Chapter Text
Pain pulsed through her body for what felt like hours, but now, in this quiet moment, Aoko couldn’t feel anything but the numbness spreading through her limbs. Exhaustion had overtaken her, every ounce of stamina drained, but none of it mattered. It was all worth it , she thought, as the room filled with the unmistakable, piercing cries of new life. She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to take a deep breath, feeling the weight of everything that had just happened.
The doctor and nurses moved around her, working quietly but efficiently. Aoko could hear the soft murmurs of their voices, though the words blurred together in her foggy mind. She opened her eyes again, squinting against the bright hospital lights, and caught a glimpse of them carefully cleaning and wrapping the small, wriggling bundle that had just been inside her.
Her body felt heavy, every muscle weak from the labor, but the weight of exhaustion was nothing compared to the relief and joy flooding her. She had done it. After all the pain, after all the effort—it was finally over.
A nurse approached, holding the tiny, swaddled form in her arms, and Aoko's heart clenched tightly in her chest. The baby was placed gently beside her, and for a moment, Aoko just stared, unable to fully comprehend that this little person—her son—was now here beside her in the flesh. Just minutes ago, he had been inside her, and now he lay next to her, breathing, crying, alive.
The fear and worry she felt during the 9 months and now... here he is.
Tears welled in her eyes as she gazed down at the baby’s red face. His cries were loud and strong, and a soft chuckle escaped her lips as she wondered briefly if he would win any contests for the loudest baby in the ward. But that thought quickly faded as she became transfixed by him. Everything else disappeared—the noise, the pain, the exhaustion—until there was only her and him, her miracle.
With trembling fingers, she reached out, gently brushing them over the baby’s cheek. His skin was soft, almost impossibly so, and the warmth radiating from him was a stark contrast to the cool hospital room.
As if sensing her presence, the baby quieted just slightly, his tiny hand lifting to grab her finger. Aoko’s breath caught in her throat as she felt the firm yet delicate tug of his grasp. How could something so small be so strong? Her heart swelled with a fierce, protective love she had never known could exist. In that moment, nothing else mattered—nothing but him.
Slowly, the baby’s eyes fluttered open, and Aoko’s heart skipped a beat. His eyes—deep blue, the color of the ocean at midnight—gazed up at her. In that simple moment, her heart stopped, they were just like his father’s. Her chest tightened at the sight, emotions crashing over her like a wave. It was as though she were staring into the past, into the eyes of the man she once loved so dearly.
But now, those same eyes belonged to their son.
A sob escaped her lips, though she wasn’t sure if it was from happiness, relief, or the overwhelming flood of emotions crashing over her all at once. She leaned in closer, her tears spilling freely as she whispered softly to him, her voice shaky but full of love, “Welcome to the world, Shinji. I love you, my dear son.”
The baby’s eyes remained open, his tiny chest rising and falling with each breath, his grip on her finger unwavering. This was the moment she had waited for, dreamed of, through all the months of carrying him, feeling him grow inside her. And now, it was real.
He was here.
She bent down as gently as her body could, pressing her lips against his delicate forehead, her kiss as light as a feather. In that simple act, she felt a connection deeper than words could ever express. The pain of labor was already a distant memory, lost in the tidal wave of love and awe washing over her.
Aoko closed her eyes, her heart full, as she held her son close for the very first time. Nothing in the world could ever compare to this.
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6 years later~~
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The room was quiet as Aoko clicked the door shut behind her, having finished locking up the shop for the day. She climbed the stairs to the second floor, a tired sigh escaping her lips. It had been a long day, but she knew this wasn't the end of it . There was one last challenge to face, one that had become a regular part of her routine.
One that she never could hate.
For some reason, if she didn’t see Shinji in the living room or hear him come to greet her, Aoko knew exactly what that meant. It had become part of their unspoken routine—a signal that her beloved son was hiding somewhere in the house, waiting for her to find him. She wasn’t entirely sure why he enjoyed it so much , but she could make a few guesses. Maybe it was the thrill of being found or the secret delight of outsmarting her. Whatever the reason, it had become their little game.
Aoko smiled to herself, already anticipating the chase. Despite the light tension it sometimes brought to her heart—especially when Shinji picked the most unexpected and precarious hiding spots—it was a tradition she half-loved, half-dreaded. As much as she worried about his safety, she couldn’t deny the joy that followed when she’d finally uncover his hiding place, greeted by his mischievous grin and giggles. It was moments like these that filled her days with a unique kind of warmth, even if they kept her on her toes.
She placed the key in the holder next to the door, “Where has that rascal gone this time?” she muttered, deliberately using a tired, playfully exasperated tone. Aoko knew the game well by now, but her son's creativity always kept her on her toes. She moved quietly , drawing on her old training from her days in the police force. If there was one thing she had learned, it was how to be silent when she needed to be .
The living room was still, the dim light casting long shadows over the furniture . No sign of him. But Aoko knew better than to relax just yet. At six, Shinji was already proving to be far more clever than most kids his age.
“Ah-ha!” She tossed aside the sofa pillow, expecting to see him curled up beneath it like before, but there was only empty space. A quick peek behind the TV—nothing. She moved to the window, certain he'd be crouched behind the curtains, but once again, there was no trace of her son.
The silence that followed was telling. Aoko waited, her sharp instincts kicking in. She was about to leave the room when she heard a faint sound coming from the bathroom. Her smirk widened. Got you this time.
Creeping toward the bathroom door, she slid it open, confident that Shinji would be caught red-handed this time. But as her eyes scanned the space, she was met with nothing but the sight of her own reflection in the mirror. She let out a huff, amused but still determined. “I know you’re in here, Shinji.”
The drawers—nothing. The space under the sink—empty. Aoko's gaze shifted to the bathtub, the last place she hadn’t checked. Slowly, she reached for the curtain, yanking it aside, only to find—nothing. She blinked in confusion. Where could he possibly be?
And then— poof! A burst of white powder exploded from above, filling the air with the scent of baby powder. Aoko recoiled, coughing as she waved the powdery cloud away. “Again?!” she spluttered , trying to clear her vision. When she opened her eyes, she saw him—Shinji, hanging from the metal rod for the shower curtain, his grin wide and victorious.
Before she could react, another handful of confetti rained down around her as he shouted, “I win again, Mom!”
Aoko blinked, trying to process what she was seeing. There was her son, hanging upside down from the metal rod, his small legs gripping it tightly, like a miniature acrobat. His face, flushed with excitement and victory, beamed down at her. For a split second, pride surged through her. How did he manage that? she wondered, her heart swelling despite the situation.
She stepped forward, reaching up slowly. “You know, Shinji,” she said, her voice calm but laced with awe, “that’s pretty impressive. You’ve got some serious strength for someone so little.” Her fingers gently brushed his back, making sure he was steady as she took in the sight of him hanging there, his small legs holding on like they were made for this. It was hard not to admire his cleverness or his antics, even if it made her want to tear her hair out.
Well, sometimes, but most of it was adorable seeing how his eyes lighten up.
But the worry quickly returned, tightening her chest. “You’re amazing, but…” Her tone shifted, becoming more serious as she slowly wrapped her arms around him, supporting his weight so he wouldn’t fall. “This is dangerous, Shinji. You could really get hurt.”
Aoko carefully turned Shinji around, supporting him as his small body turned back into the right position. With a gentle but firm grip, she lowered him onto the floor, where he stood proudly, his face lighting up with a grin that could melt any heart. The pure, unfiltered joy of victory danced in his eyes, and despite herself, Aoko couldn’t help but think how cute her son was. Mischievous as he was, exhausting her with his antics day after day, Shinji was still her Shinji—and she wouldn’t have it any other way.
Her lips curved into a smile, but it quickly faded as she forced herself to take on a more serious expression again. She knelt down to his eye level, her tone both gentle and firm as she said, “I don’t know how you got up there, but we can’t have you pulling stunts like that again, okay?” She paused, making sure he understood the weight of her words, though she knew how stubborn he could be. “Being smart and strong is great, but you’ve got to be careful, too.”
“Aye!” Shinji answered, his cheeks puffed up in that playful way of his, the grin never leaving his face.
Aoko sighed, knowing this wouldn’t be the last time he’d pull something dangerous. Even now, she could feel it in her bones—her little boy was just getting started. He was too clever, too full of energy and curiosity to stop. But at least her heart had become a little more resilient over time. That first time he’d disappeared had been terrifying, a moment she still hadn’t fully shaken.
She could vividly recall that day. She had searched everywhere, her heart pounding in her chest, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps as she feared the worst. She was on the verge of calling the police when, out of nowhere, Shinji had leaped from the top of a tall cabinet, landing squarely on the small table where the phone was. Aoko had nearly had a heart attack. She had scolded him sharply, and though he apologized with those wide, innocent eyes, it hadn’t stopped him from trying something similar not long after.
With each new antic, Aoko found herself bracing for the unexpected. Her son had a knack for pushing her to her limits, testing her patience, but she was learning—slowly—to adapt. Every leap, every climb, every risky game filled her with dread, but also with a strange sense of pride. Shinji was fearless, and though it scared her, she admired that about him.
Ruffling his dark hair, Aoko couldn’t suppress the soft smile that tugged at her lips. His laughter rang through the room, light and infectious, and her heart swelled with happiness. He was growing so fast, transforming from the tiny bundle she had once cradled in her arms into this lively, energetic little boy who filled her days with laughter and chaos.
As much joy as Shinji brought into her life, there was also a quiet ache deep in Aoko’s chest. Each year that passed reminded her of how quickly time was slipping through her fingers. And with every inch that Shinji grew, he became more like his father. The same deep blue eyes, the same unruly dark hair, and that playful grin that tugged at her heart with equal parts fondness and fear. Sometimes, it was almost too much to bear. When Shinji smiled, it was as though she was looking at a reflection of a past she had tried to leave behind, one she remembered all too well.
It silently frightened her, too—how easily her son mirrored the man he had never met. The resemblance went beyond just looks. His energy, his boundless curiosity, even the way he carried himself—it was all his father, as if some part of him had been passed down without effort or intention.
Of course, there were traces of herself in Shinji, though Aoko didn’t always notice them. Her father had once mentioned that Shinji had her nose, perhaps even the shape of her mouth. Aoko wasn’t entirely convinced. To her, Shinji was his father through and through. His spirit, his expressions, his bursts of laughter—they all carried the shadow of someone who wasn’t here to share in those moments.
Years had passed since those early, sleepless nights of holding Shinji close, wondering what kind of person he would grow up to be. Now, here he was—a whirlwind of joy and mischief, filling her days with light but also reminding her of the one person who should’ve been by their side. Aoko blinked away the melancholy that threatened to creep in. This wasn’t the time for regrets or memories that weighed her down.
Looking at Shinji, she ruffled his hair one more time , letting the warmth of his laughter fill her chest. “Alright, rascal,” she said with a playful sigh, “let’s clean up this mess you’ve made.”
Shinji looked up at her with a sheepish grin, his eyes twinkling as if he knew he’d gotten away with it—at least for now. His antics, though tiring, were moments Aoko would never trade for anything. He was her world, and even if he pushed her to the edge of worry every single day, he filled her life with a happiness she never thought she’d feel again.
Maybe—just maybe—it was because he was their son.
But that person didn’t know. And Aoko preferred it that way.
Her fingers gently brushed his cheek, her own sapphire eyes gazing at him with a tenderness that masked the guilt gnawing at her heart. Pushing the thoughts aside, she gave Shinji a soft smile, trying to ignore the weight in her chest.
Suddenly, the familiar loud beep of a toy pigeon broke the silence, bringing the whole room to life with its mechanical fluttering. Shinji’s eyes lit up instantly, and he shouted, “It’s starting!” before darting out of her reach, his little feet carrying him toward the living room with uncontainable excitement.
Aoko let out an exasperated sigh, shaking her head as she stood up to follow him. She knew exactly where he was going, no need to rush. Glancing at the clock, she noticed it was already 5 o'clock—the usual time for that show . The one her son adored more than anything.
She paused for a moment , a wistful smile tugging at her lips, but there was an ache in it too. Maybe it was a longing for something she’d long buried, or perhaps it was the weight of secrets she couldn’t quite shake. She had told herself she should move on, that it was all in the past, but some part of her still couldn’t let go.
By the time she reached the living room, Shinji had already grabbed the remote and flicked on the TV, landing on the exact channel. The title sequence just began to roll, and Aoko found herself standing still, watching as the screen lit up.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” boomed a familiar voice from the TV, capturing Shinji’s full attention. He hugged his white pigeon plushie—one she’d bought him after he’d begged for it, insisting that it was just like the one his idol had. “We meet again! My name is Kuroba Kaito, and for today—”
The rest of the sentence faded into a dull hum in Aoko’s ears as her eyes focused on the man on the screen. It was like staring into the past, into a life she’d left behind. He had changed , older now , more confident. And happier, if the rumors were to be believed.
Not that she wanted to believe them. Not that it was any of her business too.
After all, they were nothing, nor had they ever made any promises to each other. Their lives had moved in different directions, and whatever they had once shared was long gone, buried beneath the years.
Aoko had read the gossip, seen the articles that splashed across the internet, with Kuroba Kaito photographed alongside one woman then another. The most sensational one was when he’d been seen entering a hotel with a famous model, the tabloids buzzing for weeks. She didn’t care. She told herself it didn’t matter. But it gnawed at her, just like everything else she hadn’t let go of.
Turning her back on the television, she tried to just focus on making dinner. She couldn’t afford to get lost in those memories, not when her son needed her attention.
But even as she worked, her eyes kept drifting back—not to the TV this time, but to Shinji.
There he sat, eyes wide with anticipation, glued to the screen, utterly enraptured by the man he admired most in the world . Kuroba Kaito, his idol. The man he looked up to, talked about endlessly. And it stung—oh, how it stung. Aoko’s heart clenched as she watched the excitement dance across Shinji’s face.
A memory from a year ago still lingered in Aoko's mind, refusing to fade.
Flashback:
~~One year ago
It had started like any other day. Aoko had opened the shop and settled into her routine, preparing to pick Shinji up from kindergarten later that afternoon. It had been three months since he started there, and he was slowly adjusting. But then, she received a phone call that made her pause.
The voice on the other end wasn’t panicked, so she knew Shinji wasn’t physically hurt, but there was something in the teacher’s tone—serious, almost hesitant—that sent a chill down her spine. She didn’t waste time thinking about it. Aoko quickly closed the shop and rushed toward the kindergarten.
As soon as she entered the office, she noticed a scene that immediately made her heart sink. A woman with dark hair sat near the teacher, gently holding a sobbing boy in her arms. Nearby, Shinji stood alone, trembling, his head bowed as though he could barely look up. Aoko could see the tension in his small frame, and her protective instincts surged.
The teacher, Tanaka-sensei, stood up when he saw Aoko, motioning for her to come inside. The mother of the crying boy immediately rose from her seat and bowed deeply in apology. "I'm so sorry for my son’s behavior," she said, her voice full of remorse.
Aoko, not yet knowing the full story, gently touched the woman’s shoulder, urging her to stand up. Her gaze shifted between the boy still hiccuping in his mother’s arms and Shinji, who hadn’t moved. His eyes stayed locked on the ground, as though the weight of the world rested on his small shoulders.
Aoko’s concern deepened. “What happened?” she asked quietly, turning to Tanaka-sensei.
The teacher sighed, clearly troubled, as he began to explain. "Today was Father’s Day at kindergarten," his voice softened. "We had a class activity where the children were drawing pictures of their dads. Shinji drew a picture of you and the shop, but then Akito come and said some... things... to Shinji... things got messy. Akito tore Shinji's drawing, and after that, things escalated badly."
Aoko felt a sharp sting in her chest, "Things?"
For a moment, Tanaka-sensei stayed quiet, his expression tense. He hesitated before continuing, his voice softer, almost reluctant. "Akito-kun... he told Shinji-kun that his father must have left because he was... cursed. And... that’s why his mother has to work all the time—because... Shinji was the reason for all her pain."
Aoko’s breath caught. How could such cruel words come from a child so young?
The teacher’s voice lowered, becoming gentler. "Shinji shoved Akito after hearing that, and Akito shoved him right back. It didn’t get too out of hand, but..."
Aoko’s gaze moved back to her son. He was clutching two pieces of paper in his small hands—his drawing, torn in half. Her heart ached at the sight, and something cold settled in her chest as she turned her attention to the boy’s mother.
"I’ll let it go for now," Aoko said firmly, her voice calm but sharp enough to make her point clear . "But if your son says something like that again, I won’t just stand by and watch."
The woman nodded quickly, her face pale with an apology, and Aoko knelt in front of the little boy, forcing a kind smile that she hoped wouldn’t frighten him.
"What’s your name?" she asked gently.
The boy hesitated, sniffling, but eventually whispered, “A-Akito.”
“Akito,” she began, her gaze steady, “I understand that sometimes we feel things that are hard to explain—maybe even jealous or upset. But what you said to Shinji, about him not having a father and being cursed, was very cruel. You can’t hurt someone just because you’re feeling upset or jealous. It’s important to think about how our words affect others. Do you understand?”
Akito nodded, his small face scrunching up as tears welled again in his eyes. Aoko gently brushed a hand through his messy hair and said, “When we hurt someone, even if we didn’t mean to, it’s important to apologize from the heart. It shows that we understand what we did was wrong and that we’re ready to make things right.”
The boy hiccupped, then turned toward Shinji. “I’m sorry, Shinji.”
Shinji, still holding his broken drawing, looked up a little. His blue eyes, red from crying, flickered with a mix of emotions. After a long pause, he mumbled, "I’m sorry, too."
The tension in the room eased slightly, but Aoko's heart still felt unbearably heavy. She knew this wouldn’t be the last time Shinji faced questions about his absent father. As she turned toward her son, her heart broke at the deep sadness reflected in his eyes, his small hands still clutching the torn paper tightly.
Aoko knelt down in front of him, her movements slow, as if any sudden motion might shatter the fragile moment. She gently reached out, her large hand covering his smaller ones, and slowly took the crumpled paper from his grasp. Her touch was soft, almost apologetic, as if trying to ease the pain it carried.
The other adults in the room, sensing the gravity of the moment , quietly excused themselves, leaving the mother and son alone. Aoko barely noticed them leaving. Her entire world had narrowed to just Shinji and the weight of his silent hurt.
Aoko’s heart clenched as she looked down at the drawing Shinji had been clutching so tightly. It was of her—awkward lines forming a figure she recognized instantly. Despite the childish strokes, she could see herself, standing in front of their shop, with Shinji beside her, his tiny figure with arms raised high in joy. It was a simple drawing, but it radiated warmth and love.
However, as she opened the second torn sheet, her breath hitched. There was something there, but it had been scribbled over, forcefully blacked out with a thick, dark crayon. Behind the heavy strokes, Aoko could faintly make out the same drawing—a figure of someone. Her heart ached at the sight, knowing exactly what had been hidden beneath.
Then, in a voice so small and fragile, it broke the silence. “A-Am I c-cursed?” Shinji’s words trembled, as if he were scared to even ask . “I-Is that why Dad left?”
Aoko’s heart sank. The question she had dreaded was finally spoken aloud, and it hurt more than she had ever imagined. She had seen it in the quiet moments when Shinji’s gaze lingered on other families—fathers playing with their children, or when they passed by a complete family at the park. He never voiced his feelings, always offering her a smile when she asked, but deep down, she had sensed his unspoken longing.
This, she realized, was one of the hardest parts of being a single parent. Had she failed him somehow? Had she not been enough?
Without hesitation, Aoko shook her head and gently took his trembling hand in hers. Her voice was soft, but firm. “No, Shinji. You are not cursed. You’ve never been a burden to me. You’re my light, the brightest thing in my life. Mom loves you more than anything in this world.” She squeezed his hand, trying to keep her voice steady as she wiped the tear rolling down his cheek. “And your father… he never hated you. Don’t ever think like that, okay?”
Shinji sniffled, his wide, tear-filled eyes staring up at her. “T-Then… where is he? Why isn’t he with us?”
Aoko’s heart twisted painfully. She wanted to tell him everything, to lay bare the truth, but it wasn’t that simple. How could she explain the complicated past? The reasons things had turned out the way they did? How could she talk about it without making him hurt even more? Her gaze dropped to the floor, her thoughts swirling. It wasn’t just about explaining what had happened—it was about the way she and his father had ended things, parting ways without ever speaking again. It was hard, so hard, to even think about, let alone share with her innocent son.
“He… he’s not here because… a lot of things happened,” she said quietly, her voice faltering. "But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t love you." A lie, perhaps, but a necessary one. “If he knew you, I know he’d be proud of you. You’re so smart, so kind, and so brave.”
Shinji’s grip on her hand tightened, and Aoko felt a lump rise in her throat. Her mind swirled with memories of Kaito, of the time they’d shared, and the painful separation that followed. “He would’ve loved you, Shinji,” she whispered, trying to keep her composure. “I promise.”
Perhaps he would embrace Shinji and, just as Aoko had hoped, shower him with the love he had always shown to children. She could picture that joyful scene vividly. But then again, she couldn't shake the image of hatred that might flash in his eyes—anger for keeping their son a secret from him. The thought of him wanting to take Shinji away from her filled her with dread. Or worse, what if he felt nothing at all? What if he chose to disregard their son entirely? The mere idea of him abandoning Shinji without a second thought sent a cold shiver down her spine.
There was no guarantee, and that uncertainty gnawed at Aoko’s heart. She couldn’t bear the thought of Shinji being hurt like that, of him growing up with the weight of rejection or abandonment. She wanted him to be happy, to be carefree. To play with his friends, laugh loudly, and run freely—untouched by the complicated, messy realities of the adult world.
Unable to hold back any longer , Aoko wrapped her arms around Shinji, pulling him close. He didn’t resist; instead, his small hands clutched tightly at her shirt, his face burying into her neck as though he were trying to hold on to her as tightly as she was to him. Her shoulder growing damp.
“Someday,” she whispered into his soft hair, her voice both gentle and resolute , “I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”
Shinji’s grip on her shirt tightened, and she could feel his small body trembling against hers, the quiet sobs that shook him. Aoko pressed her cheek against his hair, her eyes closing as she silently prayed for the strength to face that inevitable day when she would have to explain it all. She didn’t know when that day would come, but it loomed over her, a shadow she couldn’t ignore.
For now, this moment had to be enough.
No, she didn’t want him to carry the burdens of the past. She didn’t want him to follow the path his father had taken—a path filled with risks, secrets, and regrets.
All Aoko wanted was for Shinji to be a normal, happy child. That was her hope. And for now, she would protect him with everything she had.
end of flashback~~
"Mom?"
Aoko blinked, snapping out of her thoughts, a little startled to see Shinji standing right in front of her, looking up with a worried expression. How long has he been there? She chuckled softly to herself , realizing she had been lost in her thoughts.
"What is it, Shinji?" she asked, her voice gentle.
Glancing up, she noticed the TV screen now displayed a commercial. The show must be on break, she mused. She hadn’t even noticed it ending; her thoughts had been so tangled. Shinji’s favorite program would be back in a few minutes.
Shinji continued to watch her with those wide, earnest eyes, his expression still filled with concern. Then, without warning, a grin spread across his face, lighting up his features. His small right hand came up with a practiced flourish, and from his fingers, as if by magic, a delicate white daisy appeared.
Aoko's breath caught in her throat, her heart giving that familiar twist. He’s learning so fast, she thought, warmth flooding her chest. Despite having seen him perform this little trick countless times, it still filled her with awe. She smiled at him, her gaze softening.
Why did both of them have to do the same magic? Even the hand movements were identical, but Aoko didn’t find it too strange; after all, Shinji had learned it from the TV, which meant he had picked it up from Kuroba Kaito.
“Don’t cry, Mom! Just smile!” Shinji said brightly, extending the flower toward her. “You’re the prettiest when you smile!”
Aoko felt her throat tighten, her emotions swelling as she reached out and took the daisy from his hand. Even though she wasn’t crying, the look in his eyes made her realize how deeply he understood her—how much he cared, even at his young age. For a moment, her vision blurred with unshed tears, but she quickly blinked them away, forcing herself to smile.
It was amazing how he could always tell when something was bothering her. He didn’t have to say it; he just knew, just like a certain someone too. Aoko gently caressed his hair, her fingers brushing through the soft strands. "You really know how to make Mom feel better, don’t you?" she said, her voice a little shaky but filled with affection.
Shinji grinned proudly, his blue eyes sparkling with joy. "I learned from Kuroba Kaito-sama!"
What would he say? How would he react if she told him the truth? That his idol, the man he adored, was his father?
The thought made her stomach twist. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
The burden of that secret was one she carried alone, and with every passing year, it became heavier, harder to bear. Was it selfish? Was it cruel, keeping it from him? She didn’t know anymore. She only knew that every time she looked into Shinji’s sparkling blue eyes—the eyes he’d inherited from his father—it felt like her heart was being pierced by a thousand invisible arrows.
She closed her eyes for a moment , pushing the thought away, trying to smother the guilt that always threatened to rise to the surface. Maybe someday, she told herself. Maybe someday I’ll tell him. Maybe when he’s older, when he’ll understand.
For now, though, it remained her secret, buried deep within her heart. Just as Kaito didn’t know about Shinji, Shinji had no idea that Kaito was more than just his idol. He admired him as a celebrity, completely unaware of the deeper connection. It was safer this way. Easier.
At least that’s what she told herself.