Chapter 41: I Have So Many Questions For Myself

Today, I decided to tidy up something even more chaotic than my own heart—a club that had lost its president... and its direction.

The Heartbreak Society room looked like an apartment recently abandoned by its tenant. Quiet. Messy. Empty. I swept the floor in silence; at least this was a mess I actually had the power to fix.

"Kengo?!"

I turned. Mayonaka Nozomi stood in the doorway. Her long purple hair fell perfectly as always, but her expression was one of pure shock. "I heard everything from Kanon and Touma. What—"

"Don't talk about it," I cut her off. "What matters now is that we organize what we can to help others."

She went quiet for a moment, then offered a thin smile. "You're right. Sadness won't change a thing."

We began cleaning together without another word. Strange. Usually, a silence like this would feel suffocatingly awkward. But now? It was just... still.

"Eeh? You two got here first?"

Touma walked in, hair disheveled, glasses slightly askew, wearing an expression that was far too dramatic for the occasion. "Then allow me, as the new President of the Heartbreak Society, to assist you, my fellow members!"

I let out a slow sigh. Here we go again.

"What are you talking about? Obviously, I'm the strongest candidate!" Nozomi countered immediately.

"What experience do you even have, Nozomi-chan?" Touma shot back. "You don't even understand what true love is!"

Touma froze. "D-don't joke! I clearly understand it!"

"You've been stuck in the friendzone more times than I can count."

Silence. Touma looked like he had been struck by lightning. I watched them both—two kids bickering over toys in the middle of someone else’s emotional wreckage. I didn't care who the president was. As long as this club kept running, that was enough for me.

The other members began to filter in. Mikadzuki Renji—tall, relaxed, acting like he didn't care while actually observing everything. Hoshizora Nayuta—cheerful and light, but sharp enough to read a room in seconds. They joined the effort.

In the quiet lulls of the work, I began to think. I had so many questions for myself. Was I going to stay like this forever? Or was I just hiding behind the busyness?

"By the way," Renji said casually, "I heard the presidential election is coming up soon?"

I froze. Damn it, Renji... why now?

Predictably, the war started again. "I'm the best fit!" "No, I am!"

"Both of you, enough!" I snapped.

The room went dead silent. This wasn't the time to show off. We finished cleaning in a heavy, focused quiet. For a few moments, everything felt... normal.

"Oh... so this is the famous Heartbreak Society."

A new voice. I turned. My father.

"Dad?!" Everyone shared my surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to see a glimpse of my son's world," he said casually. Then, his expression shifted. "Kengo, do you have a moment? It's about the family."

I couldn't refuse. "Alright."

We sat in the campus garden under the shade of the lush trees. The afternoon breeze was soft—too peaceful for a conversation that was about to pivot my entire life.

"Kengo," my father said softly. "There's something I need to tell you."

"What is it?"

"I hope... you won't be angry."

I nodded. "Just say it."

He offered a thin smile. "Actually... your mother and I have made a decision."

I stared at him. "What decision?"

"You're going to be in an arranged marriage."

The world... stopped. For a second, I wasn't sure if I had actually heard the words. The wind kept blowing. The leaves kept dancing. But my heart felt like it had reached a point of no return.

"Dad... you're joking, right?" I let out a dry, hollow laugh.

But my father wasn't laughing.

"Why?" my voice dropped. "Do I look like a child who can't choose for himself?"

My father let out a long sigh. "It's not like that."

"Then what is it?"

The atmosphere turned heavy, like the air before a storm—silent but pressing.

"Kengo... life isn't always about what we want."

I stared at him. "If it's not about that... then what is it about?"

"Life is like a river," he spoke slowly. "We can choose how to swim... but we can't always choose the current."

I stayed silent.

"Sometimes we want to go left, but the current takes us right. It doesn't mean we're weak. It doesn't mean we've given up."

"Then what?" I whispered.

"We learn to balance ourselves."

Silence fell. A leaf drifted down slowly, much like time itself—indifferent to whether we are ready or not.

"I don't want to imprison you," he said. "I just want you to understand... not every path chosen for you is a trap."

I took a deep breath. "What if that path isn't mine?"

My father smiled faintly. "If it's truly not yours... you'll know. An honest heart always rebels."

I looked up at the sky. Sometimes life feels like a stage, and I'm just an actor who received the script too late.

"Dad... I'm just afraid of losing myself."

My father paused. "Loss doesn't happen when you follow tradition. It happens when you stop thinking... and stop feeling."

I looked down.

"I know you're hurting," he said. "And maybe this feels heavy. But don't let today's wound become the reason you close off every possibility for tomorrow."

The wind blew again. For the first time, I didn't feel forced. I felt... invited to understand.

"We're going back to our hometown next week," he said. "You'll have to undergo the family tradition."

Tradition. A word that felt like roots—pulling me back even though I wasn't ready.

"I understand."

My father nodded. "It's not a punishment."

"Then what is it?"

"It's a reminder. That before you became whoever you are now... you were part of a family."

The final silence settled. I stood alone after my father left. The wind was still blowing, but it felt different now. Heavier.

I took a long breath. I have so many questions for myself.

Why is it that every time I try to stand on my own, life asks me to bow? Why is it that every time I want to choose, the choice has already been made?

I stared at the sky. It was too bright. Was I actually afraid of the arrangement? Or was I just terrified of losing control over my own life?

I always said love was an illusion. I always said hope was fragile. But now, when my life is moving forward without my feelings involved, why do I feel so restless?

Maybe I don't entirely hate love. Maybe... I'm just afraid of being hurt again. And now, I'm afraid of something different. Afraid of living... without ever truly choosing.

I let out a soft sigh. Soon, I have to go back to the hometown. Follow tradition. Face someone I don't even know. I haven't healed. I'm not ready. And I haven't even finished asking myself—what is it that I actually want?

The wind blew again. And for the first time, I didn't ask the world. I asked... myself.

And for some reason, that was much scarier.