Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Thank You, My Hero

Shimizu Sakuya’s comforting pat on Amane’s back froze awkwardly mid-motion.  

Amane hadn’t finished her sentence, but Sakuya already had a vague understanding of what had happened in the back kitchen of this shop.  

The three people involved—their hair colors alone were enough to give them away: purple, white, and black.  

This was the worst possible ending Sakuya could imagine.  

On the surface, it might resemble a harem ending, but in reality, it was fundamentally different. A more accurate description would be the worst ending.  

Though everyone seemed immersed in an atmosphere of love, harmoniously coexisting…  

Not a single soul was truly saved. They had all simply surrendered to their basest instincts—nothing more.  

Everyone had lost themselves, including Sakuya. She, too, had fallen into this darkest of hells.  

The most deranged, frenzied aspects of human nature had been laid bare. To someone as pure and innocent as Amane, it must have been unbearable to witness.  

At this point, though slightly embarrassed, Sakuya—a mentally weathered adult with far more experience than this girl—could only feign calm and reassure her.

“It’s alright. The things you saw in your dreams aren’t necessarily real, right? So there’s no need to be scared or worry about what might happen to me.”  

“But…” Amane bit her lower lip, her expression grave.  

She remembered the first time she had dreamed of Sakuya.  

At the subway station near their school, the ethereal girl had thrown herself onto the cold tracks—over and over, without hesitation.  

At first, Amane had dismissed the absurdity of her dreams. But every night, without fail, she would see Sakuya sinking deeper into a swamp of suffering, shrouded in shadows devoid of any light.  

Then, at some point, without even realizing it, Amane had made it her mission to save her.  

Yet no matter how hard she tried to reach out, Sakuya would only glance back mid-flight, her eyes like a lifeless, dark blue dead sea.  

Unreachable. Hopeless.  

Not once had Amane ever truly managed to save her.  

It’s just a dream, so it’s fine—she had often consoled herself with this excuse.  

But now, faced with a living, breathing person before her, how was she supposed to react?  

“You promised, didn’t you? That you’d save me.” Sakuya’s voice pulled her back. “Are you giving up before anything’s even happened?”  

Amane looked at her. The light in Sakuya’s ocean-blue eyes was nothing like the hollow gaze from her dreams—when she had fallen from the building, when she had lain on the tracks.  

Now, they shimmered with unmistakable hope.  

In that instant, Amane felt as though she had awoken from a long dream.  

That’s right… Things are different now.  

Sakuya’s eyes were a sea of rebirth, brimming with a future full of promise—a hope placed entirely in Amane’s hands. And that hope would become an unstoppable blade, cutting through all suffering.  

If her dreams were premonitions of what was to come, then she would throw herself into stopping them—into saving her.  

Amane clenched her fists, silently steeling her resolve.  

The cake shop was sparsely populated. Sakuya chose a table by the transparent glass wall.  

It was a good spot—outside, the city’s traffic flowed like circuits, while inside, a ceiling-mounted TV played soft music.  

Neon lights from the night streets filtered through the glass, casting a glow over their table. The buoyant melody dispersed through the air like floating dust, wrapping them in an atmosphere of ease.  

Gradually, Amane’s mood softened.  

Delicate swirls of cream encircled fresh fruit, their glossy sugar-coated surfaces glistening temptingly.  

“Alright, the train wasn’t the best place to talk,” Sakuya said, cutting a slice of strawberry-topped cake and sliding it toward Amane. “Now, tell me everything. When did you first start dreaming about me? And is there any pattern to these dreams?”  

“A pattern… I’m not sure. But ever since school started, I’ve dreamed of you every night. At first, I thought it was just nonsense, so I ignored it.”  

“That’s fine. In your dreams, what perspective did you see me from? First-person? Or like an observer?”  

Amane, too distracted to eat, nibbled her index finger in thought. “Both. Sometimes I was there, able to interact. Other times, it was like I was floating in the air, watching like a detached god.”  

—From her words, it seemed the dreams weren’t entirely her own memories. Some fragments must have come from the system… or some third-party perspective.  

Of course, that conclusion only held if the things Amane had seen were truly events from Sakuya’s own route.  

“I see. Thank you.” Sakuya nodded, then pressed further. “Tell me about the Kabukicho incident—where I was shot.”  

Amane’s brow furrowed as she dredged up the memory.  

“It’s been so long, it’s almost faded… but I remember you were in a white dress, in a back alley. Then someone shot you in the head. There was another girl there too, I think.”  

Sakuya seized on the keyword. “Another girl? Can you describe her? Her appearance, or what she was wearing?”  

Amane shook her head in frustration. “Sorry, I can’t remember. In my dreams, your face is the only one I can ever recall clearly…”  

Sakuya set down her fork, her appetite gone. The conversation had yielded no concrete leads.  

She was still groping through an impenetrable fog, with no clear path forward.  

……  

Walking side by side down the tree-lined avenue of detached villas, the night was quiet save for the hum of cicadas. A gentle breeze carried the warm glow of streetlights, casting a romantic hue over the scene.  

The moonlight, pure as glass, spilled over Sakuya’s hair and shoulders. As Amane chatted with her about mundane things, a strange, hazy feeling arose—as though they were on a date.  

Unfortunately, the moment they turned the corner, Sakuya’s home would come into view. Amane glanced down at their parallel shadows stretching ahead and felt an inexplicable pang of regret.  

If only the road were longer…  

Under the cherry tree at the center of the circular plaza, Sakuya stopped and turned to say goodbye.  

“This is far enough. My house is just up ahead.”  

Amane nodded, about to exchange pleasantries before parting—but Sakuya’s next move caught her off guard.  

Bathed in moonlight, with a tender smile, Sakuya closed the distance between them. Like a saint in prayer, reverent and full of gratitude, she gently pulled Amane into an embrace.  

Unlike the accidental hug from that morning, this one carried a quiet warmth—one that filled Amane with strength.  

Sakuya rested her chin on Amane’s shoulder, her lips brushing her ear as she whispered:  

“Thank you… for always trying to save me in your dreams. It must have been hard.”  

Amane stiffened like a clumsy doll, utterly stunned.  

Recalling everything that had happened today, her heart felt like a dark, stuffy room suddenly thrown open to the sky—a whirlwind of cherry blossoms and starlight rushing in, filling her with an indescribable emotion.  

At first, she didn’t even know why she was trying so hard. She had simply believed in doing what was right, in never standing by when someone needed help.  

But running aimlessly would only lead to numbness.  

Now, though, something has changed.  

She finally understood—she had found her reason to protect her.  

……  

Meanwhile, in the kendo dojo of the Ayase Aoi estate, the proud yakuza heiress was dressed in form-fitting athletic wear, practicing judo with a ponytailed woman of impressive physique.  

Ayase Aoi seized the woman’s arm, using her opponent’s momentum against her. With a clean, powerful motion, she flipped her over her shoulder and slammed her onto the mat.  

A flawless ippon seoi nage.  

The woman sat up, rubbing her sore shoulder with a wry smile. “You’re unusually worked up today. Your mind’s elsewhere, Aoi.”  

“My apologies, sensei.”  

“Take a break. We’ll continue later.”  

Ayase Aoi grunted in acknowledgement. Grabbing a towel from the rack, she wiped the sweat from her neck and forehead. As she sipped from a water bottle, her eyes fixed on the ticking digits of her phone’s clock, her thoughts a tangled mess.  

It’s all that damn golden retriever’s fault. If not for her…  

The plastic bottle crumpled slightly under her tightening grip.  

With an irritated sigh, she stood and decided to call the person she hated most—a two-faced, scheming snake.  

“Hey! Come eat with me in my classroom tomorrow,” Ayase Aoi barked into the phone, as though issuing an order.