The hospital room was quiet again.
OG had stepped out at the doctor's request, leaving Sakura alone with the steady beep of the monitor and the soft hum of the air conditioner. Sakura lay still, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts tangled and heavy.
The door opened softly.
Hakura stepped inside.
She hesitated for a moment before pulling a chair closer to the bed and sitting down. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, knuckles pale. Sakura noticed then—the slight tremble running through her fingers, the way Hakura kept taking slow, measured breaths, as if afraid she might fall apart if she stopped concentrating.
"I did everything you told me," Hakura said suddenly.
Sakura turned her head slowly, confusion flickering across her face. "What… do you mean?"
Hakura laughed quietly, but there was no humor in it. "You said you didn't want help that controlled your life. You said you didn't want invisible strings. You said you wanted to stand on your own."
Her voice shook despite her effort to steady it.
"So I stopped."
Sakura's chest tightened.
"I supported you as a fan," Hakura continued. "A rich fan, maybe—but still just a fan. I bought albums like everyone else. I attended concerts anonymously. I didn't touch your schedules, your awards, your contracts."
Her hands trembled more now, and she pressed them together, trying to stop it.
"I always believed rich fans should take care of their idols," she said quietly. "Not own them. Not trap them. Just… protect them when they fall."
Sakura swallowed hard. Memories surfaced—subtle support that had appeared after the dinner ended, small but real. Anonymous bulk album purchases. Quiet venue sponsorships that didn't come with demands. Fan projects that kept OG afloat just a little longer.
"And if you think that was a lunatic choice," Hakura added, her voice cracking, "then I did exactly what you asked."
She looked down, blinking rapidly.
"I watched you lose everything," she said. "I watched you sell tickets on the street. I watched you smile through exhaustion. And I didn't interfere—because you told me not to."
Sakura's heart clenched painfully.
"Hakura…" she whispered.
Hakura shook her head. "Do you know how hard that was?"
Her breathing became uneven now, the shiver no longer hidden.
"I wanted to step in every time you suffered," she said. "Every time your name disappeared from charts. Every time your members cried. I wanted to fix it."
Her eyes lifted, glossy with unshed tears.
"But I didn't. Because for the first time, I wanted to respect you—not control you."
Silence filled the room.
Sakura felt tears rise, slow and heavy. "I never meant for you to watch me like that," she said softly. "I just… I was angry. I was scared."
"I know," Hakura replied. "And I accepted that fear."
She stood up slowly, as if her legs might give out. "I'm not asking for forgiveness. I'm not asking for anything."
She looked at Sakura one last time.
"I just needed you to know—I listened."
When Hakura turned toward the door, Sakura's voice stopped her.
"Why?" Sakura asked, barely audible. "Why would you do all that… and still stay?"
Hakura paused, her hand on the door.
"Because loving someone," she said quietly, "sometimes means stepping back—even when it hurts more than holding on."
And with that, she left the room, leaving Sakura alone with a truth that felt heavier than any accusation:
That sometimes, the most dangerous power wasn't control—
It was restraint.