I watched as Yuko stood there, her body tense, her expression closed off, as if she were bracing herself against the weight of her own words. There was a stubbornness in the way she held herself, a quiet defiance that said she wouldn’t—couldn’t—let herself feel too much. But beneath that, I could see the cracks, the fragile edges of something she’d spent years trying to bury.
With a quiet sigh, I shifted closer to her, the space between us shrinking until I could see the faintest tremble in her lower lip, the way her breath hitched just slightly as I invaded her carefully constructed boundaries.
My voice was gentle, barely above a whisper, as I reached out to her—not just with words, but with the warmth of my presence. "Sister Yuko..."
She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t lean in either. She just stood there, frozen, like a wounded animal unsure whether to trust the hand offered to it. Her breath was shallow, her body tense, as if she were caught between the instinct to flee and the desperate, aching need to stay.
For a moment, I thought she might finally let herself fall into the comfort I was offering. But then, as if snapping out of a trance, she abruptly stepped back, her expression shuttering closed.
"I’m going back to sleep," she said, her voice tight, almost brittle. She turned away before I could respond, her movements quick and abrupt, like she was running—not just from the room, but from the emotions she couldn’t bear to face.
I watched her go, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving me alone in the quiet darkness. But even though she was gone, I could still sense the storm of her thoughts, the chaos she was trying to outrun. Curious—and worried—I reached out with my telepathy, tuning into the frantic whirlwind of her mind.
[ OMG!! ] Her thoughts were a tangled mess of panic and longing, each word dripping with a raw, desperate confusion.
[ I just can’t control myself in front of him... ]
[ I don’t know what I’ll do... how to face him, knowing he’s my little sister’s boyfriend... ] Her heart ached with the weight of it, the guilt twisting like a knife.
[ But I still fell in love with him. ] The thought was a whisper, a confession so quiet it was almost lost in the storm of her emotions. It terrified her—how deeply she felt, how powerless she was to stop it.
Her mind raced, searching for an escape, a way to make the pain stop.[ This time, I’ll stay in Japan and never come back... ]The resolve was fierce, desperate.
[ Haruna’s grown up now... she doesn’t need me like she used to. ] She clung to the thought like a lifeline, even as it broke her.
[ And Jack... Jack is already her boyfriend. He loves her. Dotes on her. He’s hers. ]
Her thoughts spiraled, the decision hardening in her mind. [ This way... I don’t have to face Jack. It’s best for both of us. ] She repeated it to herself like a mantra, as if saying it enough would make it true, would make the ache in her chest fade.
I stood there, her thoughts still echoing in my mind like a haunting melody, the weight of her pain pressing down on me until it felt almost physical. She wasn’t just running from me—she was running from herself, from the feelings she couldn’t bring herself to name, let alone reconcile. And the worst part? She truly believed this was the only way. That leaving, disappearing, cutting herself off—it would fix everything. It would make the ache stop.
A sharp pang shot through my chest, a mix of frustration and something deeper, something that felt dangerously like heartbreak.
This girl is such a fool, I thought, the words bitter in my mind. She’d just keep suffering like this, silently, stubbornly, without ever saying a word, without ever giving herself a chance to be happy. Without realizing that running wouldn’t change how she felt—it would only make it worse.
I shook my head, the weight of it all settling over me like a suffocating blanket. I couldn’t just let her go like this. Not when I knew the truth. Not when I could see how much it was tearing her apart. But what could I do? Force her to stay? Demand she face her feelings? That wasn’t fair to her—or to Haruna, or even to me.
With a heavy sigh, I lay down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as my mind raced, searching for an answer.
I reached out to SERA, her presence in my mind a steady, familiar comfort.
"SERA, give me an update on the company’s situation," I instructed, my voice calm, my tone deliberate. If I couldn’t fix Yuko’s problems right now, I could at least make sure everything else was in order.
The information flooded my mind instantly. I reviewed the funds available—more than enough to cover anything we needed, more than enough to ensure stability. I don’t need to worry about money, I thought, a small sense of relief cutting through the chaos of my emotions.
As I reviewed the details about the company’s new film project—a full-scale production with live actors and actresses—I felt a flicker of excitement. The auditions were set to begin soon, and the gears were already in motion.
It was a bold step, a new direction, and part of me itched to dive into the logistics, the planning, the creative chaos of it all. But another part of me couldn’t shake the weight of Yuko’s absence, the way she’d slipped away like a shadow at dawn.
By the time morning light filtered through the windows, I was already on my feet, stretching out the stiffness from a night of restless thoughts. I wandered through the villa, half-expecting to catch a glimpse of Yuko in the hallway or the garden.
But she was nowhere to be seen. The quiet confirmation settled in my chest: she was avoiding me. The realization stung, but I pushed it aside for now. There would be time to address it later.
I teleported back to the main villa, where the morning was already alive with activity. Julie and the others were gathered in the dining area, the scent of fresh coffee and warm bread filling the air. Everyone had washed up and was now settled around the table, plates piled with breakfast, laughter and chatter weaving through the room like a comfortable blanket.
Natalya and Isabella were deep in conversation, their heads bent together as they shared stories, their voices bright and animated. Polina and the other bodyguards stood at their posts, their expressions professional but their stances relaxed—this was a safe space, after all. They knew their roles, and they executed them with quiet efficiency.