"I said! Why are you HERE?!"
Her father's voice boomed through the busy street, slicing through the chatter and music. Heads turned. Conversations stopped.
Mary stood paralyzed. Every muscle in her body froze under the familiar weight of that tone—the one that demanded perfection, obedience, silence. Her breath hitched; her throat shrank.
The onlookers began to whisper.
"What's going on?"
"Who's that man shouting?"
"Is that his daughter?"
"Did he just—?"
The murmurs swelled into half-heard questions, but none dared step closer. None dared interfere.
Mary's lips trembled. "I…" she choked, the word barely audible, her hands clutching her sleeves.
But before she could finish—
*SMACK!*
The crowd gasped as Mary's head snapped to the side, her cheek instantly reddening under the blow.
For a moment, the world went silent again. The scent of the nearby bakery, the sounds of laughter—all drowned beneath the ringing in her ears.
Her father towered above her, his chest heaving, his glare piercing through her trembling heart.
"Why haven't you answered me?!" he bellowed.
Mary's knees trembled. Her eyes blurred as tears streamed down uncontrollably, no longer held back by will or pride. The pain wasn't just from the slap—it was from humiliation..
Her father's fury deepened as he watched her crumple. Pathetic. That word played in his mind.
Her lowered head, her trembling shoulders—it was weakness. It was imperfection, the very thing he had sworn to train out of her.
She must not show weakness. Not here. Not now.
His rage swelled again, the twisted logic in his mind whispering, Yes, she must be reminded. She must learn!
He raised his hand once more, ready to strike—
But before his hand could descend, a blur of pink burst between them.
The paper-wrapped crêpe flew from her grasp, splattering across the pavement as Urara skidded to a halt, her arms outstretched protectively in front of Mary.
"Stop!"
Her voice cut through them, louder than any shout she'd ever given. Her usual grin was gone; her eyes were fierce, burning with something Mary had never seen before.
"Stop hurting Mary-chan!" Urara screamed, her tail stiff, her ears pinned back.
For the first time, she looked serious—no, furious.
"Who the hell are you?! And how did you know her?!"
Mary's father roared. The crowd flinched from his tone, but the pink-haired girl before him didn't move an inch.
Urara straightened her back, her hands trembling, but her gaze wasn't. "My name is Haru Urara!" she shouted, "And I am Mary's friend!"
Her declaration only fueled the man's anger further. He then jabbed his finger toward her as his voice grew.
"So it was you!" he growled. "You're that bad influence who has been bugging her! The one responsible for making her weaker—inferior!"
"No!" she yelled back. "Mary-chan isn't weak!"
Her father's eyes widened—then narrowed. He laughed.
"I've seen your kind before," he spat, pacing a step closer. "Bragging about happiness—pretending it's the source of strength, of advancement. Like, it can really help you on the track, on the field, or something. But too bad to break your bubble, kiddo, but that's not how this world works! While the strongs advance, the weaks trembled!"
He pointed toward Mary, his voice swelling with rage. "To be better, you need discipline! Order! Purpose! Justifiable action that benefits growth! You—" he thrust his finger back at Urara, "—you're nothing but a parasite! A wicked leech! You cling to others so you can drag them down to your miserable level! You're just jealous!"
Urara's eyes glistened, but she didn't back down. She shook her head violently. "Urara doesn't understand a single word of what you're saying! But Urara knows it's wrong!"
Then—
A faint tug at her sleeve.
Urara turned slightly. Mary's trembling hand had latched onto her. It was weak, shaking, yet desperate. Mary's head was lowered, her shoulders quivering.
She didn't speak, but that single touch said everything: Don't go. Don't leave me alone. Don't leave me with my father.
The sight of it—his perfect daughter clinging to someone else—sent her father into another fury. His jaw clenched, veins throbbing at his temple.
"Come here, Mary! And you get lost!" he barked. "Before you regret it!"
Urara didn't budge. Her small frame stood like a wall between him and Mary.
"Never!" she fired back.
Her father's hand twitched, curling into a fist. Raising it, ready to strike—but he stopped himself.
His gaze darted toward the growing circle of bystanders, their phones raised.
He was furious, but not foolish. Not enough to strike another's child. Not enough to expose himself completely.
And so, his hand fell to his side, trembling. His glare lingered.
He then straightened his back, smoothed his collar, and said only one sentence.
"Mary, come home now… or else."
It wasn't loud, but it didn't need to be. It sliced through the noise of the street and sank deep into Mary's chest.
The meaning was clear. The command absolute.
Her body moved before her mind could resist. The trembling in her hands stopped.
Her eyes dulled, her expression went blank. That old, familiar obedience washed over her—the one forged by years of fear and control.
In mere seconds, she released Urara's sleeve and stepped forward, past her.
"Mary-chan!" Urara cried out, reaching to pull her back.
But before her hand could reach, Mary slapped it away.
"Goodbye, Urara," she muttered before walking toward her father.
Urara froze, her hand still mid-air.
Then, her father cast one last glare at Urara before turning his back. Without another word, he strode into the distance, gripping Mary's wrist tight, pulling her away with him.
The crowd that had gathered slowly began to disperse, murmuring in whispers.
Some looked at Urara with pity, others with confusion, but none stayed long enough to comfort her.
And there, Urara stood, helplessly watching the figures of Mary and her father fade into the distance.
She wanted to call out, to chase, to stop her—but her legs refused to move. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest. Why? she thought. Why couldn't she do anything?
It was supposed to be fun. Their first hangout. Their first real day as friends.
But now… it was a nightmare.
She clutched her hands together, trembling. "Mary-chan…" she murmured.
Then, lowering her head, she whispered to herself, "I'm gonna apologize to Mary tomorrow…"
And with that, Urara turned toward home. Walking alone, silently.
The crowd was gone. The laughter was gone. The sweet scent of crêpes was fading, just like the warmth of their day together.
The date had ended.
One left bitter and broken.
The other... disappointed and heartbroken.