Chapter 7: Confession to Women

The train rocked gently as Haruto Takeda sank back into his seat, staring blankly out the window at the snow-covered fields passing by. His hands rested on his knees, fingers fidgeting slightly as his mind replayed Sakura’s words: “I have a boyfriend… you should break off the wedding.”

He had expected chaos from her, yes, but this—this deliberate, teasing manipulation, mixed with drunken mischief—left him feeling hollow in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

Kenji Sakamoto, sensing the shift in his friend’s mood, leaned lazily across the aisle, propping his head on one hand with a grin plastered across his face. “Ah… I see it in your eyes, Haruto. The look of a man whose heart has been… slightly stomped on by a tiny, tipsy tornado.”

Haruto didn’t even glance at him. “I… don’t understand her,” he muttered, voice low. “Why would she… push me away like that? And… why did it hurt so much?”

Kenji let out a dramatic gasp. “Push you away? Hurt? Haruto… you’re officially initiated into the Eternal Male Plight!”

Haruto groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Kenji, please. Not now.”

But Kenji was unstoppable. “No, no, this is crucial life advice. Step one: understand that women are cursed creatures—yes, cursed! From the day we are born, they begin their subtle, merciless training of men. First, it’s toys, then crushes, then heartbreak, and eventually… drunken confessions on moving trains. You see the pattern?”

Haruto’s lips twitched involuntarily, though he kept his expression neutral. “It’s not… training,” he said quietly. “It’s just…”

“Chaos,” Kenji finished for him, eyes sparkling. “It’s chaos. Emotional chaos. The kind that makes men die young from heartbreak—and when we die, we haunt them for eternity because we never got proper closure!”

Haruto shot him a sharp glare. “You… really have a way of turning everything into a curse story, don’t you?”

“Of course!” Kenji exclaimed, waving his hands dramatically. “It’s an ancient, universally acknowledged fact! Step two: accept that you are doomed, Haruto. Step three: survive the chaos!”

Haruto let out a long sigh, leaning back in his seat. “Survive…” he muttered, fingers tapping nervously on his knee. He reflected silently, his mind drifting to Sakura: the careless tilt of her head when she smiled, the way her dark eyes sparkled with mischief even when she was tipsy, the way she pushed him away with teasing cruelty… and somehow made it feel like a challenge.

“She’s… unpredictable,” he murmured, almost to himself. “And reckless. And yet… charming. Infuriatingly so.”

Kenji leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially, though his voice was far from quiet. “Ah! You’ve noticed! That’s the dangerous part. The charm is like a trap. Once you step in… boom! You’re stuck, emotionally suspended over the abyss of her chaotic antics.”

Haruto closed his eyes briefly, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t understand why she would do this… why she would push me away when I… care about her.”

Kenji leaned back with a mock-sad sigh. “Ah, the mystery of women. Haruto, you can study them, analyze them, even predict minor mood swings—but the big stuff? The ‘I have a boyfriend, break off the wedding’ type of drama? Totally random, like lightning striking twice in the same spot. Or worse—three times.”

Haruto let out a faint laugh, despite himself. “You really have no filter, do you?”

“Nope!” Kenji said cheerfully. “Step four: always have a friend like me to narrate your impending doom in a dramatic, entertaining fashion. Step five: profit emotionally… somehow.”

Haruto pinched the bridge of his nose again, but this time the tension eased slightly. Despite the ridiculousness of Kenji’s monologue, there was something comforting about his over-the-top commentary. Somehow, it made the sadness in Haruto’s chest a little lighter.

“You really… make this sound like a horror story,” Haruto muttered.

“Exactly!” Kenji exclaimed. “It is a horror story. Only with better lighting and occasional laughter—like this train ride! Observe: chaos, near-death experiences (emotional, not physical), and a girl laughing at your suffering.”

Haruto rolled his eyes but allowed himself a small, private smile. He looked toward the opposite aisle, where Sakura was leaning casually against the luggage rack, eyes closed, humming softly. She had no idea of the turmoil she had stirred.

“Why does she…” he began quietly, then shook his head. “Never mind.”

Kenji nudged him. “Don’t hold back! This is the time for full venting. Trust me, I am a licensed expert in men suffering from chaotic women.”

Haruto exhaled slowly. “It’s just… she’s so different. Unpredictable. Wild… yet somehow… honest. And I… I like that. Even when it’s infuriating.”

Kenji’s grin widened. “See? You’re already hooked! Welcome to the first stage of emotional entanglement. Step six: accept that no amount of analysis will save you. Step seven: laugh at the chaos while secretly dying inside.”

Haruto shook his head, unable to suppress a soft chuckle. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, here I am,” Kenji said, leaning back with mock pride. “Your loyal advisor in all matters of doomed romance and female-induced chaos.”

The train rattled on, snow drifting past the windows. Haruto glanced out at the white landscape, reflecting quietly. Sakura’s antics were reckless and confusing, yet her energy, charm, and unpredictability left a strange warmth in his chest. Despite the sadness her words had caused, he knew he couldn’t walk away—not completely.

Kenji, noticing his friend’s distant gaze, whispered with exaggerated gravitas: “Step eight: survive the chaos… but remember, sometimes the chaos is worth it.”

Haruto let out a small, private smile, letting the words sink in. Maybe Kenji was ridiculous, maybe the situation was absurd, but somewhere beneath the chaos, laughter, and emotional turmoil, a quiet truth had formed: he didn’t want to give up on Sakura.

And somehow, the long train ride—snow falling, families laughing and fussing, a tipsy girl causing all kinds of trouble—felt like the beginning of something he couldn’t yet name, but couldn’t ignore either.