Epilouge

Epilogue :  The Things We Owe
“Some ghosts don’t haunt. They knock.” – Adam

The street was quiet.

Even the cicadas had stopped screaming, as if the night itself had decided to listen.

Adam walked down the cracked pavement with unhurried steps, Akane resting against his back. One arm looped around his shoulders, the other hand gripping the fabric of his shirt like it was the only solid thing left in the world.

She could feel his heartbeat through his back. Slow. Controlled. Too steady for someone who had just promised her a future.

The glow of distant streetlights stretched their shadows across the road, long and stitched together.

Akane shifted slightly. Her fingers curled and uncurled against his chest, betraying the unease she hadn’t spoken.

Adam noticed.

He always did.

“You’re quiet,” she murmured near his ear.

“I always am,” he replied.

She smiled faintly, but the feeling didn’t reach her chest. “This silence is different.”

He didn’t answer.

They walked another block. Her cheek rested against his shoulder now, warmth grounding her.

“Adam,” she whispered, almost afraid of the sound of her own voice. “Do you ever think… that one day you’ll just put me down?”

He slowed, barely.

“…And leave?” he finished.

She nodded.

“I don’t vanish,” he said quietly. “People just stop looking.”

That answer didn’t comfort her.

She slid her hand down from his shoulder and laced her fingers into his. He tightened his grip beneath her legs in response, wordless reassurance.

She breathed in, trying to memorize the way this felt.

Adam’s apartment building rose ahead, crooked and tired, stairwell light flickering like a warning it had forgotten how to give.

“I can walk from here,” she offered.

“No,” he said instantly. “You’re fine.”

“I don’t want to be heavy.”

He stopped walking.

“You’re not,” he said. “You’re here.”

Her chest tightened.

They climbed the stairs slowly. Every step echoed too loudly.

Three steps from his floor, Adam froze.

Akane felt it immediately. His muscles tensed, spine straightening beneath her.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“The door,” he said. “It’s open.”

Her arms tightened around his neck.

The apartment light spilled into the hall like an accusation.

He stepped inside without setting her down.

The room was wrong.

Clean in a way that erased him. Ordered. Sterile.

This isn’t Adam’s space, she thought. This is a place that expects obedience.

“This doesn’t look like you,” she whispered.

“No,” Adam replied. “It looks like him.”

The voice came from the kitchen.

“So. This is what you’ve become.”

Akane flinched.

The man stepped forward with measured precision. Black suit. Perfect posture. His presence pressed down on the room like gravity recalibrating itself.

Adam didn’t move.

“…Uncle,” he said.

Akane’s breath caught. Uncle?

Kyoma’s eyes remained fixed on Adam.

“My son,” he said coolly. “Reduced to playing caretaker.”

Akane bristled, heat rising in her chest. She opened her mouth.

Adam murmured, “Stay.”

Kyoma’s gaze flicked to her for the first time.

Evaluating. Dissecting.

“…So this is the girl,” he said. “The variable.”

Akane felt suddenly exposed. Like her existence was an error in a system that never planned for her.

“I warned you,” Kyoma continued, voice level and bloodless. “Attachment corrodes efficiency. You’re already slower.”

Adam said nothing.

Kyoma reached into his coat and dropped something onto the floor.

A pendant.

Old. Scarred. Familiar.

The sound it made was small. Final.

Akane felt Adam’s breathing shift beneath her. Just slightly.

“You signed,” Kyoma said. “With understanding. With consent.”

His eyes narrowed. “Or have you forgotten what you owe?”

Adam stared at the pendant. Didn’t bend. Didn’t flinch.

Kyoma tilted his head. “Do you require correction?”

Akane’s heart slammed against her ribs.

This isn’t a conversation, she realized. This is ownership.

Her gaze lifted slowly to Kyoma’s face.

“…Kyoma Arashi,” she whispered.

The man turned fully toward her.

A faint smile curved his lips.

“Ah,” he said. “You recognize value.”

Adam exhaled. “Uncle.”

His grip tightened around her legs, anchoring himself. Anchoring her.

Akane pressed her forehead into his neck, fear threading through her spine, but something else rose with it.

Resolve.

He hasn’t put me down, she thought.

Even now.

Even here.

The ceiling light flickered.

And in that small apartment, with the past standing in front of him and the future still in his arms, everything shifted.

Volume Two had arrived.

And it didn’t knock.

It claimed.

[To Be Continued in Volume Two]