"Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get." — Forrest Gump
Minamoto Senya's heart felt like it had just been taken on a rollercoaster—rising, plunging, jolting in the span of mere minutes.
God knew how close he had come to grabbing his bamboo sword and slashing down on that shiny bald dome of his homeroom teacher when the man had burst in, panting and gasping like a dying fish.
Thank heavens everything had turned out fine.
After hanging up the call, Minamoto Sanada lay in his hospital bed, mulling things over again and again, unable to shake the sense that something wasn't right.
Yes, calling Senya first had been his own decision.
He knew his son well—ever since grade school, Senya had been capable of taking care of himself, sparing his father most of the usual worries.
Given his current need to rest in the hospital, it seemed more appropriate to explain the situation to only one child instead of all three. Better one worried than three panicked.
But… for Senya to then insist on flying all the way to Okinawa to see them? That felt like going too far.
Tokyo to Okinawa was no short distance. Senya had never even boarded a plane before. And no matter how maturely he acted, he was still only a first-year middle schooler.
The thought made Sanada uneasy.
Later that evening, after finishing his bland hospital dinner, he decided to call again and persuade Senya not to come.
But the moment he dialed, the tone informed him: phone powered off.
A bad premonition gnawed at his chest.
Sure enough—three hours later, just past ten at night—his son called back. Senya's voice came through, steady but urgent:
"I'm in Okinawa. Which hospital are you in?"
"You reckless brat! You left without even telling me?!" Sanada scolded from his bed. Yet deep down, he knew exactly why Senya had rushed here so fast—because he cared. Because he was worried sick. And that knowledge filled him, despite everything, with quiet pride.
When Senya finally arrived at the hospital room and saw his father sitting up, still full of energy, he immediately knew it wasn't life-threatening.
Still, as the saying went: a hundred days to heal the bones and tendons. Until recovery, his father would be confined to bed, relying on crutches or a wheelchair to get around.
As for his stepmother, Junko—on the way over, Senya had already confirmed with her. Just a minor scrape on the elbow. A week and it would heal, leaving no scar.
"I packed some clothes and personal things for you two," Senya explained, setting the bags down. "Dad, just focus on recovering. Don't worry about home—I've got it covered.
We'll stick to the story that you and Mom are enjoying a much-needed getaway in Okinawa. That you're feeling youthful again, reliving your younger days. That you wanted to use this rare chance to relax."
Yes, the excuse sounded a little flimsy, even indulgent. But for Toka and Rikka, it should be enough.
They were thoughtful kids. They'd understand.
Junko suddenly pulled him into a tight hug. "I'm sorry, Senya. We've burdened you with so much."
Senya gently patted her back, his voice warm. "It's fine, Mom. Really. You've got it the hardest now. Dad's recovery will depend on you."
Sanada could only grin like a fool, watching this tender exchange.
He was nearing middle age now, and material things no longer mattered as much. What mattered most—without question—was family, and the ties between them.
"As long as I know you two are alright, I'll head back."
"You're leaving now?"
"There's a flight at three in the morning. I've already booked the ticket. If I go now, I'll make it back in time for school tomorrow. I told Toka and Rikka I was staying at a friend's place tonight. If I don't show up at school, they'll start asking questions."
"… …"
Once again, Sanada found his son's levelheadedness and foresight astonishing—far beyond his years.
Junko, on the other hand, felt her heart ache. She knew just how much strain he was putting on himself, running back and forth like this.
When Senya insisted on leaving, she accompanied him all the way to the airport, shared a late-night meal with him, and only left after watching him pass through the boarding gate.
"Junko, I swear—having Senya as a son, it must be the greatest blessing from my past life."
Junko smiled softly as she peeled an apple later in the hospital room. "He's my son now, too." Her voice brimmed with pride.
When Senya's plane landed, it was past six in the morning. His body felt fine—he wasn't particularly tired.
Only the discomfort of not having showered all night nagged at him, but going home now wasn't an option. He'd just have to endure.
He ducked into a McDonald's, ordered a set meal, and killed time until around seven before heading straight to school.
By the last class of the morning, drowsiness finally caught up with him. Suppressing a yawn proved impossible.
He raised his hand, excused himself on the grounds of not feeling well, and headed to the infirmary to catch some sleep.
Recently, since Senya had started practicing kendo, Eriri and Rikka rarely ate lunch with him anymore. They knew his first destination during breaks was always the kendo club.
But that day, his classmate Haruhara Youhei happened to mention in the cafeteria that Senya had gone to the infirmary instead.
That news immediately worried both girls.
Especially Eriri—ignoring the school's "no running in the halls" rule, she grabbed Rikka's hand and sprinted straight toward the infirmary.
Just before barging in, Eriri hesitated. Through the slight gap in the door, she caught sight of what was inside.
Senya, lying on the bed.
And seated beside him, Busujima Saeko. Her gaze soft, her voice gentle as she spoke:
"I couldn't reach you earlier. I guessed you'd be here."
She knew. She knew about his overnight dash to Okinawa.
Senya stirred, stretching lazily as he sat up. Just as he opened his mouth, footsteps echoed outside.
"Eriri, what are you doing? Why not just go in?"
"W-wait, Rikka… maybe we should just—"
"What are you even saying? We came here to see Senya!"
Without hesitation, Rikka pushed the door open, dragging along a very flustered Eriri.
"Senya, where do you feel sick?" Rikka asked straightaway, then noticed Saeko and politely greeted her.
Thanks to Senya, they all knew each other, though they rarely interacted.
Eriri followed, bowing slightly to Saeko before half-hiding behind Rikka.
Senya shook his head faintly. "Nothing serious. Just didn't sleep well last night. Came here to rest a bit. Don't worry."
At that, Eriri finally let out the breath she'd been holding. Of course. With his strong constitution, it made sense. She and Yukino had always been prone to colds and fevers as kids—but not him. Not once.
Saeko, rising from her chair, glanced at the small lunchboxes she'd left on the bedside table. "I cut some fruit at home and brought it. Share it among yourselves. I need to head back to the kendo club. Take your time here."
With a graceful smile to the girls, she departed.
After she left, Rikka sighed in admiration. "Saeko-senpai really is amazing. Beautiful, kind to her juniors, never arrogant at all."
Eriri nodded reluctantly. She didn't want to admit it, but yes—the girl really was admirable.
Her mind flashed back to Yukino's words. Maybe… maybe she really should try becoming friends with her.
But how?
As Eriri reflected on her past, she realized something startling: she had never once, in her entire life, taken the first step to make a friend.
Senya and Yukino had both reached out to her first. That was how they became friends.
Rikka too—it was only because of Senya that she naturally fell into their little circle.
She had absolutely no experience in taking the initiative herself.
But then again… in moments like these, she still had that one option.
That afternoon, during self-study, Eriri snuck out her phone.
[Yukino, if I wanted to make friends with someone, what exactly should I do?]
Far away in England, Yukinoshita Yukino walked the campus paths alone. A chilly gust swept by as she pulled out her phone and read the message.
Her fingers tightened around the device.
And for a long moment… she said nothing.