---Notice---
For the best reading experience, I recommend you reread the second half of the previous chapter before reading this one. This chapter is very psychological, and the previous one builds the foundation for what you will see here.
My discord: discord.gg/ETwcj3ZB
--------------------------------
"We are all prisoners, but some of us are in cells with windows and some without." ~Kahlil Gibran
I paused momentarily, allowing Ichinose to linger in the silence of her outburst. The weight of her emotions settled into the air, thick and heavy, as the awkward tension crept in. Her shoulders still trembled, and though she had quieted, the echo of her emotions still lingered in the room.
Tears continued to slip down her cheeks, slow and unchecked, as she struggled to steady herself.
"Alright."
My voice was calm and resolute. I acknowledged her outburst, my tone offering neither comfort nor condemnation—only certainty. I watched as her breathing remained uneven, the slight tremors in her body betraying her fragile state.
"I don't want to pretend either."
I let the words settle, deliberate in my pacing, letting the impact sink in before continuing.
"No one truly wants to pretend," I continued, my gaze sharpening as I studied her expression. "Fake things don't last, do they? No, because what's fake can never truly become real."
I let the silence stretch just long enough to force her to consider my words. Then, as if granting her space to breathe, I lowered my gaze, breaking eye contact—just for a moment.
"We call it strength," I mused, "but isn't it just fear in disguise?"
Ichinose's breath hitched slightly, but she remained silent.
"In the end, holding yourself together isn't the same as being whole."
She wiped the tears from the corner of her eyes, sniffing softly as she attempted to regain composure.
"Why would you have to pretend?" Ichinose asked, her voice quieter now, steadier than before. "You're good at basically everything you do… it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that everyone looks up to you. You're seen as… perfect."
Her words carried no sarcasm—only genuine confusion.
She tilted her head slightly, as if trying to piece together a puzzle that didn't make sense to her.
I let out a faint chuckle, shaking my head.
"I guess you're right. Right now, you're probably thinking this is one of those cliché TV tropes, aren't you?" I smirked. "Hahaha, some kind of unparalleled genius looking for a challenge?"
Ichinose blinked, startled by my sudden shift in tone. She hesitated, her cheeks tinting slightly red as she quickly averted her gaze.
"S-So why then?" she asked, flustered but still pressing forward.
I exhaled softly, my amusement fading just as quickly as it had appeared.
"It's hard to explain…"
I let my voice drop into something quieter—calm, smooth, yet intentionally evasive.
"But it's not much different from what you do, Ichinose."
I studied her reaction, watching the way her expression wavered slightly.
"You pretend to be fine so that others won't worry. And for similar reasons… I do the same."
Silence.
Ichinose's lips parted slightly, as if to say something, but no words came.
Instead, she lowered her gaze once again, her fingers curling slightly against her lap.
"I see…" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
She wasn't talking to me anymore—she was talking to herself.
Her gaze drifted downward, as if searching for something in the quiet.
"Maybe you're right… maybe it's not so different."
Before she could continue, I decided to cut her off.
"But it's funny," I said with a slight smirk. "You seem more concerned with why I pretend rather than asking yourself why you do."
Ichinose's lips parted slightly, as if to respond, but no words came. That brief hesitation—that fraction of uncertainty—was all I needed.
I leaned back slightly, allowing the quiet to stretch between us, just long enough to let her dwell on it. Then, I spoke again.
"You see, Ichinose, the fact that you're asking me this at all tells me something." My tone remained light, almost casual, but a sharpened edge was beneath it.
She looked up, brows knitting slightly in confusion. "What do you mean?"
I exhaled softly as if humored by her own obliviousness. "People don't ask questions without reason. We like to tell ourselves we're just curious, just searching for an answer, but in reality, every question we ask is tied to something deeper—something personal." I paused, watching her carefully before continuing. "For example, when you asked me about regret during the previous special exam, were you really just interested in my experiences? In my perspective on regret?" I tilted my head slightly, the smirk still lingering. "No. If I had to guess, you weren't looking for my answer—you were trying to reconcile your own experiences with mine."
Her fingers twitched slightly in her lap, a slight, involuntary reaction.
"So tell me, Ichinose," I continued smoothly, my voice dipping just a fraction. "Why do you care so much about why I pretend? Why do you care if I regret?"
Ichinose blinked, caught off guard by the shift. "I… I really was just curious," she muttered reflexively, though her voice had lost its usual steadiness.
"Curious?" I repeated, my amusement barely concealed. "Is that really it?" I leaned forward slightly, just enough to subtly close the distance between us. "Then why did my answer bother you enough to keep you pressing?" I let the question hang for a moment before lowering my voice. "Why did it sound like you were searching for something else?"
She tensed, but still, she didn't answer.
I continued, my tone smooth. "You see, Ichinose, you're not asking because you truly want to understand me. You're asking because, deep down, you're hoping you'll recognize something familiar in my answer." I let the weight of my words sink in, my eyes locked onto hers as she swallowed hard.
"People who are truly at peace with themselves don't search for reflections of their own struggles in others," I went on, letting my voice dip just slightly, just enough to slip past her surface-level defenses. "You're not asking me because you're curious why I pretend, Ichinose." I let the silence stretch before delivering the final blow. "You're asking because a part of you is afraid to confront that very question yourself."
Her breath hitched.
Then, I gave her one last push.
"So tell me, Ichinose," I murmured, my voice quiet, yet cutting straight through her. "Are you sure you should be asking me that question? Or is it time you start answering it yourself?"
Silence. Heavy. Tense.
Ichinose's lips pressed together, her gaze flickering downward once more—not in avoidance, but in realization.
Ichinose began to speak.
"I didn't grow up with my father. It was always just me, my little sister, and my mom. She worked hard for us, but we were never really well off. Supporting three people on her own was never easy."
She didn't pause, her words flowing as if they had been trapped inside her for too long.
"Because of that, after I finished middle school, I searched everywhere for a part-time job. I thought that if I could bring in even a little extra income, Mom could take it easier, and my sister could enjoy life a bit more. But… that plan never worked out. My mom was against it. She wanted me to focus on my studies, and I listened. I didn't want to let her down."
She exhaled softly, her gaze lowering slightly as she continued.
"In my third year of middle school, during summer—right before my sister's birthday—my mom collapsed. She had been pushing herself too hard, working extra hours just to afford my sister a birthday present. She was hospitalized because of it." Ichinose's voice wavered slightly. "Of course, when my sister found out, she was devastated. She had never really asked for anything before, but this time… this was the first time she had ever voiced a real want. And knowing that Mom's hospitalization was, at least in part, because of her wish—she blamed herself. It hurt to see her like that."
Ichinose swallowed, letting out a small, bitter chuckle.
"So, I decided to cheer her up. The next day, I went to the department store. I saw the hair clip she wanted—the one Mom had been working so hard to get for her. It was 10,000 yen. More than I could afford." She let out a long breath. "So, I took it. Slipped it into my bag and walked out. No one saw me. No alarms rang. Just like that, it was mine."
I listened in silence, my mind processing her words.
In Japan, theft isn't taken lightly. The act itself isn't just a crime—it's a mark of shame. Even being accused of it can be enough to taint a person's reputation. But she wasn't caught.
Which meant…
"So, I assume that wasn't the end of things. Otherwise, you wouldn't be telling me this," I remarked, my tone composed.
Ichinose let out another weak chuckle. "No. Sadly, it wasn't." She hesitated for a moment before continuing. "I felt guilty, of course. But I still went home and gave the hair clip to my sister. I thought… maybe if I saw her smile, if she were happy, then it would all be worth it. And for a while, it was."
She paused, her hands clenching slightly in her lap.
"I told my sister to keep it a secret from Mom. But the next day, when we visited the hospital, she wore it. Proudly."
A single tear slipped down Ichinose's cheek, though she didn't seem to notice.
"It didn't take long for Mom to figure out what happened. She asked where the hair clip came from. My sister was just a kid—she was excited didn't know to lie. And when she told her… Mom slapped me." Ichinose let out a small, shaky breath. "For the first time in my life, she hit me."
She fell silent for a moment before continuing, her voice quieter now.
"She took the hair clip from my sister, of course. But what I remember most wasn't my mother's anger—it was my sister's face. The look of betrayal when Mom ripped the gift away from her. And Mom… Mom looked at me like I was a complete disappointment."
Ichinose let out a short, humorless laugh.
"I know it sounds dumb, but I don't think I'll ever live that moment down. Even though Mom was supposed to stay in the hospital, she got out of bed, grabbed me by the wrist, and dragged me back to the store. She forced me to return the hair clip and made me kneel on the floor to beg for forgiveness. And she did the same."
Her breath trembled as she spoke.
"The store didn't press charges, but that didn't mean much. The next day, everyone at school knew what I had done. No one wanted to talk to a thief." Ichinose's voice grew fainter. "So, I stopped going. I didn't want to face them. I didn't want to face anyone. My room was the only place I could hide—where no one could judge me."
She inhaled sharply, trying to steady herself.
"I eventually grew out of it… at least, a little. My mom convinced me not to waste everything I'd worked for. I went back. But things didn't end happily. They never do, do they?" She smiled, but it was a tired, broken one. "In the end, I got a fresh start here. A place where no one knew my past. But even now, I still haven't forgiven myself."
Her fingers curled tightly against her lap.
"I ruined everything. I ruined my mother's reputation, my sister's school life, my own future. I disappointed them. And in the end, I wasted my third year of middle school… all because I was an idiot."
Silence followed.
Heavy silence.
She kept her gaze lowered, her fingers clenched against her lap. She was waiting for me to say something—to offer some form of comfort, some assurance that she wasn't as terrible as she believed herself to be.
But I had no intention of doing that.
Instead, I let the silence stretch between us, and I let her mind fill in the gaps.
Time passed.
Only then did I speak.
"You still haven't forgiven yourself?" My voice was soft.
Ichinose nodded weakly. "I don't deserve to."
I leaned forward slightly, my expression unreadable.
"That's because deep down, you know neither your sister nor your mother ever will."
Her breath hitched.
I could already see the conflict forming in her eyes, the way she instinctively wanted to reject my words, yet couldn't.
"Your mother judged you. Your sister resented you. Your classmates abandoned you." I listed each point with precision, my voice steady. "Tell me, Ichinose, if they truly cared about you, why was it so easy for them to cast you aside?"
She flinched, her lips parting slightly in shock. "That's not…"
She wanted to deny it. She needed to. But the words wouldn't come.
I didn't give her a chance to escape.
"You've spent all this time trying to atone," I continued smoothly. "Trying to prove to them that you're still the person they once believed you were. But be honest, Ichinose—has that moment ever come?"
Her hands curled into fists. "…No."
"Exactly," I said, my tone unwavering. "And it won't."
Her breath trembled slightly, her fingers tightening their grip.
I leaned back, letting my words settle before speaking again.
"You can lie to yourself all you want. Tell yourself that, and maybe, three years down the line, when you graduate from this school, your mother and sister will look at you like they once did. Maybe they'll act like nothing ever happened."
I tilted my head slightly, watching as the smallest glimmer of false hope flickered in her expression.
Then, I crushed it.
"But people don't forgive what they don't understand," I murmured, my voice soft but sharp enough to slip past her last remaining defenses. "No matter how much time passes, deep down, they'll always remember you as the thief. The failure. The disappointment."
Her body tensed, and she let out a small, hiccupped breath—the sound of someone trying and failing to hold themselves together.
"Why… why are you saying this?" Ichinose asked, her voice barely above a whisper, thick with emotion.
I met her gaze, unblinking. "Because I need you to see reality for what it is."
She opened her mouth, then closed it, her shoulders shaking slightly.
And then, as if to grant her some semblance of mercy, I leaned back slightly, allowing my tone to shift. "But I don't see you that way."
She looked up at me, startled, her red-rimmed eyes widening slightly.
"Because I understand," I continued, my voice smooth. "Unlike them."
"…You do?" she asked hesitantly.
I let out a quiet, almost amused breath. "What? Do you think I'm lying?"
She didn't respond immediately.
"I told you before, didn't I?" I continued my tone light. "During our game… I asked you, how can an action be wrong if what it aims to achieve is right?"
Recognition flickered in her expression. I knew she remembered.
That conversation had stayed with her—just as I intended it to.
I leaned forward again, closing the distance just slightly.
"You stole that hair clip because you wanted to protect your sister's happiness," I said. "And yet, you were condemned for it. Your mother, your sister, your classmates—they didn't care about your reasons. They only saw the act itself."
She swallowed, the tears in her eyes trembling.
"You tried to do the right thing, and you were punished for it."
I let my voice soften.
"So tell me, Ichinose," I murmured. "If even your own family refused to see the truth… who else do you think will?"
Her breath caught.
She didn't answer.
She couldn't.
Because she knew.
There was no one else.
And that was exactly what I wanted her to realize.
"You don't have to pretend anymore," I said quietly. "Not with me."
Her lips parted slightly, her breath unsteady.
She was on the edge now.
And in that moment, I knew—this was the final push.
"So stop trying to seek forgiveness from people who will never give it to you," I whispered. "Stop chasing something that isn't there."
I leaned back again, giving her space just as the weight of my words finally settled.
Ichinose exhaled a long, shaky breath.
She didn't say anything.
She didn't need to.
Because in that silence, I had won.
I observed her closely, taking in the tension in her fingers, the way her body seemed to tremble slightly—exhausted, but no longer resisting.
She wasn't fighting me anymore.
She looked down, nodding slightly—a small, barely perceptible movement, but enough for me to see it.
I let the silence settle once again, then, just as she began to compose herself, I spoke.
"Have you ever told anyone else this story?"
Ichinose blinked, caught off guard.
"I…" Her voice was weak. "I mean… people know about it. The rumors spread back then. But I never really told anyone the whole story, not like this…"
She trailed off for a moment, then exhaled lightly as if it was nothing.
"Ah, well, I told Nagumo not that long ago."
A pause.
A slow blink.
For a moment, I didn't move.
And then, I simply whispered, "…I see."
--------------------------------
Give me your thoughts on the chapter. I honestly love reading comments; it's probably my favorite part of writing. I don't say that just to farm comments; I genuinely mean it. So, thanks to everyone who has been reading the story and engaging with it since the beginning.
And I'm sorry for the long disappearance. I've been busy. As some of you know, I'm doing my master's in university, and I also have an internship at the moment, so it can be difficult to find time or interest to write when I do have free time, but I try and have no plans to drop this story.