The front door of the Kitagawa home was wide open. Kitagawa Ryo leaned lazily against the wall outside. The white cat on his shoulder slowly blinked its fluorite-like eyes—beautiful beyond words—then curled back into a soft little bundle.
"Good afternoon."
Ryo looked toward the slightly breathless Ichinose Honami.
"You look like you've run into some trouble, Ichinose-san."
Kitagawa Ryo—her odd new neighbor who had moved in earlier that month.
Honami wasn't fond of labeling people, but with Ryo, she couldn't help it. Besides the polite greetings and rare encounters in the hallway, they'd barely spoken since his initial visit.
"Thanks for your concern, Kitagawa-kun. It's nothing."
Without thinking much, Honami reflexively brushed off his question.
Fumbling with her keys, she reminded herself: ever since that fight between her mother and sister, Maki had locked herself in her room. It was summer break, which made things slightly better—but Honami feared her sister might stay upset until school resumed.
That's why she needed to give Maki the hair clip—as a belated birthday gift.
"Ah, Ichinose-san—your sister's actually inside, in my living room. She fell asleep after playing with Glow."
Ryo stepped aside. From the doorway, Honami peeked in. Sure enough, Maki was curled up on the sofa, a thin blanket over her.
Of course Honami knew how much her sister liked Glow. Since the recent emotional fallout, Maki had clung to the cat even more. Whenever Maki came by to pet her, Ryo always left the door open.
"Thank you for looking after her…"
Honami steadied her breath and bowed.
"No problem."
Ryo gave a short nod. At first, Honami had thought he was the aloof type. Maki had called him "a very kind big brother," and now, hearing no trace of blame in his tone, Honami felt relieved.
"Maki's been acting a little odd these past few days. Sorry to be blunt, but... may I ask what happened?"
The calm in Honami's chest vanished. She instinctively replied:
"Nothing happened."
Realizing how harsh that sounded, she quickly softened her tone:
"Thank you for caring for Maki, Kitagawa-kun. I'll handle the rest."
Seeing that she didn't want to continue, Ryo didn't press. Honami quietly thanked him again, woke Maki, and the sisters said goodbye before heading home.
Honami still needed to prepare dinner for her mother. Maki, yawning, returned to her room without saying a word.
After finishing the meal, Honami packed her mother's portion in a lunchbox and got ready to return to the hospital. She left a note beside Maki's meal and slipped the hair clip into her textbook—planning to surprise her sister that evening.
She no longer thought about where it came from. She had already buried that truth deep inside. Her steps were lighter now, her heart calmer.
On the way to the hospital, she looked up and saw the setting sun, heavy and crimson, like fruit hanging low on a branch. The irises in the greenbelt smiled at her like mischievous faces.
At the hospital, Honami and her mother shared a meal. Her mother, recovering, kept insisting on being discharged. Honami, knowing full well why she fell ill in the first place, soothed her like a child.
"Maki… she'll be okay in a few days."
It sounded like reassurance, maybe even a promise—but when Honami said it, it became an unshakable truth.
Her mother finally relaxed. She trusted her daughter—a trust built over fifteen years, minute by minute.
They ate together, laughing. Their shadows on the window overlapped—two figures moving in sync, as if it were a dinner for four.
Her mother noticed a bit of oil on Honami's lips and gently wiped it with a handkerchief:
"You're just like a little kid."
Honami blushed, poking her lip with her fingertip, as if checking for more grease.
By the time she left the hospital, silver moonlight blanketed the ground. The city was still lively. Groups of drunk salarymen stumbled out of izakayas, women in high heels smoked while waiting for someone, and couples whispered under the stars.
Yet Honami felt peaceful.
Several hours had passed, and no one was talking about the missing item. The department store was still brightly lit. Crowds bustled between aisles.
Honami was just another face in the crowd. The hair clip just another product on a shelf.
Right?
She clutched a flyer she'd just been handed: the summer fireworks festival would take place at the end of the month.
She looked up.
In the night sky filled with stars and strangers, she waited for the first firework to rise.
When Honami returned home, the lights in Maki's room were already off. The dinner plates had vanished from the table. Honami opened the cabinet and saw them washed, stacked neatly—just like always. Even now, Maki hadn't forgotten those little routines.
Honami was sure of it: her sister wasn't a bad kid.
Her mother hadn't been wrong either. Nor had Maki. They just needed a little nudge—a chance to reconnect.
Honami stood under the hot shower, water drenching her skin. At first, the contact made her shiver. But then she simply closed her eyes and let it wash everything away.
Tomorrow morning, she'd give Maki the hair clip. Maki would be happy. And then, maybe, she could ask her to visit Mom at the hospital.
That thought brought a rare calm.
She lifted her head, water trickling over her cheeks and hair. The steam fogged the ceiling. She stood up, brushing aside the bottles on the shower rack.
-------------------------------------
Morning dew clung to the tips of leaves, radiant and trembling in the sunlight, like jewels. Proud and gleaming—until the moment they fell.
Honami knelt, frozen, at her mother's hospital bedside.
Her mother no longer cried—but somehow, Honami could still hear the sobs, echoing like ghostly dust particles, slipping into her ears, burrowing into her mind.
An hour ago, she had seen her mother at her happiest.
Now, she saw her at her angriest.
Maki never suspected the truth about the hair clip. Just as Honami had hoped, her sister smiled and agreed to visit Mom.
But of course, Maki showed off her gift to everyone—except one person.
Their mother.
The clip lay on the nightstand.
Her mother's expression turned cold.
"Where did this come from?"
"…From the department store."
"Where did you get the money?"
Her mother's lips trembled. Perhaps she still hoped there was another explanation. Perhaps she simply couldn't believe it.
"I stole it," Honami said.
Her eyes shut. She braced herself for judgment.
Her mother had never hit them before. Not even when Maki shouted cruel, senseless things during their fight.
But this time—Honami was slapped. Hard.
She didn't even know where her mother got the strength. Her legs buckled. She collapsed to the floor.
Silence fell, heavy and absolute. It felt like the entire world had stopped.
She sat there a long time.
Her mother rose from bed, face dark with resolve. Though still recovering, she emanated authority. She grabbed Honami's hand and pulled.
Honami knew what was coming. She understood her mother's beliefs.
But she had no strength to resist. No excuse to give.
She felt as if she were hanging over a cliff, her whole being suspended in the air.
For the first time, the all-capable Honami looked truly helpless.
And her mother—seeing that—grew even colder.
Honami had committed theft.
Now her mother would burn everything she had built over fifteen years.
That obsessive mother dragged her to the department store—the same place where yesterday, a similarly obsessive girl had made her choice.
Her mother didn't hesitate. In front of strangers, she exposed her daughter's crime.
Only public shame, she believed, could bring true repentance.
Honami knelt. Head bowed. Forehead to floor.
Beside her, her mother knelt too.
Suits and skirts surrounded them—office workers, students in school uniforms, housewives with full shopping bags.
Honami realized, in that moment, that the "Ichinose Honami" she had constructed was burning to ash. Every memory, every achievement, every connection—stacked like dry kindling.
The fire was massive. It crackled and roared. The thing called "trust" turned to soot.
She knelt like a statue while strangers stared. Their eyes were knives, slicing her dignity. Their whispers were blades, grinding the truth into a sticky pulp passed from mouth to mouth.
Honami was strong. Proud. Brave.
But even she couldn't withstand what came next.
Because her mother—her mother knelt too.
Perhaps it was a punishment. Perhaps her mother believed this was her failure.
But that gesture—her mother kneeling beside her—only drove one truth deeper into Honami's heart:
It was her fault.
Her mistake.
Her sin.
And because of it, someone else had been hurt.
That realization crushed her soul in an instant.
Someone innocent had suffered for her crime.
And for Ichinose Honami—a girl raised with kindness, nurtured in a good home—that was worse than any punishment she could receive.
Especially when that someone was her mother—the very person she had wanted to protect, even if it meant breaking the law.
"This is my fault."
No one heard the whisper.
But those words carried a weight sharp enough to cut through the air—a statement, not a plea.
[But I no longer have that kind of future. My life won't change anymore. I already passed the branching points that led me here. All that's left is one straight track, stretching endlessly ahead.]
Her mother's old words echoed in her mind.
And now, Honami's life felt like that too—a flat, predictable road without detours.
Rumors, like vultures, circled overhead. They grew more elaborate by the minute, feeding off curiosity and schadenfreude.
On that day—
Ichinose Honami became… the Guilty One.
[Story CG: The Guilty One – Complete]