The city was quieter at night—not silent, not even close, but dulled. Like everything was wrapped in a soft blanket of wind and distance. The neon lights that blared during the day now hummed quietly, reflected off wet pavement and low shop windows like shy ghosts.
Haruki walked alone, his polished dress shoes tapping evenly against the sidewalk. His overcoat caught the breeze and lifted slightly behind him, catching the scent of fried food and exhaust drifting from a nearby alley. The photograph still rested in the inner pocket of his jacket. He hadn’t looked at it again since leaving the apartment, but it hadn’t stopped pressing against his chest like it was stitched to his ribs.
He walked without checking his phone. Aoi had said she’d meet him halfway, and he trusted she would. She always did what she said she would—something rare enough in his life that it still surprised him every time.
He spotted her before she saw him.
She was waiting beneath a streetlamp just outside a shuttered corner bookstore, arms folded, her back leaning against the glass. Her school blazer was exchanged for a grey cardigan and a scarf wrapped snugly around her neck, cheeks flushed from the cold. Her hair had slipped slightly from its usual neatness, just enough to look real.
Not picture-perfect. Just Aoi.
She was looking at something on her phone, brow slightly furrowed in concentration.
Haruki stopped walking for a moment. Just watched her.
Maybe it was the streetlight. Maybe it was the quiet.
But she looked like a pause in the world. Like something that didn’t belong to the Nakamura family or any of the dark machinery that ruled his father’s empire.
She looked like something untouched.
And he was about to drag her closer to it.
He hated that.
And wanted it anyway.
Aoi looked up, sensing him before she saw him, her eyes snapping up in that sharp way of hers.
“You’re late,” she said, but her tone was softer than usual.
Haruki shoved his hands in his coat pockets. “I wasn’t sure if you’d still be here.”
Aoi rolled her eyes and pushed off the glass, stepping toward him. “Of course I’m here. I told you I’d be.”
Haruki didn’t answer that. He just glanced at the dark windows behind her. “You picked a dramatic meeting point. What, bookstore at night? Planning a secret mission?”
Aoi smirked. “Only if you’re the tragic antihero with unresolved trauma.”
Haruki raised an eyebrow. “Is that what I am?”
“You tell me.”
He gave a faint snort, then nodded toward the road. “Come on. Let’s walk.”
They fell into step together, side by side, their strides unconsciously in sync.
For a few minutes, neither of them spoke. It wasn’t awkward. Not anymore. They’d grown used to the quiet between them, had come to understand that sometimes silence wasn’t a pause—it was the conversation itself.
Aoi was the first to break it.
“You’re still wearing the suit,” she said.
Haruki glanced down. “Didn’t have time to change.”
A beat.
She turned her head to study him. “No tie.”
He looked at her sidelong. “Didn’t have the patience.”
Another beat. Then—
“You look like you’re coming from a funeral.”
“I might be.”
Her gaze sharpened slightly. “Was it yours?”
He didn’t answer.
Not immediately.
Instead, he looked up at the skyline. The glow of towers in the distance, the cold blinking of traffic lights stretching into forever.
“I had a meeting,” he said finally. “One of my father’s.”
Aoi’s footsteps slowed just slightly, her voice low. “A test?”
Haruki nodded.
“And?”
He didn’t speak for a long moment. Then: “He gave me a name.”
Aoi went still.
Haruki kept walking a few steps ahead before noticing and turning around to face her. She was standing under the soft yellow glow of another streetlamp, arms at her sides, her face unreadable.
“You mean—” she started.
“I don’t know,” he cut in. “Not exactly. I don’t think I was supposed to... do anything. Not yet. Just… see what it felt like.”
She looked at him for a long time. Her breath came out in short clouds in the cold air.
“You still have it?” she asked.
Haruki hesitated, then nodded.
She didn’t ask to see it. Didn’t push him. Just gave a slow nod and started walking again.
He followed.
When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet. “Do you think you could do it?”
Haruki didn’t answer right away.
“I don’t know,” he said finally. “Maybe that’s the point.”
They walked a while longer. Their path took them past a closed ramen shop, a vending machine still blinking with offerings, and a half-lit train overpass.
The world around them was asleep.
But something between them was waking up.
“I don’t want you to disappear into that,” Aoi said suddenly.
Haruki looked at her.
“I mean it,” she continued, keeping her gaze forward. “You start taking these assignments, these ‘tests’... that life will eat you. Piece by piece.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“I think you do.” She paused. “I think you know it better than anyone. But knowing doesn’t mean stopping.”
He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “What do you want me to say, Aoi?”
“I don’t want you to say anything,” she said. “I want you to choose something. For yourself. Not because your father asked. Not because your brother is watching. Not because someone handed you a black envelope in the dark.”
Haruki stopped walking. She did too.
Their breath mingled in the cold air between them.
“What if I can’t?” he said.
She stepped a little closer. “Then I’ll remind you who you are.”
He didn’t respond. Couldn’t.
Because he wasn’t sure who that was anymore.
She looked at him for a long moment, then reached up and fixed the collar of his coat without asking. Her fingers brushed his jaw, gentle, unhurried.
“There,” she said softly. “Now you look like you again.”
Haruki’s throat felt tight.
“Thank you,” he said.
Aoi smirked, stepping back. “That wasn’t for you. That was for me. I hate looking at you when you try to wear your father’s face.”
He let out a laugh that surprised him.
“Okay,” he said. “Fair.”
They kept walking.
This time, it felt easier.
And even though the paper still rested in his jacket pocket—warm now from his body heat—it felt farther away.
For now.