Izamuri's sneakers scuffed along the pavement, the faint smell of engine oil still clinging to his jacket from the workshop. The streets around Haruka's neighborhood were calm this time of day. Schoolkids headed home, elderly couples out for their afternoon strolls, the air carrying that early-spring freshness that hinted at warmer days ahead.
He didn't have a plan. Haruka had shoved him out the door with a vague order to "take a walk," so he walked. Past the vending machine on the corner. Past the laundromat with the old neon sign. Past the little bakery that was already closing up for the day.
By the time he reached the small local station, his hands were shoved in his pockets and the idea of heading back to the workshop felt… wrong. He could already imagine Haruka's smug expression "I told you to take the day off."
Fine. He'd make the most of it.
The JR Chuo Line was half-empty as it rattled toward Shinjuku. The ride wasn't long, but he spent most of it staring out the window, watching the cityscape shift from quiet residential blocks to the dense, glass-and-steel skyline. As the train slid into the station, the noise and motion hit all at once. Shinjuku in full swing, even in March.
He wove through the station's underground maze, up into the crisp air, and made his way toward Shinjuku Gyoen Garden. It wasn't exactly peak cherry blossom season yet, but hints of pale pink were starting to burst on the branches, like shy confessions to the coming spring.
At the ticket gate, he paid the modest entry fee and stepped inside. The shift from Shinjuku's chaotic streets to the garden's quiet expanses was almost jarring. The city noise melted into the background, replaced by the soft rustle of leaves and the distant splash of koi in a pond.
It was late afternoon now, the sun dipping lower with each passing minute. Most of the visitors were already gone. Just a few photographers packing up tripods and the occasional couple strolling along the winding paths.
Izamuri walked without direction, letting the garden lead him. A grove of tall cedars whispered in the breeze. A grassy lawn stretched toward the French formal section, where manicured hedges lined wide gravel paths.
But it was the quieter, shadier Japanese section that drew him in. The winding wooden paths, the koi ponds, the carefully placed stones. There was a calm here that reminded him of old childhood memories he couldn't quite pin down.
Following a narrow path past a grove of tall, thin trees, he came upon a wooden pavilion set slightly apart from the main walkways. He spotted the pavilion almost by accident, tucked away near the edge of a small pond. The structure's wooden beams were weathered but sturdy, the roof sheltering a pair of benches from the cool air. It sat like a little island of stillness, framed by trees whose branches reached just far enough to dapple the sunlight on the floorboards.
The sight stirred something in him. A vague sense of déjà vu, though he couldn't place why.
He walked up the steps and sat on the bench, the wood cool under him. From here, the view stretched across the pond to a cluster of bare-branched trees just beginning to blush with spring buds. The water rippled gently, catching the orange-gold light of the setting sun.
He leaned back, resting one arm along the back of the bench. For the first time all day, he let his thoughts drift. No workshop noise, no Haruka's cryptic errands, no twins yelling across the garage. Just the soft creak of the pavilion in the breeze and the distant call of a bird settling in for the evening.
The sun hung low now, casting long shadows across the lawn beyond the pond. The water caught the light, shimmering gold in some places, deepening into amber in others.
It wasn't often he slowed down enough to notice things like this. The past weeks had been a constant churn, getting settled in, adjusting to the workshop's strange rhythm, meeting more people than he could keep track of. This… was different.
For a while, he simply sat there, eyes following the slow drift of clouds reflected in the water. The air cooled bit by bit as the sun slid toward the horizon, but the pavilion still held a faint warmth from the day.
Somewhere across the pond, footsteps crunched on gravel, then faded away again. The park seemed to breathe in slow, steady rhythm, the world narrowing to the bench, the water, and the fading light.
Izamuri didn't check the time. He didn't need to. The lengthening shadows told him enough. The city would still be there when he left, bright and loud and restless—but for now, this pocket of stillness belonged to him alone.
He shifted slightly, resting both elbows on his knees and leaning forward to watch the koi glide just under the surface. Their movements were effortless, unhurried, a quiet contrast to the rush of Tokyo life outside these walls.
Above the pavilion roof, the first hints of deep blue crept into the sky, swallowing the last pale traces of afternoon. It felt good, he realized, to just exist without thinking about the next step. The koi vanished deeper into the pond, leaving the surface still. Izamuri was about to lean back again when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, someone stepping onto the pavilion.
A girl stood there, tall, graceful, with long hair that caught the fading light like strands of ink and chestnut mixed. She was striking, the kind of beauty that made you pause without realizing it. She wore a soft cream sweater and a pleated skirt, her steps light as she crossed the wooden floor toward him.
"Sorry… is this seat taken?" she asked, gesturing to the other end of the bench.
Izamuri shook his head. "No. Go ahead."
She sat gracefully, setting her small handbag beside her. For a moment, they both just looked out at the water in silence. Then she glanced at him with a polite smile. "I'm Shina. Shina Ikawa."
"Izamuri," he replied simply.
Her smile lingered a second longer, then she looked down, fidgeting with the strap of her bag. "I wasn't really planning to be here. Just… hiding, I guess."
"Hiding?"
Shina let out a small laugh, though there was no humor in it. "From my mother. She… has a very strong personality."
Izamuri tilted his head, sensing there was more. "Strong personality?"
She exhaled slowly. "She's self-centered. Controlling. My whole life, she's decided everything for me. where I study, who I meet, what I wear. And now… she's pushing me to be with someone. Someone I don't care about at all."
Her hands tightened in her lap. "It's not just suggestions, she forces me. If I try to say no, she lectures me about family duty and how I should 'make her proud.' I can't breathe at home. So sometimes I just… leave. Walk around. Pretend I'm invisible."
Izamuri listened quietly, his gaze still on the pond. There was a raw honesty in her words, the kind that didn't usually spill out to strangers.
"I don't know why I'm telling you this," she added with a soft shake of her head. "I guess it's easier with someone I just met. No judgment, no expectations."
For a moment, the only sound was the faint rustle of leaves overhead. Izamuri's voice was calm when he finally spoke. "You've still got it better than me."
She blinked, surprised. "What do you mean?"
"I don't even know my real parents," he said, eyes steady but distant. "Not sure I ever will. I'm not even certain I'm Japanese. All I know is what my step-parents told me, that I wasn't born here. Came to Japan when I was little."
Shina's expression softened. "You… don't remember?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. Just vague flashes that could be dreams. I never asked much, my step-parents weren't bad people, but they didn't talk about it. And after a while, I stopped trying to get answers. Figured maybe it didn't matter."
"But it does," she said quietly.
"Maybe," he admitted. "But the past is like… fog. You walk into it, you just get lost. So I keep moving forward instead."
Shina studied him for a moment. "That must feel… lonely."
"Sometimes," he said. "But I've learned how to deal with it."
They fell into silence then, not an awkward one, but the kind that comes when two people realize they've both revealed more than they planned. The sky had deepened to a rich orange, and the pavilion's shadows stretched long across the pond.
Izamuri leaned back, the wooden slats cool against his shoulders. Shina sat with her hands folded neatly again, her gaze fixed on the rippling water.
A faint rustle of leaves overhead broke the stillness. Somewhere behind them, a distant voice called out. "Shina!"
Both their heads turned.
The voice came again, sharper this time. "Shina!"
Her face tightened, the relaxed calm from a moment ago gone in an instant.
"That's her," Shina said quietly. "My mother."
Even from this distance, the tone carried a clipped edge that left no doubt about her mood.
Shina stood, brushing invisible dust from her skirt. "I should… go."
Izamuri got to his feet as well. "Yeah."
For a moment, neither moved. Then she reached into her coat pocket, pulled out her phone, and tapped quickly. "Here," she said, holding it out. "Put your number in. Just… in case."
He did, handing it back. A moment later his own phone buzzed with an incoming message, just his name and a simple "It was nice meeting you."
Shina gave him a small, almost apologetic smile. "Thanks for listening."
He nodded. "Take care."
She turned and walked down the pavilion steps toward the path, her figure soon swallowed by the deepening shadows and the tall trees that lined the garden. The sharp rhythm of her mother's voice carried faintly for a few more seconds, then faded. Izamuri stayed where he was, watching the last streaks of sunlight fade from the pond's surface.
Izamuri remained under the pavilion, hands stuffed into his pockets, watching as Shina's figure receded into the trees. Her mother's voice was clearer now that she was closer, sharp, scolding, cutting across the serene evening air like it had no business being here.
"…running around without telling me where you are…" The words carried, each one clipped.
Izamuri took a few steps down from the pavilion and followed the path at a distance, keeping to the shade of the trees. The late sunlight filtered in slanted beams through the branches, turning the gravel a pale gold.
Shina's shoulders were stiff, her head tilted just slightly down as her mother continued her barrage.
"You know how important this week is. We've already spoken to his family, how do you think this makes me look? Wandering off like a child?"
They walked briskly toward the main exit. Shina didn't answer, at least not loud enough for Izamuri to hear. Every few seconds, her mother's tone rose again, irritation spilling out like it had been waiting all day.
When they reached the gate, a black Mercedes-Benz S600 sat idling at the curb. Its polished body reflected the pale street lamps already flickering on. The driver stood by the rear door, holding it open.
Shina's mother all but steered her daughter toward it with a firm hand at her back. "Get in," she ordered.
Shina glanced once over her shoulder, maybe to check if anyone else was watching, but her gaze didn't quite reach far enough to see Izamuri, who had slowed to keep himself hidden behind the low stone wall lining the garden.
He stayed there as they stepped out through the gate. The sound of the car's engine hummed low, steady. From where he stood, the wall was just high enough that he couldn't see them anymore, but the voices carried over clearly in the quiet street.
"I've made a decision," her mother was saying, her tone now colder, more deliberate. "You're leaving university. Effective immediately."
"What?" Shina's voice had an edge of shock in it, a tremor she didn't bother to hide.
"You heard me. It's a waste of time now. You'll be married soon, and there's no point in continuing when you have a more important role to fulfill."
A pause. Then, softer but with a venom that made Izamuri's jaw tighten, she added, "You'll marry him. This year. No delays."
"Him?" Shina's voice cracked. "You mean-... "
"Yes. Him." The way her mother said it was final, like a judge handing down a sentence.
Izamuri pressed his palm to the cool stone of the wall, frowning. Who the hell is 'him'?
"You're twenty now," her mother went on. "You've had your freedom, and look what you've done with it. Running off, embarrassing me in public, wasting money on an education you don't need. This is your chance to do something meaningful. His family will ensure you're taken care of. Everything else is irrelevant."
"That's not what I want," Shina said firmly.
There was a sharp intake of breath, her mother's, and then, with icy precision she shot out "You'll learn to want it."
The car door shut with a muted thunk. The hum of the idling engine deepened as the driver stepped back into the seat. Izamuri heard the low rumble of the S600 pulling away from the curb, the sound of its tires fading into the distance until all that remained was the faint rustle of the trees above him.
He stayed there for a while, staring at the empty street beyond the gate. He didn't know why he followed. Maybe it was the way she'd looked when she said she was hiding. Maybe it was the fact that, for the first time in a while, he'd spoken to someone who wasn't part of the workshop circus and it hadn't felt forced.
But more than anything, it was the way her mother had said "him." The word was loaded with something… Ownership, control, a weight that made his skin itch.
He didn't know the name. Didn't know what kind of person could have a deal arranged around them like that. But whoever "him" was, he didn't sound like someone Shina wanted in her life. Izamuri took one last look toward the gate, then turned back into the park. The sun had dipped fully behind the skyline now, leaving the garden bathed in the deep blue of early night.
He walked slowly back toward the pavilion, the crunch of gravel under his shoes the only sound. The koi were still in the pond, their pale shapes barely visible under the surface.
For a moment, he thought about sitting again. But the quiet no longer felt the same, it was heavier now, threaded with something unresolved. He pulled out his phone. The last message in his inbox was still from her, the one she'd sent before walking away "It was nice meeting you."
His thumb hovered over the screen before he slid the phone back into his pocket. Somehow, he knew this wouldn't be the last time he saw Shina Ikawa. Not long after that he stepped back onto the gravel path and made his way toward the main gate. The lamps along the route cast pale cones of light that barely touched the darkened trees, and the sound of his footsteps echoed softly in the empty park. The night air carried the faint scent of sakura and the more distant tang of street food from Shinjuku's side alleys.
Outside the garden, the city reasserted itself, bright signs, cars idling at lights, the chatter of people spilling from cafés. Izamuri kept his pace steady, threading through the crowd toward Shinjuku Station.
Inside, the concourse was quieter than rush hour but still busy enough that the PA announcements blended into a constant hum. He found the right platform and boarded a Chūō Line Rapid train bound for the west. The doors closed, and the train eased into motion.
Through the window, neon faded to scattered streetlamps, then to the dim glow of small stations flashing past. The rhythmic sway of the carriage made him rest his head briefly against the glass. He wasn't tired exactly, just… drained.
The memory of Shina's mother's voice lingered, every clipped syllable as sharp as when he'd first heard it over the wall. He pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the scenery rushing past in the dark.
By the time the train pulled into Ogikubo Station, the air had cooled further. He stepped out onto the platform, adjusted his jacket, and took the escalator down to the street. From here, Haruka's house was still a good fifty-minute walk, long enough to let his mind wander but short enough to avoid the temptation of a taxi. The streets grew quieter as he moved farther from the station, trading neon-lit storefronts for rows of shuttered shops and quiet residential blocks.
He passed under the glow of occasional street lamps, the pools of light breaking up long stretches of shadow. The sound of his footsteps echoed faintly off the low walls and narrow houses.
In one pocket of the neighborhood, the smell of fresh bread lingered from a small bakery that had just closed for the night. In another, the faint sound of a TV drama filtered from an open window. Life went on here at its own rhythm, unhurried, almost indifferent to the chaos of the city center.
Halfway through the walk, he stopped at a vending machine glowing in the dark. The machine hummed softly as he tapped the button for a can of lemon tea, the metal clink loud in the stillness. The drink was warm in his hands, the faint citrus scent curling up with the steam.
He didn't rush the rest of the way. The path wound through narrower streets now, the kind where every house had its own small front gate. A few cherry trees leaned over from private gardens, their blossoms pale and ghostlike under the street lamps.
Finally, Haruka's two-story brick house came into view. Its black roll-up garage door was closed, the lights inside casting a faint glow through the curtains on the first floor. Izamuri reached the front gate and slid it open with a quiet scrape. As he stepped up to the door, it swung open before he could knock.
Haruka stood there, one hand on the frame, looking him over with a raised eyebrow. "You're back late," he said.
Izamuri shrugged. "Took a walk."
"A walk?" Haruka leaned against the doorway. "From where, exactly? You were supposed to be taking it easy, not… wandering off until nightfall."
"I was in Shinjuku," Izamuri admitted, stepping inside and pulling off his shoes. "Garden. Just… needed to clear my head."
Haruka studied him for a moment, as if weighing whether to press for details. Finally, he sighed and stepped aside. "Next time, maybe give me a heads-up before you vanish across the city. Dinner's been sitting out for an hour."
"Sorry," Izamuri said.
The warmth from the hallway hit him as he followed Haruka toward the kitchen. It smelled faintly of miso and grilled fish, simple, homey, nothing like the chaos of the workshop's usual meals.
On the table, a plate covered with plastic wrap waited for him. Haruka gestured toward it. "Eat before it gets cold again. Or I'll eat it."
Izamuri cracked a small smile and pulled out the chair. "Noted."
Haruka lingered by the doorway for a moment longer, then said, "You've got that look. Like something's on your mind."
"Just… stuff," Izamuri replied.
Haruka didn't push. "Fine. Eat your dinner, then get some rest. We've got enough noise waiting for us at the workshop tomorrow."
With that, he left the kitchen, the sound of his footsteps fading upstairs. Izamuri sat in the quiet, the warm tea from earlier still faintly lingering in his system. He unwrapped the plate and took a slow bite, staring at the window where the faint reflection of himself looked back.