Dawn had only just broken.
A faint light spilled through the paper screens, casting the tatami room in a soft, bluish glow.
Her eyes fluttered open slowly, adjusting to the quiet hush of early morning.
She glanced around the room.
Riko was still curled beside her, breathing softly in sleep.
But... something was off.
Her mother... was gone.
So was Hitomi. And Keiko.
Kyouko sat up gently, careful not to wake Riko, and pulled on her robe.
She stepped quietly into the hallway, the wooden floor cool beneath her feet.
On her way toward the restroom, she passed the living room—expecting the usual sight of sleeping bodies tangled under blankets.
Only Haruki was there.
Still asleep, one arm draped lazily over the edge of his futon.
Kazuma, Kenji, and her father—all gone.
A soft, muffled moan.
Then the unmistakable sound of skin meeting skin in gentle, rhythmic slaps.
Faint, but clear in the silence of morning.
Kyouko paused, blinking once—then smiled softly to herself.
"It’s because of Keiko’s question last night..."
She shook her head gently.
Of course the couples would wake early, stirred by teasing, memories... and maybe a little pride.
She continued quietly on her way.
She turned slightly, her eyes falling on him.
Haruki, still sound asleep on his futon, one arm resting beside his head, his chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths.
Even in sleep, he looked so peaceful, handsome.
Kyouko’s gaze softened.
She glanced around carefully, once to the hallway, once toward the kitchen, once back at the silent corners of the room.
Just the quiet hush of early morning, and her heart beating too fast.
She leaned down, slowly, carefully, and pressed her lips to his.
Soft, but with heat beneath it.
Her fingers brushed lightly against his jaw as she pulled away.
She stood up quickly, heart fluttering.
Not her sister-in-law.
No one could know she had just kissed her son-in-law.
It would only lead to questions.
And today... they were going to Ishigaki Island together.
She smiled faintly, her eyes lingering on his lips.
If she wasn’t on her period right now...
She would’ve woken him gently... and let him shove it deep inside her, right here, right now.
"Sleep well... my darling."
And turned quietly back down the hall.
Two sleek black Toyota Vellfire vans waited in front of the Kitayama residence, engines running, drivers in dark suits standing at attention.
The morning sun glinted off the polished chrome. Their presence was too refined, too elegant... too expensive.
Kyouko stepped outside—and froze.
She walked briskly to the front porch, then directly to her mother, voice lowered in a sharp whisper:
"Hmm?" Hanako turned, serene as always.
"If we use those cars—"
Kyouko glanced toward the vans.
Hanako didn’t flinch.
She folded her hands lightly over her purse and replied with a smile:
"Hmm? They’re just rental cars."
"Paid for with your father’s pension, remember?"
Kyouko blinked, then narrowed her eyes.
"You really think Haruki will believe that?"
Hanako leaned in slightly, whispering with a calm smile:
"Only if you don’t panic."
"Now go help Riko with her bag."
"I don’t know if Haruki will ask," Kyouko whispered, eyes fixed on the sleek black Vellfires.
"Or if he’ll find out later. But... if he accidentally tells Satomi—don’t blame me."
Hanako remained composed.
She glanced sideways, voice calm.
"Your father demanded we use those cars anyway. The drivers were already briefed this morning."
She placed a gentle hand on Kyouko’s arm.
"You know he doesn’t like taxis. Not because he’s arrogant. But because..."
She paused, then added softly,
"For his safety. And I care for him too, you know."
"Yes, Mother. I know."
Hanako smiled and brought her fingers to her lips, whispering behind them with a soft chuckle:
"Let’s just enjoy this trip."
She looked toward the waiting vans.
"If Haruki finds out... then he finds out. How long do you think we can really hide it from him?"
She turned to meet her daughter’s eyes.
"I believe in him. I don’t think he’s someone who’d run to Satomi with that."
Kyouko frowned slightly.
"I didn’t mean it like that, Mom. I trust Haruki. I really do."
"...But what if he slips? Just once?"
Hanako’s expression softened.
"Then we’ll handle it."
Hanako looked toward the cars again, her expression thoughtful, then turned back to her daughter—her voice softer, more reflective now.
"You know..." she said quietly.
"Your father didn’t do this just to show off."
Kyouko tilted her head, listening. Her mother rarely spoke .
"Everyone knows Haruki grew up without parents."
The words landed with weight.
"No mother. No father. No siblings. No one to see him off to school, no one to wait up for him at night."
She glanced at the Vellfires again.
"So now, having all of us, going somewhere together, ... in these cars, like a real family trip..."
"Maybe this is your father’s way of giving that to him. A feeling of belonging. A seat at the table. A place in a family that laughs, argues, eats, drinks... and stays close."
Kyouko looked down, her throat tight.
Her gaze drifted back toward the vans—sleek and expensive, yes, but suddenly... meaningful.
Not just symbols of money.
But symbols of a man who once had nothing—and now had something real.
And she, too, had become part of that quiet gift.
"I didn’t think of it like that," she said softly.
"He may be loud, rough, and too honest for his own good..."
"...but everything he does—he does it for the people he loves."
Kyouko looked up, meeting her mother’s eyes.
Hanako’s eyes didn’t leave the cars.
Her voice grew quieter.
"And you know..." she said gently,
"Your father grew up alone too."
Kyouko looked at her.
"His parents died when he still small."
Hanako smiled faintly, remembering something distant and quiet.
"He lived hard. Worked harder."
"Climbed every rung of the ladder with his bare hands. No shortcuts. No help."
She paused, then said:
"So when he sees Haruki..."
"...he sees himself. That same look in the eyes. That same silence."
"And maybe—just maybe—he wants to give him what no one gave him back then."
Kyouko’s chest tightened again. A slow, tender ache.
She looked back at the Vellfires, not with worry anymore, but with understanding.
A silent welcome from one man to another.
A way of saying: ’You belong to us now.’