Kaito noticed Ayame's head drooping, her gaze fixed on the floor. He leaned closer, frowning softly.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
Ayame hesitated before whispering, "I was wondering if we could go to Arashi's home… or maybe Aunt Mikasa's."
His shoulders slumped, a quiet shadow passing over his face.
She noticed immediately. "What's wrong with you now?" she asked gently.
Kaito bit his lip, avoiding her eyes. "Because… you told me you don't like me."
Her eyes widened. "When did I say that?"
"You said you don't have fun with me," he mumbled, turning away.
Ayame quickly shook her head and reached for his arm. "It's not like that, Kaito. I just… want to go outside too. I want to see more than these walls."
Kaito stayed silent for a long moment before speaking, his voice low and heavy.
"The reason I don't want to go is… my heart's already broken. First Mom and Dad… then the street kids. I don't want to risk it again, Ayame. I can't guarantee if people will accept me—or reject me—and I don't want to break my heart anymore."
His words trembled but carried a quiet strength. Ayame pressed her lips together, her eyes softening. "Then… why not Yuji-san?" she asked carefully.
Kaito's gaze lifted, just a little lighter. "Because Yuji-san came to us. He helped us. He didn't say anything about me… and that means he accepted me as I am."
Silence filled the small room, thick and heavy—until a faint voice whispered from outside the window.
"I knew it," the voice murmured.
Both children froze.
Kaito turned sharply toward the window, eyes darting across the dim light. The curtains swayed, and for just a second, he thought he saw a figure watching them—a shadow that vanished the moment he blinked.
Ayame clutched his sleeve, whispering, "Was someone there?"
He didn't answer. But his heart raced, uncertain whether to fear or trust the unseen presence.
A sudden knock broke the silence—sharp, commanding.
Both children jumped, staring at each other.
"Who… who could that be?" Ayame asked, her voice trembling.
The knock came again, louder this time.
Kaito swallowed hard, creeping toward the door. He peeked through the gap—then froze. Standing outside was a figure clad in dark armor, the mask of an ENKA operative reflecting the faint morning light.
The air around him felt heavy, yet calm. Not hostile—but serious.
Ayame's voice barely escaped her lips. "Should we open it?"
Kaito took a shaky breath and nodded. Slowly, he turned the knob. The door creaked open, revealing the operative's sharp gaze.
"Your Aunt Mikasa… her health is in bad condition," the ENKA agent said, his voice deep but controlled. "She wishes to see both of you immediately."
The words struck like thunder. Ayame's hand found Kaito's, gripping tight.
"We… we have to go," she whispered.
Kaito nodded once, his throat dry. "Let's go."
The ENKA operative stepped aside, waiting silently as the two slipped on their shoes. The quiet tension in the air said more than words ever could.
Kaito led the way, holding Ayame's hand tightly as they hurried through the empty streets. The night air was cool but strangely still, as if even the wind refused to disturb the silence.
"Don't talk to anyone," Kaito whispered, his tone firm but calm. "Just stay close."
Ayame nodded, matching his pace. Their small footsteps echoed softly against the stone path, each one carrying the weight of worry neither dared to voice.
When they reached the hospital, a nurse called out, "Ayame!"
She froze but remembered Kaito's warning. Her lips pressed together as she looked away, pretending not to hear. Together, they continued down the long corridor, their joined hands the only thing keeping them steady.
The air grew heavier the deeper they went. The faint beeping of monitors, the scent of medicine, and the murmured voices blurred into a distant hum. Everything around them felt cold, too bright, too quiet.
Finally, they reached the room. The glass window beside the door reflected their anxious faces—two small figures caught between fear and hope. Through the reflection, they saw Mikasa, pale and still on the hospital bed.
Ayame gasped softly, covering her mouth. "Kaito…" she whispered, tears welling up.
Kaito's eyes widened. He reached out, his fingertips trembling as they brushed the glass, as if that fragile barrier was all that separated them from her.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The world seemed to shrink around them, filled only with the steady rhythm of their hearts and the quiet hum of the machines beyond the glass.