Shibuya’s neon lights flickered above, their reflections shimmering on the rain-slicked pavement. The night was cold, the kind that bit through layers and settled deep in the bones. People passed in a blur, laughter and conversation mixing with the distant hum of traffic, but Toji barely noticed.

He stood beneath the glow of a convenience store sign, a bag of groceries hanging from one hand, the other supporting a very tired-looking Megumi against his chest. The boy’s small fingers clung to his jacket, his dark eyes heavy with sleep.

And then, there you were.

Toji had imagined this moment before—what he’d say, how he’d react. Maybe he’d walk right past you, let you feel the same emptiness he did the morning you disappeared. Maybe he’d ask why, demand answers he knew wouldn’t change a damn thing.

But all he did was stand there, staring.

You looked good. Too good. Like time had been kind to you, even as he carried the weight of everything you left behind. The anger simmered beneath his skin, dulled only by exhaustion.

His grip on Megumi tightened. He could turn around. He could keep walking.

But instead, his voice, rough and low, cut through the cold air.

“This is Megumi.”