somewhere beyond this disaster, the sun is about to set

Quit his job.

One petal.

Stay with the Fujinomiya estate.

One petal.

By the time the paper flower is petalless, Soujiro has forgotten which side represents which option.

Weirdly, Fuji packed everything by herself. She was done by the time Soujiro showed up. There’s nothing left to do but wait. That is, until Dr. Shimazu shows up carrying a bag so large that she looks like a snail. When she sees Soujiro, she freezes. He’s used to this, so he bows, and she thaws, and she bows as well.

What if…?

What if he asks her…?

What if she tells him to stay…?

Soujiro stands up to help, but Dr. Shimazu stumbles back. “Wait, no!”

He stops. “I just… I’m sorry.”

“I-it’s fine. It’s not that no no no AHH!”

She collapses under the weight of her shell; soon, only an outstretched, trembling hand remains, peeking from the myriad of packages. Under any other circumstance, Soujiro would’ve rushed to help. The issue is that she said no. But. “Dr. Shimazu…”

“...help…”

He does just that. Worryingly, a lot of the packages seem to be food supplies. “If I may ask, was Fuji involved with any of this?”

Once she’s free, Dr. Shimazu gasps for air. “No. Just… just the clinic. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

After he helps her up, Soujiro asks, “Would—” but then his throat stops working. After all, what if she tells him… no, she won’t. She’ll just tell him to do whatever he wants, and whatever he wants is the wrong choice. He also doesn’t know what he wants.

Then Dr. Shimazu says, “Would you please leave?”

***

(╥﹏╥) Hello everyone! Pleased to inform you that I’ll go back to Tokyo tomorrow! 

.·°՞(っ-ᯅ-ς)՞°·. Starting on Monday, it’ll be business as usual! Though I might have to take a break or two after some of the more intense scenes. Please look forward to it! Thank you everyone for your support!

Post.

Oh, right.

Happy Holidays everyone! .·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·.

The very first comment says: is this a cry for help

Her manager calls her to take that post down, but Koharu deploys the usual attack for cases like these–tiring opposition through circular reasoning. She likes the comments worrying about her mental health, posts her Christmas Eve picture wearing all black, and then a stock image of Tokyo with a huge red heart drawn with the default editing app in her phone.

And with that, the eve of the final day has arrived.

Unfortunately, her morning gets swallowed by call after call. Yes, she will go back. Yes, she’ll be careful. Yes, she’ll show up to work the day after tomorrow. No, she won’t take those posts down. They were the ones who asked for a post showcasing her excitement to return to her birth city. Didn’t she do just that? Can they prove it was in bad faith? No, right? Koharu checks her nails while she waits for them to give up. Since they don’t, she says, “Even if I take it down, people already saw it. It’ll look suspicious if I do. I dunno, looks very happy and hopeful to me.”

The next topic is the non-existing Nagumo Sr. No, she won’t show up with him. Yes, she’ll talk about him, mentioning that she apologized, ensuring that he and his wife would stay safe, employed, and anonymous. Emphasis on wife.

The rest is cold, sterile, corporate word salad. Koharu uses her burner phone to scroll until they finally shut up. Something something great opportunities. This and this brand deal. Some new project co-starring with Yukida Fumito again. Speaking of, they really seem to want her to get together with him.

While Nagumo walks in to do the usual checkup, Koharu fantasizes for a bit.

What would happen if she “accidentally” leaked her location? Chances are, people would find her gallivanting with Nagumo on their way up the cliff. By next morning, this would be all over the internet. By next week, she’d be giving interviews and explaining how her wellness journey led her to discovering herself again in the unlikeliest of places. By next month, people would’ve moved on to the next inane celebrity event. She’d become Nagumo Koharu, visit Otohama every other weekend, cure poverty and animal abuse, and everyone would live happily ever after.

…that’s in an ideal world.

In this one, swarms of Kerochanfans would invade the village. They’d harass locals. Clog phone lines. Block the streets. Paparazzi could be a problem, too, but those pale in comparison to the wrath of the chronically online. Nagumo would probably quit to protect the clinic. He’d get blacklisted from any big-name hospitals. Someone else would happily agree to get taken under the Fujinomiya estate wing and turn the inevitable scandal into a career, but not him.

…that’s the way the world works.

And as such, the eve of the final day is dull. She eats her second-to-last Otohama meal—vegan curry, which has now become her favorite. When she seeks Mr. Oda and his friend group for one last crocheting session, however, they’re mysteriously absent. So is Mrs. Matsueda. Koharu’s ill mood is such that Dr. Shimazu asks, during her final checkup, “Is something wrong, Ms. Fujinomiya?”

“The world.”

“O-oh.”

“What do you think? Yes or no?”

Dr. Shimazu chews on her pen for a bit. “I don’t think it’s that bad.”

“Well, lucky you.”

She nods.

Their conversation dies there. They never really spoke that much. Dr. Shimazu could probably feel Koharu’s hatred back when she was a rival. Of course, Dr. Shimazu has won. She can be whoever she wants.

Even if Koharu had decided to put her degree to use—graduated with honors, by the way—she’d still have mosquitoes swarming around her every now and then. She wouldn’t ‘just’ be able to be a zoologist; she’d be one of those child actors who fell from grace. 

Has anyone ever considered that someone placed under the spotlight before they could speak might not want to stay under it forever? No way! Everyone knows that everyone wants to be famous! And be scrutinized non-stop! And not be able to leave the house without wearing a costume! Or date whoever they want! Or post whatever they want!

“I approved Toshi’s request to take you up and down the hill for the last session,” Dr. Shimazu says. She has long since stopped using his last name around Koharu. “I’ll just ask you to sign a document in case anything, um, anything happens.”

…of course even this needs stupid paperwork.

Koharu signs.

“Thank you. The forecast said it’d snow, but if it rains, or if there’s sleet… please come back. It gets slippery. Thank you. Oh! And tell Toshi to call me before you do.”

“Why?”

“So we can, um. Make some preparations.”

More papers, probably. Koharu presses her fingers against her ugly leg. It’s no longer eggplant or dragon-like, but it’s noticeably thinner than the other one. If it weren’t for that, she’d be wearing the ‘last day’ outfit she had naively packed for the occasion. Today she wears all black–boots with no high heels (blegh), wool pants, a sweater she knit for herself. And a fuchsia trenchcoat. Since she hasn’t seen her stylists for three months, she has to settle for a ponytail, though her makeup is on point as usual.

Nagumo waits for her at the entrance, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. He’s wearing a beige wool hat with dog ears. When he sees her, he points at it. “I knew you’d like it.”

Koharu hasn’t even said anything. No one over the age of six should look so proud about wearing something like that.

“Come on, Ms. Fujinomiya. Time for your last session.”

“Yeah.”

They begin to walk.

When Koharu first brought up the walk to the edge of the cliff, she certainly wasn’t expecting a windy, gray mess where she constantly had to push hair out of her face. Gone is that warm, earthy view from the window.

Nagumo gives her space, though he constantly glances at her. Koharu tells herself that he’s being shy, but she also knows that she’s lying. He’s just doing his job. “Careful with the terrain,” he says. “Let me know if anything hurts. Physically.”

It’s a quiet walk otherwise. Both of them are too focused on her frail meat suit not failing again. By the time they reach the summit, she’s all but panting. Her three-month-ago self would’ve gone up and down this thing jogging twice without breaking a sweat.

“There we go,” he says. “The cliff.”

They’re not even close to the actual edge of the hill, but sure.

“It’s hard to see with all the clouds, but the sun should be setting…” he checks his phone. “...uhh, it’s 5:00 PM, so… now? I don’t know.”

“Doesn’t matter.” The sky is clogged with gray. The sun could be anywhere.

Nagumo gestures at it. “Somewhere beyond this disaster, the sun is about to set. Better?”

“This place sucks,” Koharu says.

“If you think it sucks now, you should check it out during typhoon season. Anyway, let me know once you’re ready so we can go back.”

And…

That’s it.

“Alright,” Koharu mumbles.

To be the most colorful thing in this landscape is bittersweet. There’s nothing left to say, so the wind sings for them.

If there is no sunset, how about a snowfall? No? Not even that?

What if the hill collapsed below them, with Koharu lunging forward to save Nagumo a second before he fell into the sea? She’d have an excuse to say what she shouldn’t. After all, they might not survive…

What if someone passing by just happened to recognize her? With how far they’re standing from each other, there’s plenty of room for plausible deniability. She could find a way to twist the real world into a good one. She could.

What if he told her to stay?

Koharu says, after some time, “Ready.”

“Let’s go, then.”

As they head downhill, Nagumo makes a call. “Dr. Shimazu, we’ll be there in ten minutes or so. Yeah. No, you are calling Hino. Don’t care.” He hangs up.

Koharu glances at him. “Soujiro? What do you need him for?”

“Stuff.”

“You guys exploit him. He’s my employee.”

“Don’t care.”

“Wow.”

“What, Ms. Fujinomiya?” He asks, glancing over his shoulder at her. “Is there a problem?”

“You—!”

He slips.

As he does, the first snowflake hits the ground.

As he does, Koharu reaches out for his shoulder, throwing her weight back to keep them upright.

It hurts. Thanks to this, however, he doesn’t roll down the hill.

He doesn’t.

They’re so close that the white ghosts of their breaths kiss.

If she leaned forward…

If he leaned forward…

Koharu steps back. “Hurt?” She asks.

Nagumo shakes his head. He steps back, too. “You?”

“Nothing serious.”

“I see. Thank you for telling me. I’ll tell Dr. Shimazu to check up on you. We should pick up the pace before the weather gets worse.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

They don’t speak again. The snow isn’t white or fluffy, but a dirty, slushy thing that melts as soon as it hits the floor.

And thus, her last therapy session comes to an end.

Nothing, huh? Not one good thing?

“...Nagumo…”

“Mhm?”

Knowing his response, she says, “It’s getting slippery. I might get injured again. Can I… hold onto you?”

He’s close enough that she could hug him from behind. Nagumo turns around, just a bit, then slowly shakes his head. The uniform says one thing, his face another.

“Alright, then…”

“Then…?”

“My name.”

Nagumo blinks.

“Can you say it again?”

“Fu… oh.” He glances at the clinic, just a few meters away. Then he looks back at her. “Koharu.”

She smiles. “Munetoshi.”

So does he, barely. “Let’s go, Koharu.”

This alone makes that disaster trip worth it.

She’ll be leaving around sunrise tomorrow. After a full day of traveling, her welcome back gift will be another medical visit, now at the Tokyo hospital. Her manager will show up, yelling. So will her parents. She’ll make a post talking about how enlightening her experience was, and how she’s soo thankful and eager to go back to work. She’ll be shooting again the day after tomorrow.

“It’s dark,” she notes, as Munetoshi opens the door to the clinic. “I wonder if the lamp exploded again.”

“With my luck…” he trails off, sighs, then opens it.

It’s dark.

It’s silent.

Angrily, Munetoshi turns on the switch.

“SURPRISE!”

The lobby now hosts a banquet.

Mr. Oda, Mrs. Matsueda, Eguchi Yuu and her husband, Dr. Shimazu, a very startled Soujiro, several regulars, and even Amelia Gaillard through a tablet—they’re all there.

So is Koharu’s heart, and so it’ll stay for a long, long time.