Chapter 30: The Glare of Unseen Eyes

POV: Hana Fujimoto

The laundry was warm—fresh cotton, soft pastels—and the whole apartment was filled with the gentle smell of detergent and the little pockets of color that made up my everyday life. The blue of the folded towels. The yellow sunlight stretching across the rug. The red blinking light of the kettle cooling on the counter.

Color always helped me feel grounded.

So when my phone buzzed loudly on the coffee table, it cut through the warm palette like a streak of neon.

A group chat message from home.

Mom.

My chest tightened even before I opened it.

Her texts filled the screen in rapid bursts:

> Hana!! Are you okay?!

We just saw the news!

Why were you out with—?!

The bright pink chat bubbles almost felt mocking against her panic.

I frowned, swiping down.

News? What news?

With a trembling breath, I tapped the link she sent.

A headline flashed in bold red.

A photo loaded.

And suddenly all the color in the room felt too bright—too loud—like the world had turned the saturation up just to overwhelm me.

There we were.

A café bathed in winter sunlight—light so pale it looked silver. Tiny rainbow reflections from glass cups. The warm brown of the wooden booth. The golden glow of a hanging lamp.

And Kaito.

His mask lowered just enough to take a sip of coffee, revealing the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. The hood and cap shadowed the rest of him, but even in disguise, he seemed to pull all the light toward him.

And me—sitting across from him, with color in my cheeks that the camera had picked up too easily.

My stomach dropped.

The headlines were loud, dramatic, and impossible to ignore:

“MINAMI HEIR ON INTIMATE OUTING WITH MYSTERY WOMAN.”

“MASK OFF: SECRET DATE?”

“WHO IS SHE? INTERNET INVESTIGATES.”

My vision blurred for a moment—not out of fear, but because the photo was too real. Too close. Too intimate to be dissected by strangers.

The café had felt quiet, warm, safe.

Like a private little corner of the world painted in soft colors.

Seeing it on a news site felt like someone had taken a paintbrush and dragged it harshly across the image, smudging everything.

More texts from Mom poured in, bright blue bubbles popping up relentlessly:

> Hana, what is going on??

Are you with him??

You should have told us—this is dangerous!

Please respond!!

I pressed my fingers to my forehead.

“We were careful,” I whispered. “We really were.”

Every little detail replayed in my mind—the blank mask, the lowered hood, the quiet table tucked away from the window. The cozy amber lights. The soft purple scarf I’d worn. The warm color of his coat sleeve brushing the table when he reached for his drink.

But none of that mattered now.

Someone had been watching.

Someone had captured the exact second he moved his mask.

The exact second everything felt… normal.

My phone buzzed again.

I forced myself to type back, even though my hands shook:

> I’m okay, Mom. It wasn’t a date. I swear.

The message looked small and pale on the screen.

Like a single brushstroke trying to cover a mural.

I sank onto the couch, hugging a rainbow-colored pillow to my chest. The apartment around me still glowed with softness—sunlight on the walls, green leaves from the plant in the corner, the gentle pink of the curtains.

But inside, the warmth wavered.

The thought of Kaito hit harder than the headlines.

What would this do to him?

To his life, already rigid and fragile in invisible ways?

What would his father say?

What would the board do?

He hated exposure.

Hated attention.

Hated the public eye so intensely it felt like a physical aversion.

And now there was a photo of him—mask lowered, guard down—circulating everywhere.

I pressed my hands together, trying to steady the fluttering panic.

“I hope you haven’t seen it yet,” I whispered into the colorful quiet of the room.

But hope felt thin.

When he did see it…

When the Minami Group responded…

When his father stepped in…

Everything between us—whatever it was, whatever it wasn’t—might change in ways neither of us was ready for.

I closed my eyes, letting the colors of the room soften into a blur.

I didn’t want to be the reason his world cracked.

I didn’t want to be the color that ruined his grayscale universe.

But the photo was out there.

And nowhere—not even in the warmest corner of my little apartment—felt safe from the glare of unseen eyes.