The halls of Riku's estate loomed grand and polished, so unlike the warmth of Yu and Taichi's modest home. Yet in this phantom state, everything felt hollow, muted, like he was wandering a museum of lives he no longer belonged to. His bare feet made no sound on the polished floors as he drifted, following the faintest thread of pull in his chest.
It led him to a quiet room.
There, bathed in morning light, were Taro Arifukua and Kenji Arifukua. His sons. His first babies. Bright green eyes hidden by closed lids like Taichi's, black hair growing in tuffs and skin beginning to grow darker to match their father's caramel complexion. They napped peacefully in their cots, cheeks flushed pink, soft breaths whispering in unison.
Yu's chest constricted, warmth flooding him even as grief choked it. He stepped close, kneeling by their sides.
"My loves… mommy has to go now."
He whispered, though no sound left his lips. His hands hovered uselessly above them, aching to touch.
"Be good big brothers. Be strong for Papa. And take care of your little brothers and sister when they arrive."
He leaned down, kissing each forehead though his lips passed through like mist. Still, the gesture steadied him.
A chair creaked softly. Yu turned, startled, and found Isuke sitting nearby. He wasn't sleeping, nor lost in thought—he was watching over the boys. His expression was quiet, eyes tender in a way Yu rarely let himself believe.
But every so often, Isuke's gaze flicked down to the phone in his hand. Curious and wary, Yu drifted closer.
On the screen was a photograph—Yu, younger, dressed in a soft dress from the time he had visited Isuke's mother in high school. His faint smile was caught in the moment, bright and unguarded, so unlike the Yu of now.
Yu froze. His heart twisted into something sharp and messy. Isuke's love had always been twisted, selfish, harmful. But it was love, in its way. And in his phantom state, Yu couldn't help but feel its weight.
He lifted a hand and patted Isuke's head, a futile gesture but one that made him feel lighter.
"Remember what you promised."
He murmured into the silence.
"Reconcile with Taichi. Be a good uncle to them. Please…"
Against his better judgment, he leaned down and brushed a phantom kiss against Isuke's lips. The faintest tremor rippled through him—wrong, guilty, but final.
Yu turned, walking away. Through the halls, through the estate, out into the world.
He drifted into the familiar apartment where Sakura Sato and Haruka Minami bustled about. Sakura was folding clothes while Haruka scrolled through her phone, planning meals for the week. Their voices carried in that ordinary domestic way, full of care and quiet laughter.
Yu stood in the doorway, unseen, his heart swelling with gratitude.
"You two… thank you. For sheltering me, for carrying me when I thought I couldn't anymore. Please, keep watching over them when I'm gone."
His words vanished in the air, but he said them anyway. He touched Sakura's shoulder, then Haruka's cheek, his phantom fingers passing through, but the affection was real.
He found Fumiko Fujimori in her room at her parents house, hunched over her desk, a notebook open and pen tapping in restless thought. She paused, looking at a photo of them all together on her wall, and sighed. She had decided to go back to school to study business and start her own beauty school.
Yu hovered behind her, smiling faintly.
"Fumiko… you always were my voice of reason, even when I didn't want to hear it. Thank you for dragging me back when I strayed too far."
He bent low, brushing a kiss against her hair.
"Keep scolding me, even now. I'll hear it."
Later, he drifted into a diner where Yamato Yamada and Souma Satou sat, bantering as usual. Yamato was loud, hands flying as he tried to prove a point. Souma rolled his eyes but laughed anyway.
Yu lingered at their table, warm tears sliding down his phantom face.
"You two… fight over being the best uncle forever, okay? The kids will love you both no matter what. Don't let the world harden you like it did me."
He pressed invisible kisses to their cheeks, smiling through the ache.
The longer he walked, the fainter his tether became. A tug in his chest drew him back, whether he wanted it or not. Yu returned to the hospital.
---
Inside, alarms blared. His body—his fragile vessel—lay on a hospital bed, sewn up and attached to all sorts of tubes and wires. Doctors began entering his room, shouting over one another, blood transfusions flowing, machines spitting out urgent beeps.
Yu hovered nearby, trembling.
"Please…"
He begged DK01.
"Just a little more time! I'm not ready!
DK01's voice was flat, heavy with calculation.
[I told you—the JP exchange was all I could offer. Twenty hours. You've spent them. Time is almost up.]
Yu's eyes widened. He looked at the clock just as it ticked to 1:30 a.m. His twenty hours had run dry.
"No, no, no…"
---
The monitors screamed. Doctors rushed with syringes, pads, pressure, but nothing took. The chief of medicine barked orders, hands flying, sweat streaking his brow. But gradually, the room's frantic energy dulled. One by one, the staff slowed.
The head doctor lowered his head.
"Time of death: one thirty-two."
The monitors flatlined, a single unbroken tone filling the silence.
They stepped away from Yu's body and, one by one, began to shut off the blaring monitors. The head doctor draped the blanket over Yu's still face. The weight of finality settled like lead.
Outside, Taichi sat stiff, his head bowed, hands white-knuckled. Riku stood tall, but his jaw clenched, his eyes shadowed. Neither had heard yet. They waited, helpless, unaware that the world had already ended for them.
Inside, Yu's phantom lingered a moment longer, staring down at his lifeless body.
A new day was dawning. And Yu would not be there to see it.
---
The door opened. The head doctor stepped out, his face heavy, his voice quieter than the chaos that happened mere moments ago.
"I'm sorry… we did everything we could. Yukio didn't make it."
The words tore through the waiting room like a blade.
Taichi's breath caught, then shattered. He staggered forward, grabbing at the doctor's coat.
"No… no, you're lying. You're lying! Bring him back! Please, I'll do anything—take me instead, just give him back!"
His words broke into sobs, messy, desperate, raw.
"I didn't say enough, I didn't hold him enough, I didn't thank him enough—please, please, please—"
The doctor bowed his head, silent under the weight of Taichi's grief.
Taichi's despair burned into fury.
"You—you're supposed to save people! That's your job! How could you just let him—?!"
He swung, his fist cocked with grief as much as rage—
—but Riku caught his arm. The old man's grip was iron, forged by guilt and years of regret. He pulled Taichi back before the punch landed, holding him against his chest.
"Enough."
Riku whispered, his voice shaking though he tried to make it firm.
"Don't do this—not here, not now."
Taichi buckled, his body folding in on itself, and for the first time in decades, he wept like a child into his father's chest.
"I can't… I can't live without him…"
Riku's jaw trembled, his own tears streaking despite the steel he tried to wear.
"Then live for him. For your children. For what he wanted for you. Don't make my mistakes, Taichi. Don't be the father I was to you."
Taichi clutched at his father's coat as though drowning, his knees hitting the tile floor with a hollow sound. He sobbed into the silence, his voice ragged, childlike.
"I need him, Dad… I need him…"
Riku, once so proud, once so cold, could only hold his broken son tighter. For a moment, the patriarch and the delinquent, the father and the son, the men who had both failed Yu in different ways, collapsed together in grief.
Taichi stayed crumpled against his father's chest, shoulders shaking violently with sobs. His voice cracked with each breath, broken words spilling into Riku's coat.
"Why him? Why not me? He was everything… everything I had left."
Riku's hand, heavy and trembling, stayed on his son's back. For once there were no lectures, no scolding, only the rough comfort of a man who knew the taste of regret too well. They stayed like that until the head nurse appeared quietly in the doorway, her expression solemn.
"You may see him now."
She whispered.
---
The room was dim, only the rhythmic hum of machines left standing in hollow witness. Yu lay still beneath the white sheet, his face serene, almost like sleep. His long white hair framed his pale skin, the faintest curve of lips that once smiled for Taichi now stilled forever.
Taichi stumbled to the bedside, his knees nearly giving way again as he reached for Yu's hand. Cold. Too cold. He cradled it between both of his, pressing it to his forehead.
"Yu… I'm sorry. I wasn't enough. I couldn't protect you. You gave me everything—love, a family, a reason to be—and I… I failed you."
He kissed the lifeless knuckles again and again, whispering broken promises that could never reach Yu's ears. His tears dripped onto Yu's skin, the only warmth left in the room.
Riku stood behind him, head bowed, giving his son this final moment.
…
…
…
Eighteen years passed. Seasons turned, children grew, and the world moved forward, even as Taichi's heart never truly left that hospital room.
The Arifukua estate had become Yu Manor, home to Taichi and the legacy of the one he lost. His five sons—Taro, Kenji, Akira, Takashi, and Hiroshi—were tall and striking, their tan skin, black hair and green eyes a mirror of Taichi's youth. His daughter, Yumi, bore Yu's white hair and porcelain-pale skin, a living echo of the man Taichi had loved more than life itself. Her green eyes, though, shone with Taichi's steadiness, the fusion of them both.
Taichi had built Yu Corporation into a powerhouse, standing side by side—though never heart to heart—with Isuke's Arifukua Corporation. The brothers worked in silence, bound by blood and history but never by trust. Yet both doted on the children, especially Yumi, whose very presence seemed to soften even Isuke's sharp edges.
Every year, the quadruplets' birthdays were a riot of joy. Laughter filled the halls, gifts piled high, and the air rang with Yu's legacy of warmth. But the day after was always different. The manor fell silent, curtains drawn, footsteps hushed.
It was on those days that Taichi drank the heaviest, wandering the long corridors lined with portraits of Yu—paintings commissioned to capture his smile, and photographs blown up so no hallway was without him. Glass of whiskey in one hand, his other trailing along Yu's framed face, Taichi would call out into the shadows.
"Yu… come back. Just once. Please…"
Sometimes he wept until dawn. Other times he simply sank to the floor beneath the portraits, clutching them like lifelines.
The younger siblings whispered among themselves, unsettled. It was always Taro and Kenji, now men themselves, who explained gently.
"Pa just misses Ma. He loved him more than anything. That's why he cries."
And in those words, Yu's love lived on—through the children he left behind, and through the man who would never stop calling for him.
---
Yumi stood in front of her mirror, tilting her head slightly as the morning light caught her hair. White. Always white, pale as snow, an inheritance no one else in her family bore. In contrast, her once pale skin had darkened over the years, losing Yu's otherworldly glow and resembling more tan like her brothers. She let her fingers twist through the strands, the silken threads slipping like water between her hands.
On her desk was the photograph she always returned to:
Her parents' supposed wedding day. Taichi in a sharp suit, smiling brighter than any picture she'd ever seen of him, and beside him—her Ma—Yu. Dressed in white, long hair falling like her own, but with eyes the color of rubies.
Though men couldn't legally get married, it didn't stop them from doing the ceremony and celebrating as if they had. Yumi always wanted to know how that day went.
Yumi touched the glass of the mirror with her fingertip.
'If I had red eyes too… would I look like you? Would Pa… would he smile again, the way he smiled at you?'
The thought itched in her chest, pulling her to experiment. She reached for the contact case she had ordered secretly online, crimson lenses nestled inside like forbidden fruit.
With careful hands she slipped them on. The mirror stared back: her Ma's hair, her Ma's eyes—yet still her own green gaze hidden behind a layer of artifice. Unlike Yu and her brothers, who seem to give radiant smiles and cheerful expressions, her face was always stoic and serious like Taichi's and Riku's, when he was alive.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"Yumi? Are you awake? There's breakfast waiting for—"
When Taichi opened the door to her room, it took only one glance for the world to crack. His breath left him in a shudder. His eyes, already rimmed with sleeplessness, flooded instantly. He staggered back against the doorframe, covering his mouth as if to hold something in.
"Don't—"
His voice broke.
"Don't ever do that again, Yumi. Please."
His tears were raw, streaming freely as his chest heaved. He turned sharply, retreating down the hall, locking himself in his room. The sound of the lock clicking was louder than thunder to Yumi's ears.
She stood frozen before the mirror, her reflection blurred by sudden tears of her own.
She peeled the contacts out quickly, fumbling as her hands shook, and dropped them into their case. When she looked up again, only her green eyes met her—her father's eyes and while her eyes shed tears, her expression still remained stoic as ever. Yet the white hair still shimmered under the morning light.
She turned to the wedding photo once more, tracing Yu's smile with her fingertip.
'Pa isn't looking at me when he cries. He's looking through me. At you.'
It was then Yumi understood:
To her father, her resemblance was both a blessing and a curse. She carried Yu with her every day, and for Taichi, that meant a wound that never closed.
She never wore the red lenses again. But in her heart, the questions never stopped:
Who was Ma, really?
Would he have loved me?
Would he have been proud?
And every time she walked the halls lined with Yu's portraits, Yumi felt like a living echo—cherished, yes, but also haunted.
---
Yumi didn't ask her Pa regarding her Ma again. She knew the look in his eyes too well—the way they turned hollow, almost as if he were seeing someone else entirely. Asking him about Ma only ever seemed to break him, so she stopped.
But the questions in her heart didn't stop.
So she went looking elsewhere.
The first she turned to was Sakura Sato, who welcomed her like a niece the moment she arrived. Sakura laughed, the sound warm, and pulled out a photo album so old its spine was taped together.
"Your Ma…"
She said, flipping to a picture of Yu smiling shyly at a festival.
"Was always the softest one in the room. Even when he was afraid, he'd put on a smile to make everyone else feel better. He used to carry snacks for everyone in his bag, even if it meant he'd go hungry."
Yumi tried to imagine it, her fingers brushing the faded photograph.
Next was Haruka Minami, who video-called her late one night when Yumi couldn't sleep. Haruka leaned back with her usual easy grin.
"Yu was stubborn in the best way. He thought he was weak, but trust me—he had a spine of steel when it came to protecting the people he loved. Even me. I owe him for pulling me out of a dark spot once. You've got that same stubborn glint in your eyes."
Yumi flushed at the words, touched in a way she hadn't expected.
But it was Fumiko Fujimori who gave her the hardest truth. They met at a café, Fumiko stirring her coffee long after it had gone cold.
"Yumi…"
She said softly, her eyes brimming.
"Your Ma… he was too kind for this world. He endured things no one should have endured, and still he loved fiercely. He was fragile, yes—but don't ever mistake that for weakness. He was a miracle. And Taichi… your Pa knew it. That's why he still breaks every time he looks at you."
Fumiko reached over to squeeze Yumi's hand, and for the first time, Yumi felt the weight of tears slip down her cheeks for someone she'd never met.
Yamato Yamada and Souma Satou were harder to pin down, but when she cornered them together at a barbecue, the two broke into loud, competing stories.
"Yu once baked us a cake so bad it almost poisoned us!"
Yamato declared.
Souma barked a laugh.
"And Taichi ate the whole thing just so Yu wouldn't feel bad."
They went back and forth, telling tales of Yu tripping over his own feet, crying at cheesy dramas, and fussing over Taichi's tie before exams. And yet, every story ended the same way—with Yu's name spoken like a treasure, a softness in their voices that said more than the words themselves.
---
Walking home after gathering all these pieces, Yumi realized she had built something new.
Her Ma wasn't just a ghost in photos anymore. He was kind and stubborn, fragile yet unbreakable, someone who had loved her Pa so much he'd reshaped the world around him.
And maybe—just maybe—that love was still alive, living on in her and her brothers.
She touched her white hair, looked at her green eyes in the mirror, and whispered to the photograph on her desk.
"I think I understand you a little better now, Ma."
---
When Taichi first learned that Yumi had been quietly visiting his old friends—asking about Yu, piecing together the story he himself had been too broken to tell—his first instinct was fear. Fear that she would discover too much of the ugly truths, the pain and betrayals that nearly tore them apart.
But when he saw her eyes alight with curiosity and compassion instead of judgment, something inside him loosened. The wound of Yu's absence still bled, but Yumi's determination to know her Ma stirred both grief and pride. She wasn't letting the silence win.
One evening, sitting at the dinner table, Taichi looked at Yumi and her brothers and finally began to speak. His hands trembled at first, resting against the wood grain, but his voice—though low and rough—grew steadier with each memory.
He exhaled shakily.
"You know… your mama has—had the brightest laugh. It would brighten everything. Ring like a bell and sound just as beautiful."
Yumi blinked up at him.
"Really?"
Taichi nodded, a small, aching smile tugging at his lips.
"Even when we lived in that tiny apartment, when all we had was one bed and a kitchenette that only had space for one person to move around in… Yu laughed and said—"
His throat tightened.
"Said it felt like home anyway."
He paused, letting the memory of Yu's laughter that rang through their first small apartment—chasing away even the darkest days—settle before continuing speaking.
"...But sometimes we fought."
He admitted softly.
"Rarely but when we did… it nearly destroyed us."
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes clouding.
"There were days we misunderstood each other so badly that we went days without speaking. Nights I lay awake staring at the ceiling, thinking, 'What if I ruined everything?'"
Kenji frowned.
"Did Mama think that too?"
Taichi swallowed.
"Yes… probably. He didn't deserve those nights."
His fingers curled slightly, knuckles whitening at the memories of the fights, the misunderstandings, the nights of cold silence.
"And then… there was Isuke."
A shadow crossed his face.
Yumi leaned in.
"Uncle Isuke? He also loved Ma, right?"
Taichi huffed a humorless breath.
"Maybe. I wouldn't call it "love". He was just… someone who cared for your mama when I wasn't there to."
He met their eyes honestly.
"We almost lost each other because of him. Because I didn't listen. Because I thought working meant loving him."
His voice cracked.
"I didn't realize I was pushing him away."
Silence settled over the table for a moment, soft but heavy. Taichi couldn't go on speaking of Isuke's shadow, and how close they came to losing each other entirely.
Then Taichi lifted his head, a different kind of memory warming his expression.
"The day you two were born, Taro and Kenji…"
His voice went quiet, reverent.
"Everything was chaos—doctors shouting, alarms going off—and I thought I was going to lose your mama and all of you at once."
Yumi reached out, touching his hand.
"But they made it."
Taichi's eyes glistened.
"They did. And when the doctors finally brought the two of you to him, even though he was exhausted and hurting, he held you like you were the most precious things in the world."
He shook his head, smiling at the recollection.
"He glowed. I'd never seen him look so alive."
Taichi wanted to tell more of the babies' birth, the chaos and the miracles, the way Yu glowed even when exhausted and took to motherhood like fish to water. But he felt it unfair to the quadruplets since Yu didn't get the chance to even hold them or see them before he past.
The boys and Yumi leaned closer, listening intently, breakfast forgotten, and Taichi let the final truth slip out—the one that shaped every memory before it.
"And through everything…"
He whispered.
"Your mama loved me. Relentlessly. Stupidly. Even when I didn't deserve it."
He pressed a hand over his heart, voice trembling.
"And I loved him just as much. More than I knew how to show. It was messy. Painful. Beautiful. But it was ours. That was the start of the story of us…"
He said softly.
"Not perfect. But real."
He looked at the six children before him, living proof of that love, and spoke more—finally, of the love—the relentless, painful, all-consuming love that defined them, flaws and all.
The children listened, rapt, and Taichi found that with every story told, the burden grew lighter. Painful, yes, but soothing too—because Yu's memory lived again, not as a ghost of grief but as part of their shared family history.
---
The years rolled by. The mansion grew noisier with spouses, grandchildren, family gatherings that spilled out into gardens and halls. Yumi became the heart of it all, her white hair a living echo of Yu, her kindness and wit carrying his spirit forward.
Taichi grew older, his body worn by decades of work and years of drowning grief in drink. The sharpness of youth faded, but the fire of love never dimmed. Every portrait of Yu was dusted daily, every birthday honored with laughter, every death-day with tears.
He carried Yu with him always.
And at the age of eighty-seven, lying in a hospital bed, Taichi knew his time had come. The room was full—his sons, his daughter, their families, the grandchildren who tugged at his sheets with wide eyes. He smiled at them all, pride and peace softening the lines of his face.
But when he looked beyond them, he saw Yu. Not as a ghost, not as memory, but as if he'd been waiting all this time.
Taichi's breath rattled, then steadied. He closed his eyes, a smile curling faintly.
"I'm coming home, Yu."
He whispered.
"My Yu…"
Surrounded by love, he let go.