His Cage Cracks

Friday. April 10th, 12 more school days until Shōwa Day. Golden Week was around the corner, and the revenue wasn’t. Shinohara Chocolat would reopen this weekend, and it was imperative that it went well.

Guess what wasn’t around the corner? My stress.

I cussed myself.

I earned this necklace because I maintained this strict distance from everyone. Were the consequences of protecting my inner peace worth it? I had to ask myself this for what didn’t feel like the first time.

Another quick solution to the Academy predicament would be to sign contracts with my classmates, binding their support for my family business now, and I would repay them later. But I had no easy method of moving the student body quickly. I had a few close allies precisely because I kept everyone at a reasonable distance. Therefore, just like the business loan, strangers had no significant reason to trust me.

I found Yui on the rooftop after Wakami gave me a hint.

Yui stood by the fence with her hands gripping the linked metal like she was afraid she’d float away if she let go. She didn’t turn when the door clicked.

“Why are you being so cold, Rintarō-kun?” she asked quietly.

“Why…?” I repeated.

Was it my reluctance for the promotional videos? Was I coming off as taciturn?

I didn’t know. I probably didn’t want to know. If I acknowledged how I looked from the outside, I’d have to admit the inside was real, too.

“It’s hard right now. I’m sorry.”

Yui turned. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I know. I forgive you.” It came out like a decision she’d made out of habit. Forgiving because the alternative was giving up, and she’d never been good at giving up.

“So, please don’t push me away,” she continued. “I’m only trying to help… Why don’t we share another meal together? Like we used to. Wouldn’t that be easier? Isn’t the reason you cook for others because you want to be understood?”

If she’d asked that in middle school, I would’ve just nodded, embarrassed, and pretended. Now, the question hit something uglier.

“No,” I quickly denied. I did what I always did when someone’s sincerity got too close: I ruined it. “Don’t push your repulsive idea of sympathy onto me. How can you understand me when I don’t even understand myself?” I kept going, because once my mouth started, it always tried to win by destroying the conversation, but I was aiming differently now. “If you’re in a forgiving mood, then don’t say I’m being cold. If you’re in a forgiving mood, then take all of me.” I hated myself for how manipulative that sounded. It wasn’t even intentional. “I’ve abandoned the search for forgiveness. I’m looking for what’s out of reach. Something you can help with, but can’t give. That’s certain.”

“Why?” she demanded. “If you asked, I’d give anything. How could you say–”

“I’m looking for acceptance,” I pronounced. “From myself. You achieved your dream. I’m taking it away from you by leaving school. Where’s the coldness in that? Especially when you were the one who taught me to dream, and at the same time, crushed it?”

We threatened tears as we crossed a dangerous line. “If you had just waited…” she whispered.

“How could I have waited for your return?” I snapped. “It’s a miracle. It’s a miracle we’re here, together again. Believing in miracles takes heart. How could you expect a broken heart to dream? Yui-san, you believed. You had your goal, the idea of coming back filled you with aspirations. Probably… to tell me how you felt. I had no goal. My only choice was to wait on a promise that required a miracle to be fulfilled.”

Yui did the unexpected. She didn’t argue my logic. She stepped forward and said, softly, like she was correcting the real mistake. “That’s not it. It’s not that you gave up that I’m disillusioned with the way you are now. It’s that you didn’t believe in me.”

The revelation hit so cleanly it felt surgical.

“Do you know how hard I worked? Do you know how many nights I wanted to come back and tell you I was okay? How many times have I stopped myself from dialing your new store’s number or messaging you, because I was afraid that you’d forgotten about me? I know I’m being unfair, but that whole time, I was thinking you were waiting. Even if it hurt. Even if you were lonely. I thought… if it were Rintarō-kun, he would wait. He’d give me time. If anything, he’d roar cheers at my return. When I left, I was scared. I was so scared. Remember…”

Suddenly, without warning, my mind flashed back to a sunlit playground. A girl, standing in front of me, arms out like a shield. Face scrunched up, she’d protected me first. Even though she was bad at it. Even though she shook. Bullies didn’t like being told “stop” by someone who was shaking, but she’d tried anyway.

I’d stepped in after her, like a delayed reaction.

“I fought back because you did.”

“I didn’t do it to impress you. I did it because you looked like you were going to disappear. After that, you cooked for me. We ate together. We opened up like we mattered.”

I remembered it too well. The cheap ingredients, the ridiculous pride I took in making meals taste worth living for, the way she ate like she was trying to prove she trusted me with her hunger.

“That was when I fell in love,” she said, and she confessed it like it was obvious.

My brain tried to reject it immediately. It was too direct and warm. “We were kids.”

“We were kids, but it was special. We both knew it was special.” She took a shaky breath. “And then I left. I didn’t leave because I wanted to. I left because we were poor. Because my life was getting smaller, and it was supposed to be a way out. You think it was romantic? You think it was my dream? It was a slum. I didn’t get a sparkly new life. And you know what kept me alive? The idea that you would still think I could do it, that if it were Rintarō, he would do it.”

She stepped closer. “I kept climbing. I went popular online. I clawed out of it and came back. And then I found you, acting like it was luck. So yeah. It’s not that you gave up.” She jabbed all five fingers into my chest. “It’s that you didn’t believe in me. You didn’t believe I’d come back. You stopped believing in anything. You shut yourself off so you wouldn’t be hurt again. And you know what that means? The previous you would’ve answered instantly, so I’ll give you time.”

“It means…”

“It’s hard to say it, isn’t it? You didn’t think I was worth waiting for honestly. It means you didn’t think I was worth the pain.”

That line finally shattered something deep within me. My lips parted, and for once, the feelings came out without polish. “I was scared,” I admitted.

Yui’s expression softened for half a second. Now she shook her head hard.

“I was scared too, but I still moved. You stayed still and called it love.” Yui’s hands trembled at her sides. “I didn’t come back to have you look at me like I’m temporary. Like I’m a miracle you can’t trust.”

My chest tightened. Suddenly, it was all snapping clear. I hadn’t stopped at being cold or strategic. I’d been selfish, dismissive of other people’s survival, dismissive of her.

The mere thought revolted me.

Grit your teeth, you massive idiot!

My fist hit across the face, lighting my cheek hot.

Yui gasped. “What the hell are you doing?!” she lunged forward like I’d just slit something open. “You think hurting yourself fixes it?!’ Her eyes were livid as she held my arm. “Rintarō–!”

“I needed to feel it,” I muttered. “You’re here to slap sense into me, right?’

“As if I could,” she snapped. She did it anyway. Her palm cracked across my other cheek with everything she wasn’t allowed to say.

OW?!

“I’m holding onto that one,” she trembled. “I’m keeping the memory of you hurting me. And I’m keeping the memory of you pretending to forget why.”

I touched my face.

“Oh, was that too much? Oh, I’m so sorry!”

It stung, but I welcomed it. “That felt honest,” I acknowledged, blushing fully.

“Don’t say it as if you won,” she said, quavering. ‘Don’t you dare act like pain earns you forgiveness.”

“I didn’t win. I just… feel like myself again.”

“Good,” she held, smiling a little. We were so close that the space between us couldn’t be used as an excuse anymore. “Our classmates keep making moves,” she offered the truth softly. “They keep advancing. I can’t keep waiting any longer, so I’m going to ask you properly. Are you willing to let me in?” She whispered. “It might even be better… if you keep the others out.”

“I won’t promise I’ll be the best at it. I can’t promise I’m the same Rintarō.”

Yui’s eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t decide that alone,” she whispered. “You are.”

My arms moved. Yui walked into me like she’d been waiting all her life to do it without permission. Our hug wasn’t clumsy. For once in a long time, the warmth didn’t feel like a desperate cry to return to the way things were.

“I’m back,” she whispered into my shoulder.

I shut my eyes. “Welcome back,” I said, tasting the realness returning to my words. “Yui.”

She pressed her face to my collar. I felt the heat of her cheek against mine, the same one she’d slapped. She brushed her lips there like she hadn’t meant to, like she was testing if it still stung.

“Don’t do that again,” she whispered. “Don’t hurt yourself to prove something to me. Just show me. Let me see it all.”

I nodded. My arms tightened around her. My necklace throbbed warmly between us.

I realized that the sickest part wasn’t that I’d hurt her. It was that I had wanted to. Not to be cruel, but to drive her away before she had the chance to stay and see how much I hated myself.

It had been the world that made her poor. It was the world that took her from me. It was the world that was cornering my family, strangling us into silence. I should resent the world. I did. But even that was a distraction.

Because what I really wanted… Was to forgive myself. I wanted to taste better. Above all, I wanted to be better.

Yui had never been a waste of my love. So now, I would grant her the kind of honesty that mattered, the kind that changed me.

Any more distance between us could die.

Right here, in this nostalgic, blessed moment, I could feel it: the real me, caring for the real me, while holding someone I genuinely cared for.