It’s late when Naoto invites you out again, though ‘invite’ might be the wrong word. More like he offhandedly suggests meeting up after school, and you, knowing him well enough by now, recognize it for what it is—him reaching out.

So now you're here, walking together in the cool evening air, the world quiet except for the distant hum of the town and the crunch of your footsteps. You don’t ask where you’re going, because you trust him to lead. Naoto’s always been good at that—knowing where he’s headed, what he’s doing, what’s next.

Except when it comes to himself.

"I still don’t feel like a woman, no matter how hard I try. Much less a girl."

The words slip out as you reach the top of a small hill overlooking Inaba, barely above a whisper, like he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to say them out loud. His hands are stuffed in his coat pockets, fingers clenched tight, and his gaze stays fixed on the ground.

You don’t respond right away. You’ve never been the type to force words where they don’t fit, and besides—you know Naoto. If he’s talking about this, it means he’s already spent so long thinking about it, turning it over in his head like a puzzle piece that just won’t fit no matter which way he rotates it.

"For as long as I can remember, I’ve known how people see me. A ‘young lady detective.’ A ‘smart girl with a bright future.’ And I—" He exhales sharply through his nose. "I thought maybe I could accept that. Maybe I just had to try harder, be better at playing the role. But no matter how much I force myself, it never feels right."

You nod, watching his expression carefully. He looks tired—not just physically, but like he’s been carrying this weight for years, and maybe tonight is the first time he’s letting himself acknowledge how heavy it really is.

"Then maybe the problem isn’t you." Your voice is gentle, careful. "Maybe the problem is that the role isn’t meant for you."

Naoto tenses slightly, his hands twitching in his pockets. "Then what is?" He met your eyes, his own narrowing.