Chapter 48: Sun Set And Sun Rise.
Pov 1: Tokusake Ren.
Then, beneath it, in smaller letters:
Who is this?
The pen trembled in his grip.
And for a moment, the room felt... unreal.
The shadows bent a little too long.
The hum of the ceiling fan deepened into a growl.
The silence behind the walls became oppressive, like something watching.
Ren stood up-suddenly desperate for air.
But the ground shifted beneath him.
He blinked.
The room was gone.
He stood ankle-deep in what looked like ocean water-except it was red. Not blood-red, not quite. Something darker, richer, more sickeningly fragrant.
Wine?
No. Not exactly.
The air smelled fermented. Rotten sweetness. Like forgotten celebration and spilled regrets.
He looked down-his school shoes were submerged in it.
Around him: shattered glass. Torn notebook pages floating like leaves on the surface. Some pieces had writing on them. Some were blank.
The sky above was grey-so grey it felt like it had forgotten color ever existed.
And in the distance, walking toward him across the ocean, were two figures.
One had a familiar slouch.
Broad shoulders. Calloused hands.
Worn-down eyes like someone who lived too long without rest.
The adult Ren.
The other was shorter-his face obscured, as if it had been smeared across time itself. He walked with an arrogance too sharp for someone so young. His steps almost didn't touch the wine. He was the teen Ren, unbroken and blind.
Ren's breath hitched.
He stepped back, heart thudding.
The adult version stopped a few paces from him, looking tired.
"So, you're finally here."
The teen figure tilted his head, saying nothing.
Ren opened his mouth, then closed it. The scent of the wine made him dizzy.
"Why?" Ren managed. "Why now?"
The adult version sighed. "Because you started asking who you are. And to answer that-" he looked over at the teen, "-you'll have to ask us."
The teen Ren laughed softly. It wasn't kind. It wasn't cruel either. Just... detached.
"You tried to play my part, didn't you?"
"And you tried to ignore me, like I never existed," said the adult. "Like you could just reset and forget what we lived through."
Ren clenched his fists. "I'm not either of you."
"Then who are you?" both voices asked in perfect unison.
Around them the ocean rose-very slowly. The wine creeping up to their knees. The papers swirled in whirlpool-like spirals, some bursting into flames mid-air. Words like regret, failure, desire, and lonely scrawled across them.
A broken mirror floated by. In it, Ren saw three faces-his own-but only one looked back directly.
His current face.
Scared. Cracked. Faking.
The Choice Begins
"You can become either of us," said the adult, voice hoarse.
"Or become something worse," added the teen, smiling cruelly.
"Or..."
"Something better, the adult finished, softer this time.
The wine reached Ren's waist now.
"So what do you want to be?" the adult asked.
"Who do you want to be?" the teen mirrored.
And Ren... didn't know.
The world shattered around him-
And he woke up.
"Huff... Huff...."
He tried catching his breath. He rubbed his hand on his chest, trying his best to calm his heart.
He looked outside
and saw a line of swallows sweeping across the morning sky, their wings cutting through gold and gray like fading ink on paper.
It was morning.
But everything felt like it was ending.
Even the birds were headed somewhere else.
Even the birds.... knew when to leave.
.
.
.
Pov 2: Tarazune Akeshi.
.
.
.
Akeshi opened his eyes.
The ceiling above him was unfamiliar smoother, whiter, newer. The old creaks weren't there, no faint buzz of the half-dead fan he used to ignore. It smelled...too clean.
He sighed.
"...Nino."
He turned his head slightly. The mattress beneath him wasn't the one he used to sleep on. This one was soft. Way too soft. He sat up, the sheets rustling with that new-fabric whisper, and looked at the bed again.
This wasn't his.
Well it was now.
She bought it. He told her he didn't need it. Said the floor was fine. Said he didn't care.
And yet, here he was in a bed he didn't choose, in a comfort he didn't ask for, warmed by a choice someone else made for him.
He stood.
The wooden floor was cool. He walked out the room, silent and soft in step.
The other door was slightly ajar. Nino was sleeping, her blanket barely clinging to her side, a soft breath escaping from her lips.
Akeshi walked up beside her, crouched, and stared at her for a moment.
He leaned in.
A gentle kiss on the forehead.
A whisper of a smile, one that barely made it to his eyes.
He stood again, made his way to the kitchen. Opened a cabinet. Found eggs. Bread. Some cheese. Tomatoes.
He started cooking.
There was something about the sound of eggs cracking at this hour something quiet, like the world hadn't decided to wake up yet. He glanced at the time.
3:10 ΑΜ.
He didn't need to be at Okushaki until 3:30. Still, he had time.
He plated the food, covered it, scribbled a small note, then tied his laces. No shower not yet.
Not because he was lazy.
Because Okushaki Café had one. And he'd earned the right to use it after his six months there.
Six hours a day. From three to nine. Before school. Before everything else.
Just enough time to feel human before becoming something else.
He opened the door, cool air brushing against his face like a whisper. The city was still sleeping, and the sidewalks were painted silver by moonlight.
He ran.
Not a sprint but not a jog either. That rhythmic pace he always fell into when he didn't want to think.
Sixteen minutes.
That's what it took.
When he opened the café door, the bells above jingled low and warm.
"Yo," a voice called from the back. "Sixteen minutes. That's new."
Kakeru stood behind the counter, half-asleep but already sipping coffee like it was oxygen.
"You're late, Akeshi," he smirked.
"I know," Akeshi said, catching his breath. "What I'm about to say will sound like an excuse. But I'll say it anyway."
He shrugged off his bag and cracked his neck.
"I'm human. Making mistakes... is a very human thing."
Kakeru squinted at him, unimpressed. "Yeah, that does sound like an excuse."
Akeshi gave a sheepish grin and made his way to the back.
The shower was small barely enough for a grown man to stretch his arms but it was warm. Clean. Steam curled around him like fingers brushing his thoughts away.
He emerged minutes later. Clean. Dry. No sweat. No heaviness.
Just him.
Behind the counter now.
"Welcome to Okushaki," he said with practiced warmth, bowing slightly to the first customer of the day - an old woman who always ordered double milk with half a sugar and read detective novels.
He laughed lightly with a pair of twin brothers debating whether jam or cream cheese belonged on toast.
He almost slipped when talking to the office worker the one with the sad eyes calling her by her old order before she corrected him, but he recovered with a joke and a free refill.
Mistakes. Tiny, human ones.
And tiny, human corrections.
That was his rhythm.
That was Akeshi not the perfect student, not the one on top of every test, not the one tangled in the quiet wars of rank.
Just a boy with a smile and a tray of food.
And outside, the world was still dark.
But it was starting to turn.