Ichinose Honami never felt ashamed or resentful about growing up in a single-parent household. For most of her life, she simply lived as her mother wished—becoming an honest, kind-hearted girl.
Since her mother avoided the topic, Honami treated everything related to her father as lifeless remnants of the past. She buried them herself and kept moving forward.
Her elementary and middle school years were smooth sailing. Regardless of gender, her cheerful personality won her many friends.
Though she struggled with sports, she believed in the principle that hard work could change anything. With that mindset, she steadily improved in her weaker areas.
In her third year of middle school, Honami achieved her dream: becoming student council president. Standing on that platform, she could now reach out to others in need—like an angel bestowing blessings from above.
But when the school bell rang and she returned to the place called home—when friends, teachers, and schoolwork all faded away—what remained was a far sharper, colder reality. It stabbed like fish bones caught in her throat: unresolved problems she couldn't fix.
In school, where everyone wore the same uniforms, ate similar meals, and viewed the world through narrow, self-centered lenses, differences between students were simple—test scores, running speed, or how many friends one had.
Those were things Honami could overcome with effort: study harder, train diligently, treat others with kindness.
But poverty wasn't something that effort alone could solve. Not even the perfect Ichinose Honami could change that.
All she could do was fulfill her duties as daughter and sister, and study hard for a private high school scholarship to ease her mother's burden by reducing tuition fees.
Initially, she planned to quit school after middle school to work—but her mother stopped her.
Honami remembered that moment vividly. Her mother smiled faintly—something she hadn't seen in a long time. The wrinkles on her face made it clear she was aging.
"Honami, you probably don't understand right now. Because your future is still full of possibilities, you can make bold decisions. You'll chase what you think is right, without worrying about what comes next."
"To keep studying or start working… this is your first real fork in the road, like your first time at a crosswalk."
Her mother held Honami's hand. Her palm was rough, but warm.
"But I no longer have such a future. My life won't change anymore. I've already passed the forks in my path. What's left is a straight, narrow track ahead."
"If my life still has a fork in the road..."
Her expression was tired, but gentle:
"It's you two."
Her mother worked so hard simply so her daughters wouldn't have to walk the same path she did.
Realizing that, Honami gave up her plan to work.
Now, she was frustrated by how slowly time passed. She knew every day of school for her and her sister was paid for by her mother's labor. That guilt felt like she was slowly drowning. If possible, she wanted to compress her final year of middle school and three years of high school into just four days. Maybe college would come after—but that didn't matter. As long as she was an adult, she could start helping her mother.
At school, she was still the kind, ever-helpful honor student. At home, the responsible older sister. Honami was smart. Since she couldn't change reality, all she could do was wait.
She caged her heart, hibernating like a bear, waiting patiently.
What Honami never expected was that the one who would push her out into the cold... was her younger sister.
If Honami was a child who was too mature, then Ichinose Maki was normally mature. Perhaps it wasn't fair to expect the same from her. For a girl barely twelve or thirteen, just understanding her family's hardship and trying not to burden her mother was already commendable.
What she lacked compared to her sister was emotional resilience.
Maki placed all her hopes and dreams onto performers on stage. Watching her favorite idol bathed in light, adored by thousands, made her feel like she, too, could fly.
She stood in the neon glow, staring at the giant screen showing her idol. The hair clip she wore sparkled.
That was the first time Maki had really wanted something.
When that style of hair clip became the trend, other girls gathered around to admire it. Maki, meanwhile, sat at her desk pretending to study. Her textbook might as well have been written in a foreign language. She didn't turn a single page that entire break.
Honami never cared about her own birthday. When friends said, "Your birthday only comes once a year," she would silently think, Doesn't every day only come once a year?
But she did care about Maki's birthday. It was the one day Maki allowed herself to act her age—to be a little selfish. Not much, but just enough. Their mother and Honami always tried their best to meet her wishes.
But when Honami noticed Maki's latest interest, she hesitated. That hair clip was trendy—and expensive. It's not that they couldn't afford it, but spending that much on a single clip...
During the summer of Honami's second year of middle school, on Maki's birthday, the two sisters strolled a long tree-lined path. They passed that department store countless times. The hair clip shone proudly in the display window.
Honami held her sister's hand. Dappled sunlight danced around them, breaking their shadows into fragmented pieces. Honami didn't know whether she wanted Maki to say she wanted the clip—or stay as considerate as always.
"Sis."
The sudden voice startled her. Maki looked up:
"For my birthday this year, I want two—no, three ice creams."
"You'll get a stomachache."
"Birthdays only come once a year."
Maki turned her head away.
But in her heart, there was hope. Honami stole a glance at the hair clip and sighed softly, as if blowing out birthday candles that weren't there:
Maybe next year... the price will drop.
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Ichinose Honami's third year of middle school was marked by three important events.
The first, as previously mentioned, was becoming student council president.
The second was the sudden arrival of new neighbors across the hall.
It happened in early July, just as summer break began.
A boy about her age had moved in—with a cat. A rather unusual pair.
Their meeting began with that snow-white cat.
The movers had left the door open for convenience while arranging furniture. The lazy white cat lounging on top of a container instantly caught the Ichinose sisters' attention—especially the younger sister, Maki, who had almost no resistance to furry, adorable creatures. Normally shy, she now dared to inch closer, seemingly eager to pet it.
"Meow."
The cat made no effort to dodge, allowing the small hand to rest atop its round little head.
"Hello, sorry for the disturbance. We should be done in about thirty minutes."
The boy had stepped out, possibly worried that the boxes in the hallway might be bothering them, and apologized.
"Ah… it's fine. I'm Ichinose Honami. I live next door. This is my younger sister, Ichinose Maki. Our mother isn't home right now."
Honami showed no fear toward strangers. Her manners were impeccable.
"We'll be formally greeting you later."
Kitagawa Ryo nodded, seeming to pick up on their fondness for the cat, and smiled.
"She's mine. Really well-behaved."
"I'm Kitagawa Ryo. Pleased to meet you."
The boy was nearly 180 cm tall—almost a full head taller than Honami. He wore a loose hoodie and black jeans. His figure was well-proportioned and athletic. Holding a box full of miscellaneous items in one hand, he didn't look strained at all. His slightly long, dark bangs fell just past his brows. His handsome features had a cold sharpness to them, and most striking of all were his deep, unreadable eyes—like a still lake hiding unseen depths.
"Kitagawa… Ryo, was it?"
"I'm Ichinose Honami, your neighbor. Please take care of me from now on!"
With her usual warm, radiant smile, Honami extended her hand.
"Ah. Likewise."
The curtainless window let in the dry heat. The early summer sky outside was dazzling.
For some reason, Honami's thoughts drifted to her sister's upcoming birthday, and to their mother, who had just started working overtime again these past two days.
Ryo glanced downward, reaching out his hand.
From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the silly cat playing gleefully with the little girl. He murmured softly:
"...Ichinose, huh?"