"I'm not feeling well," Sakura said quietly, slipping on her jacket. "I'm going to the temple."
No one stopped her.
The others were too tired, too broken, to ask questions. Sakura took her keys and left before anyone could see the tears she was already fighting.
The drive was slow. The city lights blurred past her windshield, but her mind was elsewhere—on the meeting, on the word disband, on the faces of her members when they cried in her arms.
When she reached the temple, it was nearly empty.
The air felt colder, calmer. The kind of silence that pressed against your chest and forced you to face yourself.
Sakura stepped inside, removed her shoes, and walked forward until her knees touched the floor. She knelt down, palms pressed together, head bowed low.
There was no one around.
So she spoke aloud.
"Dear God," her voice trembled, echoing softly in the space. "Please… please bless my members. Their happiness. Their lives. Even if it's not with me. Even if it's not on stage."
Her breath hitched.
"We tried so hard," she whispered. "If this is the end… please don't let it hurt them more than it has to."
Tears fell freely now, dripping onto the floor as her shoulders shook. She stayed bowed for a long moment, letting everything pour out—fear, guilt, love, helplessness.
When she finally lifted her head, she froze.
A pair of eyes was watching her.
Sakura flinched slightly, embarrassed, instinctively reaching up to wipe her tears. The figure stepped closer, silently, and held out a tissue.
Sakura hesitated, then took it. "Thank you," she murmured.
Before she could say anything else, the stranger placed something gently into her hand.
A small chocolate.
"You need this more than me," the woman said softly.
Her voice was calm, steady—almost familiar.
Before Sakura could react, before she could even properly look at her face, the woman turned and walked away, her footsteps fading into the quiet.
Sakura sat there, stunned.
She stared at the tissue in one hand, the chocolate in the other. Her heart was still heavy, but something warm stirred beneath the ache—confusion, comfort, a strange sense of being seen.
She looked toward the exit.
The woman was already gone.
Alone again, Sakura slowly stood up, clutching the chocolate to her chest.
For the first time that night, she breathed a little easier.
Unaware that this quiet encounter—so brief, so gentle—was not a coincidence at all.