than her own daughter.”

“So he risks his life again while I count supplies?” Midori murmured.

His frustration vibrated against her own fears. Reina understood too well that restless feeling when danger moved and you stayed behind. But unlike Midori, she had made a promise. “There’s purpose in waiting,” she said. “Sometimes the best thing you can do is stay put.”

Midori shook his head and turned away. It lacked the force of a true storm-off, but determination carried him down the corridor. Haruka followed, her voice low and urgent as she repeated his name. She watched until the corner swallowed them. When she turned back, Shion watched her—pale irises caught fractured light, reflecting her silhouette.

Under that steady scrutiny, she felt exposed. She’d felt this same vulnerability once before, in the blood-smeared classroom where Shion had dragged her and Lilly from sudden death. “I’m sorry if we disturbed you. We’ve all got a lot on our minds,” Reina said, dipping her head.

“No need to apologize,” she replied. “I find observation... educational.”

Reina shifted her weight. “Observation? Of what?”

“Patterns.” Shion’s attention traveled over her with clinical calm. “Yours and his, especially. How you move toward him, and how he allows it.”

Heat crept up Reina’s neck. “I’m sorry?”

“I see how you orbit him, I see you for what you are,” Shion said softly. “The calculations in your words. You’ve rehearsed your lines very well. Performed with more conviction than most. Would you like to know what else I see?”

Reina felt her lips arrange into the start of a polite rebuttal, but indignation surged before she could shape it. “What..?”

“If I’m honest,” she said, “nothing at all.” Shion rose, smoothing her skirt with one hand. She slipped away without another word.

Reina watched until she vanished. Only then did her lungs fully expand. It shouldn’t have hit so hard. Her life had been a string of praise—teachers marking her as exceptional, business associates courting her early, family lifting her as the golden standard others couldn’t match. Now, at the end of the world, with her family name reduced to nothing and her future narrowed to survival, Shion’s dismissal should have been freeing.

Ren’s kiss surfaced. Her fingertips traced idle shapes along the table’s edge. “Nothing at all,” she echoed. It didn’t matter. She had already chosen her place. It was at his side.

* * *

Silence stretched thin between the three of them. Ren recognized the fear filling the air in its quiet way.

“This is insane,” Mori whispered. “Sorry. I wasn’t saying—” Mori began, then faltered, the words dying.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ren said, stepping past them and descending the fractured concrete slope toward the plant’s outer fence.

Tanaka drew a tight breath. “We appreciate what you’re doing. Really.” He flicked a glance at Mori, searching for nerves. “Like we said, we’re just maintenance guys. We splice cables. Replace fuses. We don’t…” He nodded toward the looming silhouette of Tanizawa Electric. “We don’t go looking for whatever is in a place like that.”

Ren pressed his hand to the cold chain. “You won’t be. That part falls to me.” He studied the yard through the fence slats. Only once he’d mapped the layout did he push the gate. Metal squealed loud enough to rattle the morning air. “When I signal, go straight to the control center.”

“And if something goes wrong?”

“It won’t.” He stepped onto the bloodstained asphalt. The temperature dropped further as the massive structure swallowed the dawn. “Stay put. I’ll find anyone still alive and bring them out.”

“Find…?” Mori echoed.

He turned to them briefly, features shifting into the face he wore when conversation ended.

Mori attempted a smile. “Right. Message received.”

Ren faced the main structure. His fingers curled, steadying himself as his focus narrowed on the entrance ahead—a black maw. Four soft words clung to him, warm against the cold: “Come back to me.”