The sound of forks and spoons echoed softly against the white plates.
The morning light fell across the dining table — bright, almost too bright, like a stage light revealing every hidden feeling.
Hanaya sat opposite MK.
Rheon sat beside her, reading something on his phone, pretending not to watch.
It should have been an ordinary breakfast.
But MK could feel the silence pressing on his chest like a weight.
Hanaya's hand trembled slightly as she passed him the glass of milk.
"You didn't sleep well, did you?" she asked, forcing a smile.
MK shook his head. "I'm fine."
His voice came out softer than he meant.
> Fine.
The word had lost its meaning a long time ago.
Rheon looked up, his tone calm but cutting.
"Hanaya, maybe you shouldn't let him stay up so late sketching.
Kids his age need sleep — and discipline."
MK's hand froze midair.
Hanaya opened her mouth, but the words didn't come.
Rheon continued, smiling faintly.
"You see, Hanaya, kindness isn't about giving someone everything they want.
It's about knowing when to stop giving."
Something inside MK's chest twisted.
The room felt smaller — tighter — as if the air itself refused to move.
He looked at Hanaya, hoping she'd say something. Anything.
But she just lowered her gaze.
The milk glass slipped from MK's hand and hit the table with a dull sound.
It didn't shatter, but the vibration ran up his arm, straight into his chest.
His breath caught.
A sharp pain spread like electricity through his ribs.
> Not now… please… not now…
He pressed his palm against his chest, fingers trembling.
Hanaya looked up at last, eyes widening.
"MK?"
"I—I'm fine," he whispered, though his vision was already blurring at the edges.
The world tilted.
The sunlight that had filled the room now looked white and burning,
the sound of the ocean outside faded into a long, heavy ringing.
Rheon stood up slowly.
"Hey," he said, voice calm but distant. "Breathe, kid. Don't make a scene."
MK gasped, his lips trembling.
His heartbeat skipped — once, twice — then hammered violently.
The pain wasn't just in his chest anymore; it was in his ears, his eyes, his mind.
Hanaya rushed to his side.
"MK, look at me. Breathe. Just breathe!"
Her hands were shaking as she held his face,
but even through the panic, MK could feel something different.
Her touch — once warm and protective — now felt unsure, cold with fear… or guilt.
He whispered, broken between breaths,
"Mommy… please don't leave me again…"
The moment the word Mommy left his lips, Rheon's face darkened.
Hanaya froze.
The sound of that word filled the air like a ghost from another time —
too intimate, too real, too dangerous for the world Rheon had built around her.
Rheon spoke softly but firmly.
"Hanaya. Take your hand away."
She hesitated — then did.
MK looked up at her, eyes wet, confused.
Her face blurred in front of him.
And then —
everything went white.
He fell forward.
The chair hit the ground with a crash that echoed through the house.
---
When MK opened his eyes,
the first thing he saw was the ceiling — white, unfamiliar.
His chest ached with each shallow breath.
He was lying on a couch in the living room.
Outside, the ocean glimmered faintly, as if nothing had happened.
Hanaya was sitting on the floor beside him, eyes red.
Rheon stood behind her, his arms crossed, his voice low.
"You see?" Rheon said softly. "He needs proper medical care.
You can't handle this alone, Hanaya."
She didn't respond.
Her hand hovered near MK, wanting to touch him — but not daring to.
MK's voice came out weak, trembling.
"I'm sorry… I didn't mean to scare you…"
Hanaya bit her lip. "You didn't. You just… need rest."
Rheon stepped closer, placing a hand on her shoulder.
"Let him rest somewhere safe," he said gently. "Not here. Not with us."
MK stared at the ceiling.
The words echoed like thunder inside his mind.
> Not here.
Not with us.
He turned his head slightly, his voice almost a whisper.
"…You promised."
Hanaya closed her eyes.
A tear slipped down her cheek, silent, invisible in the morning light.