"…I didn't want to repeat the same mistakes as my parents."
Hearing that, I realized I had never met my grandparents on my father's side. As my father raised his head, he continued speaking, though it felt more like he was talking to himself than to us.
"Since I was born, it was just my mother and me. She gave birth to me but didn't do much else. She often left the house, even when I was little. We were poor, and that meant we faced a lot of prejudice and hardships. I thought that the only way to change that was through education. I wasn't particularly smart, so I worked hard. I worked part-time jobs to pay for high school while studying relentlessly, pushing myself to the brink. As a result, I got into a prestigious university, took out scholarships, and left home. I continued to work hard and eventually landed a job at a major corporation, where I worked my way up to the position I hold now."
He paused and took a sip of coffee from the table. I never knew my father had such a background. I had always assumed he was naturally intelligent. As I reflected on his feelings, my father resumed speaking after setting down his cup.
"That's why I believed, and still believe, that happiness could be found through education. I wanted to create an environment for my children where they could focus on studying from a young age. I thought that would ensure everything would go smoothly. But in the end, it turned out like this."
Had I ever heard my father express his inner thoughts like this before? I had always assumed he had no interest in me at all. As I processed this new perspective, my sister abruptly dismissed his words.
"So what? Do you want us to sympathize or even empathize with you?"
"…No, that's not it. I just wanted to be heard, I guess."
Despite talking about himself, my father's tone was strangely detached.
"I know it's too late to go back now, but perhaps this outcome is for the best. Well, I should be going now."
With that, my father started to rise from his seat. I couldn't find the words to say, so I instinctively lowered my head. Thoughts like "I wish you had told me this sooner" and "Wasn't there another way?" ran through my mind, but none of them felt like what I truly wanted to say.
"Oh, that's right. I said earlier that I didn't think I was wrong, but there's one thing I'd like to correct."
What could it be? I was both scared and curious about what he was going to say, so I looked up to face him again.
"I once told you that you were not my daughters, but I want to correct that. Regardless of Yuu, I believe, Kaya, that you resemble me more than you might like."
When he said that, what did I feel? No, what was I supposed to feel? His words were so unexpected that my mind went blank.
"What? There's no way Kaya is anything like you. Stop talking nonsense. Are you trying to ease your guilt by rambling on like this? So—"
"Sis, calm down."
My sister's outburst made me strangely calm. I was anxious about what he was going to say, and my emotions were swirling, but I genuinely wanted to hear what my father meant.
"Yuu… You've changed a lot. You never used to express yourself like this. Kaya, you were always a late bloomer, lacking in talent, clumsy… You reminded me of my younger self. That's why I believed you could keep working hard until you achieved something. That's all."
Part of me wondered what it would have been like if I had known this earlier, but another part of me felt that it didn't really matter. Would things have been different if I had heard this in my first life? It was pointless to dwell on that.
"So, I'll correct myself on one thing—you are my daughters."
With that, my father finished his coffee in one gulp and stood up.
"…Are you leaving already?"
"Yes. Oh, one last piece of advice, Kaya: Neither you nor I are likely capable of juggling many important things at once. So, always be aware of what's most important to you."
"Hmph, I'll handle that just fine."
"Is that so? That's reassuring."
With that, my father walked past us. Since he was moving away, it might be hard to see him again, but I had a feeling that this wouldn't be our final goodbye.
The light sound of a bell jingled as my father left the café. The last words he said to me lingered in my mind, refusing to fade.