A month had passed… yet it felt like time had stopped for Kenshiro.
Every morning, he woke up to the deafening silence of his house. The once warm and bustling home now echoed with absence—no sound of his mother humming in the kitchen, no rustling of newspapers from his father's usual seat.
The ticking of the clock on the wall had become his only companion, a cold reminder that life continued… even if he didn't feel like it.
He sat alone at the dining table every morning, staring at the empty seats. The chair where his mother once sat, smiling and urging him to eat more, remained untouched. His father's chair—now more of a ghost than furniture—stood like a statue, filled with invisible presence.
Sometimes, he'd reach out unconsciously, thinking someone might sit. But no one did.
He couldn't bring himself to move their slippers from the front door. He couldn't touch the jacket that his father always hung by the door. Even when the housekeeper offered to clean the room, he refused.
"Don't touch anything," He had said quietly. "Just leave it."
It wasn't just grief—it was torment.
The silence wasn't peaceful. It was deafening.
It mocked him.
Kenshiro had changed. The cheerful spark in his eyes had dulled into a haunted stillness. He no longer cracked jokes, no longer teased Kiyoko, no longer even laughed when Ren did his stupid impressions. He only wore a faint smile when required, a smile that never reached his eyes.
At school, he sat through lectures without hearing a word. His notes were empty pages. Teachers noticed, friends kept their distance. Even the school principal spoke with Daisuke once, suggesting a break from academics.
But Kenshiro didn't need a break from school. He needed a break from the world.
Kiyoko tried her best to cheer him up. She would walk with him to school, talk about the weather, share stories about school drama, and even offer to play games together like they used to. But it never worked.
"Do you want to come over later?" She had asked once, smiling awkwardly. "Ren's playing this stupid new card game… you'd like it."
Kenshiro only gave a faint nod. "Maybe."
But he never came.
Misaki, on the other hand, stayed quietly close. She didn't push, she didn't pester him with words. She simply watched over him, helping in silence. She understood something the others didn't—sometimes grief wasn't something you could talk someone out of. It had to bleed out on its own.
"He's just a kid…" She would whisper to herself at night, tears filling her eyes as she watched him from afar. "He's just a boy carrying too much pain in that little heart…"
She'd cook his favorite meals, remind him softly to eat, gently wake him up in the mornings, and always stand by the school gate when the bell rang. Even if he didn't thank her or even speak much, she was there—his silent support.
Sometimes at night, when Kenshiro thought everyone had fallen asleep, he would sit on the porch and stare at the sky.
The only place where Kenshiro found any semblance of peace was at the company. His father's company had suffered in his absence, the death of both founders creating instability and panic among the board.
Though still a minor, Kenshiro stepped forward to preserve their legacy. With a heavy heart, he asked Daisuke to sell the business on his behalf.
Daisuke had nodded, heartbroken.
One evening, during dinner at Daisuke's home, things changed.
The table was lively—Aiko was serving dishes with her usual grace, Kiyoko was trying to show off her cooking, and Ren was grumbling about homework. Kenshiro sat among them, quieter than the rest, but not entirely absent.
There was a slight warmth in his eyes that hadn't been there for weeks.
Daisuke poured him a glass of juice and patted his shoulder.
"Kenshiro," He said, voice gentle yet serious, "You're doing better. Slowly, yes… but I can see it. We're all here for you. You're not alone."
"I know," Kenshiro replied softly, looking at the steam rising from his rice bowl. "That's why I want to tell you something."
Everyone looked at him.
He raised his head. "I've decided… I'm going abroad."
The words landed like a stone in the middle of the table.
Aiko's hand froze mid-motion. Kiyoko's eyes widened. Ren nearly dropped his chopsticks.
Daisuke blinked. "What…? Abroad?"
Kenshiro nodded, expression unreadable. "I need a break… from this place. Everywhere I look, I see them. Every street reminds me. Every building... I… I need time to breathe. Time to rebuild myself. And I can't do it here."
Kiyoko opened her mouth to speak, but Aiko reached out and gently held her hand, shaking her head.
Let him speak.
Daisuke leaned forward. "You're still so young, Kenshiro. Are you sure? It's not easy living alone in another country. You'll have to manage everything yourself—rent, food, school…"
"I won't be alone," Kenshiro said, his voice calm, yet resolute. "Misaki's coming with me."
That shocked them more.
"She… agreed?" Aiko asked carefully.
"She did," Kenshiro replied. "We talked about it. She wants to support me. And I… I need her with me."
Kiyoko's lips parted, but no words came. Her heart twisted.
"You made this decision without telling us?" Daisuke said, a hint of hurt in his tone.
"I wasn't sure until today," Kenshiro replied. "But the more I think about it… the more I stay here, the heavier it gets. I'm suffocating, Uncle."
Kiyoko finally stood, her voice trembling. "So you're just… going to leave?"
Kenshiro looked at her, eyes soft. "I'm not leaving you. I'm leaving the pain."
"You think that pain won't follow you?" She snapped suddenly. "You think running away will fix it?"
"I'm not running," He said firmly. "I'm choosing to live. And this is the only way I can right now."
There was silence.
Aiko's eyes glistened. "Then we'll support you. Even if it's hard… even if we're scared. We want you to live, Kenshiro. If this is what you need, then so be it."
Kiyoko turned away, tears slipping down her cheeks.
Ren stayed silent.
Daisuke finally sighed. "Alright. I'll help with the arrangements. But promise me… if you ever feel lost, you call. No matter what time, no matter what day."
Kenshiro nodded. "I promise."
The rest of the dinner passed quietly.
That night, as Kenshiro stood on the balcony, staring at the stars, Misaki joined him. She handed him a cup of warm tea.
"Still want to go?" She asked gently.
He sipped the tea and looked at her.
"Yes."
Misaki smiled faintly. "Then let's go find your peace."