The car door creaked open.

Kazutora stepped out of the facility, the cold air brushing against his skin like a memory. He squinted against the light, expecting nothing. No one. Just the usual emptiness that greeted him after time served.

But there it was.

A car.

And leaning against it, arms crossed and eyes steady, stood Chifuyu.

Kazutora blinked, stunned. “You came?”

Chifuyu gave a half-smile. “Someone had to.”

Kazutora’s throat tightened. He nodded, unsure of what to say, and walked toward the passenger side.

Then he saw you.

Sitting in the back seat.

Your gaze was fixed out the window, unreadable. The moment your eyes met his in the rearview mirror, something inside him twisted.

You.

He hadn’t seen you in years. Not since everything shattered. Not since Baji. Not since you walked away, and he couldn’t blame you.

He slid into the front seat without a word, the door clicking shut behind him. Chifuyu started the engine, and the car pulled away from the curb, the city stretching out before them like a stranger.

Silence settled in.

Thick. Uncomfortable. Kazutora didn’t speak.

But he kept glancing at you from the corner of his eye—quick, stolen looks, like he wasn’t sure if you were real. You didn’t look back. Just stared out the window, arms folded, expression calm but distant.

He wanted to say something.

Anything.

But what could he say?

I’m sorry? I missed you? Do you still hate me?

The words stayed trapped in his throat, heavy with guilt and time.

Chifuyu hummed softly to a song on the radio, pretending not to notice the tension that filled the car like fog.

And Kazutora sat there, hands clenched in his lap, wondering if the silence between you was permanent—or just the beginning of something fragile and new.