Chapter 13 - THE SPAIN REUNION

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It had been three years since graduation—three years since I left Japan for Russia and the uncertain path ahead. Now Spain unfolded before me, warm and familiar, yet distant, like a home I wasn't sure still remembered me. I wasn't alone this time. Cheryl was here, too, her energy as steady as ever.

We arrived in Madrid quietly, the city humming with life. What I wasn't ready for was Ren's family waiting without knowing I was coming.

Cheryl and I were to stay for a year. Her family had recently relocated from Russia to Spain after a major corporate transfer—her father's company had expanded operations here, and the whole family moved to the new branch. It was perfect timing.

Ren's older brother, who knew I was coming, had made sure everything was arranged. But Ren? He had no idea.

The air was thick with anticipation—and a touch of tension that I wasn't sure I was ready to face.

I stepped out of the car beside Cheryl, the Mediterranean air brushing against my skin.

We hadn't come here as students this time.

Cheryl was the hospital dean of her family's newly opened European branch—a strategic expansion meant to strengthen their presence in trauma and emergency care across Southern Europe. I worked beside her as a trauma surgeon, officially transferred from Russia after a joint international collaboration between hospitals.

But today wasn't about titles.

It was about people.

Ren's parents.

The ones who took me in when I had nothing but a ring and unanswered questions. The ones who gave me a place to stand when the world had already decided I was alone.

Ren didn't know.

He was on duty—long hours, relentless as ever. Psychiatry never gave him mercy, not with the cases he took on and the weight he carried home without realizing it. His brother, however, knew everything. He'd insisted we stay here for a year, said it was only right after everything that had happened.

The car slowed to a stop in front of the house.

My chest tightened.

Cheryl glanced at me, her voice light but knowing.

"Still breathing?"

"Barely," I replied.

She smiled. "Good. That means it matters."

I reached for the door handle.

Spain wasn't just a country anymore.

It was a reckoning.

The front door opened before we could ring the bell.

Ren's mother stood there.

For a second, none of us moved.

Then her hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh— Crystal!"

My name left her lips like a prayer, like something she had been holding in her chest for years.

I didn't realize I was crying until she crossed the distance between us and pulled me into her arms, warm and familiar, like I had never left at all.

"You came back," she whispered, fingers tightening in my coat, as if afraid I might disappear again.

"I did," I said, my voice unsteady. "I promised."

Cheryl stepped aside quietly, giving us the moment.

Behind her, Ren's father appeared in the doorway, just as still—just as shaken. His eyes softened the second they found me.

"Welcome home," he said simply.

The word hit harder than anything else.

Home.

I swallowed, nodding, unable to speak.

And somewhere inside the house, something shifted—like the past had finally caught up to the present.

Dinner was calm in the way storms often were before breaking.

The table was set neatly, food warm, voices gentle. Everyone spoke—but carefully, as if one wrong word might tip something fragile.

Raiden joined us midway, pulling out a chair with easy familiarity. He looked the same—older, maybe sharper around the edges—but his eyes softened when they landed on me.

"So," he said, glancing between Cheryl and me, "Spain finally wins."

Cheryl smiled. "Barely. Russia fought hard."

That earned a small laugh. Glasses clinked. Plates shifted. Normal things.

They asked about work—the new hospital branch, the transfer, our schedules. I spoke about trauma cases, long nights, the kind of exhaustion that sat in the bones. Cheryl filled in the gaps with her usual confidence.

For a while, it worked.

Then Raiden said it.

"Ren would've liked this."

The table went still.

Not dramatic. Not loud.

Just… quiet.

Even the cutlery seemed to pause.

Lunara's hand tightened around her napkin. She inhaled slowly, then looked at me—not with pressure, but with something gentler. Hope. Worry. A plea she didn't voice out loud.

"You should meet him," she said at last. "Soon."

I lifted my eyes.

"He doesn't know you're here," she continued. "And he's been… desperate, Crystal. He hides it well, but—" Her voice softened. "These past years haven't been easy on him."

Raiden looked down at his plate. Ren's father said nothing, but the silence around his name said enough.

I nodded once.

"I know," I said quietly.

Because Ren wasn't the only one who had been desperate.

After dinner, the house settled into its old rhythms. Familiar hallways. Familiar light.

Cheryl and I went upstairs, our rooms prepared side by side like the past had never been interrupted.

Once the doors closed, the quiet returned—thicker now, heavier.

Cheryl dropped onto the bed with a sigh. "Okay," she said. "That was emotionally illegal."

I smiled faintly, leaning against the door.

Tomorrow, I will see him.

But tonight, the space he left behind filled every room of the house.