Chapter 32: “The Cropped Photo”

Touko waited until the house settled.

Reika moved into the kitchen, the clink of porcelain and the low murmur of water filling the space. The television hummed faintly. The front door stayed closed. No footsteps. No interruptions.

Only then did Touko lift Rurika’s phone.

It felt light in her hands. Too light, as if it carried nothing dangerous at all.

She unlocked it easily.

Not because she guessed the password.

Because she already knew it.

The screen bloomed to life. A gallery. Rows of images. Classmates. Homework. Selfies taken from careful angles. Smiles practiced in mirrors.

Touko scrolled slowly.

She did not rush.

Rushing made mistakes. And Touko did not make mistakes.

Then she saw it.

The photo.

Two figures framed by the bright street behind them. One calm, relaxed, unaware. The other leaning just a little too close, eyes shining in a way Touko recognized instantly.

Her breathing slowed.

She tapped the image.

Zoomed in.

Her fingers moved with surgical precision, isolating the part that mattered. The curve of a jaw. The familiar coat. The shoulder she had pressed her face against so many times when she was younger.

Papa.

Touko cropped the photo.

Removed everything else.

No context.

No explanation.

Just him.

She stared at the result for a long moment, her reflection faintly visible on the glass. Her expression didn’t change. But something behind her eyes sharpened.

Footsteps.

Rurika stepped back into the living room, hair tied back, shoulders tense.

Touko looked up and smiled.

“Feeling better?” she asked.

Rurika nodded cautiously. “Touko… why do you have my phone?”

Touko stood.

She crossed the space between them calmly, holding the phone out at chest height. Not accusing. Not angry.

Curious.

She turned the screen toward Rurika.

“A date… with this man?”

Rurika’s face drained of color.

“That— that’s not—” Her words tangled. Her eyes darted to the hallway, to the kitchen, anywhere but the screen. “You don’t understand.”

Touko tilted her head slightly. “Then help me.”

Rurika’s breathing sped up. “It wasn’t a date. We were just— I was just helping pick a present.”

“For me?” Touko asked gently.

Rurika nodded too fast.

Touko’s eyes stayed on her face, cataloguing every twitch, every delay. She took one step closer.

“You didn’t tell Mama where you were,” Touko said. “You said you were with friends.”

Rurika’s hands clenched. “Because it was easier.”

Touko hummed softly, as if considering the logic.

“Easier,” she repeated.

Rurika suddenly moved, panic breaking through her hesitation. She grabbed her purse and swung it toward Touko, desperate, clumsy.

“Stop it!” she shouted. “Give it back!”

The purse hit Touko’s shoulder and fell open on the floor.

Something small rolled out.

Foil glinting under the light.

Silence fell like a blade.

Touko looked down.

Then back up.

Her head tilted again, slow and deliberate.

“Planning something grown-up, Hanabusa-san?”

Rurika froze.

“That’s not mine,” she whispered. “I don’t— I didn’t—”

Touko crouched and picked it up between two fingers, as if it were something dirty. She studied it with innocent curiosity, then placed it carefully on the table.

Reika appeared in the doorway.

“What’s going on?” she asked sharply.

Her eyes dropped to the table.

To the object.

Then to Rurika.

The air shifted.

Reika’s face tightened. Her voice lowered. “Explain.”

Rurika’s mouth opened. Nothing came out.

Touko stepped back, creating space. Giving the moment room to breathe.

“I found it when your purse fell,” Touko said quietly. “I was worried.”

Reika’s gaze burned into her daughter. “Worried about what?”

Rurika shook her head, tears forming. “It’s not like that. I swear. Someone— someone put it there.”

Touko’s eyes met hers.

Calm.

Unblinking.

Unmoved.

Reika’s jaw clenched. “Who?”

Rurika swallowed. “I don’t know.”

Touko added, softly, “She also has pictures.”

Reika snapped her attention back to Touko. “Pictures?”

Touko held up the phone again. The cropped image filled the screen.

Reika stared.

Her breath hitched. “Who is this?”

Touko answered simply, “My papa.”

The word landed hard.

Reika’s eyes widened. She turned to Rurika, disbelief flashing into fury. “You used my phone plan to— to—”

“No!” Rurika cried. “I didn’t do anything. He helped me. That’s all. I swear.”

Reika didn’t listen.

She never did when her voice took on that brittle edge.

Touko stepped back further, hands folding neatly in front of her. She had become small again. Harmless.

“I think,” Touko said gently, “Rurika-chan might be confused.”

Reika’s breathing grew sharp. Her words cut. “Confused? Or shameless?”

Rurika backed away, tears spilling now. “Please—”

Reika reached for the phone.

Touko let her.

The screen glowed between them, a single frozen image shaping the narrative all on its own.

No one noticed when Touko’s own phone lifted slightly in her hand.

No one noticed the small red dot appear.

Recording.

Rurika’s knees weakened.

Reika’s voice rose, trembling with a mix of anger and humiliation.

Touko watched.

Not with pleasure.

With completion.

She had arranged the pieces.

She had removed doubt.

She had given the truth the shape it needed to survive.

When Rurika’s legs finally gave out, Touko didn’t move to help.

She simply stood there, expression serene, as if witnessing something inevitable.

As if watching gravity work.

And somewhere deep inside her, something settled.

Papa was safe.

That was all that mattered.