Chapter 5

 Chapter 5: Hollow

When Ayase Aoi woke up, Shimizu Sakuya was already gone. The room was dim, and she leaned against the headboard in a daze, staring blankly at the spot where Sakuya had slept.  

It was really over…  

Shimizu Sakuya was like a brilliantly colored butterfly from a dream—no matter how tightly she held her, she would always spread her wings and fly away.  

Aoi lifted her gaze to the window. The night was deep, stars twinkling. Tokyo, the city that never slept, had already begun its ceaseless motion, bathed in the neon glow that never dimmed, its dazzling splendor unchanged from yesterday.  

On the distant electronic billboard, a dizzying array of advertisements played. Suddenly, Sakuya’s face appeared on the screen—smiling like a flower, her eyes gentle and soothing.  

Aoi’s face instantly lost all color. Stumbling out of bed, she frantically yanked the curtains shut, as if afraid even a sliver of that scorching light would burn her.  

She turned on the light in the darkness, pressing her back against the wall as she struggled to steady her breathing, like a drowning person gasping for air after being saved.  

The room was a mess. Clothes and props were strewn haphazardly across the floor, remnants of last night’s reckless abandon.  

She opened the closet, wanting to change out of her crumpled pajamas, only to find Sakuya’s and her own clothes neatly folded side by side.  

She opened the fridge, craving a beer to soothe her parched throat, only to see the once beer-filled shelves now stocked with juices of every color.  

She had forgotten. Shimizu Sakuya didn’t like alcohol—she had a sweet tooth. Every time she came over, she’d chatter away before buying a whole crate of juice.  

She stepped into the bathroom to wash up, only to see two toothbrushes pressed together on the pristine white sink.  

Aoi had always waited until Sakuya finished brushing her teeth before doing hers—just so she could secretly place her toothbrush next to Sakuya’s, like they were truly intimate lovers.  

Once, she’d even playfully shaken Sakuya’s arm, pestering her to brush her teeth for her.  

Sakuya had scowled and pushed her out the door. But she was soft-hearted. If Aoi acted like a rain-soaked puppy, staring at her with wet, pitiful eyes, she’d always relent in the end.  

The bristles had been gentle. Sakuya had bent her head, carefully cleaning Aoi’s teeth while Aoi stared, mesmerized, at her long lashes fluttering like butterfly wings against her heart.  

When Sakuya left, she hadn’t even taken her toiletries.  

And yet, it felt like she had taken everything with her.  

Aoi shut the closet.  

She shut the fridge.  

She fled the bathroom, stumbling blindly into the living room, stopping in front of the gilded, birdcage-shaped floor mirror.  

The reflection staring back at her was disheveled—hair tangled, clothes askew, dark circles stark under lifeless eyes. Every inch of her radiated exhaustion and despair.  

Like a canary with its wings plucked, unable to fly—its throat crushed, unable to sing.  

Shimizu Sakuya’s past had never needed her.  

Her future would have no place for her either.  

She was surrounded by love and countless waving glow sticks. There were already people willing to cross mountains and oceans to see the world’s splendors with her. Her future shone bright, like a rising golden sun.  

The one trapped in a cage had never been her.  

This gilded prison hadn’t been built for Sakuya.  

It had been built for Aoi herself.  

Bitterness flooded her mouth. Aoi wanted to cry, to sob wretchedly—but she found she couldn’t shed a single tear.  

Once again, she felt the same impulse as that day she’d raised her hand and struck her friend—the urge to smash everything, to destroy herself.  

Her gaze swept the room before landing on the chair Sakuya had sat in yesterday.  

Without hesitation, she lifted it and swung it hard at the mirror, shattering her own reflection.  

Again.  

And again.  

Shards of glass scattered through the air like splintered bird bones.  

She didn’t know which piece had cut her arm, but she watched as crimson blood trailed down her elbow, dripping onto the broken mirror fragments below, staining her own dead, colorless eyes in the reflection with vivid red.  

At that moment, she understood.  

The canary in the cage was finally dead.  

—  

Shimizu Sakuya sat on the edge of the TV station’s rooftop, legs dangling over the void as the night wind brushed past her. Her heart was heavy, tangled in complexity.  

If not for the system forcing her to push the plot forward, she could never have been so cruel to Ayase Aoi.  

She was just an ordinary person—someone who loved warm sunlight, cute cats, sweets, and hated overtime. Someone who tried to be kind.  

Stabbing someone’s heart over and over like this was worse than being tormented by other heroines until she couldn’t get out of bed. At least then, there’d be no guilt.  

To be fair, out of all the routes, Ayase Aoi—though selfish and ruthless—had never truly hurt her.  

Aoi was just a pitiful soul who loved but couldn’t be loved in return.  

Sometimes, Sakuya had even slipped out of character, moved by pity for her.  

Could I really be falling for a galgame character? She shook her head with a self-deprecating laugh.  

But if not for the system… if things had just continued like this…  

She might have truly fallen for Aoi.  

There was only one character’s difference between pitiable and lovable. When positive emotions reached their peak, who could say for sure whether it was sympathy or love?  

Her frustration grew. She tentatively asked the system:  

“Can’t I borrow from tomorrow’s cigarette stash?”  

The system’s voice was icy. “Remaining stock: 0. Resupply occurs after daily refresh.”  

“Fine.” The aftermath of Aoi’s route had hit her too hard. Three cigarettes hadn’t been enough to steady her.  

So how could she ease this pain?  

Sakuya peered down at the streets below, her mind already made up.  

Salarymen who’d clocked out late shuffled like solitary ants, briefcases in hand.  

Tokyo’s population density was 7,000 people per square kilometer. In such a cramped space, with so many people—why did everyone still feel so alone?  

She thought of Aoi again—how she had thrown herself at Sakuya to escape loneliness, only to realize in the end that loneliness was the best way to protect herself.  

If this game were reality, maybe this was the best ending for Aoi.  

Well, in reality, I hope everyone finds happiness.  

“System, is the evaluation out yet?” Sakuya stood up, spreading her arms as she balanced on one foot, playing a precarious game with the edge.  

The familiar mechanical voice rang out.  

“Death of the Canary—comprehensive evaluation: Mostly Positive. Criteria met. Proceed to collect the final ending.”  

“One more question. If I die or leave, this worldline—‘Death of the Canary’—will disappear, right?”  

“Correct.”  

Good. Then Aoi won’t have to grieve.  

A faint smile touched Sakuya’s lips. “I’ll end this world myself. No need for you to intervene, System.”  

She turned. Two meters behind her was the rooftop door leading back inside.  

Behind her was the embrace of the ungentle night wind.  

This was the method she’d chosen to soothe her guilt. Buddhism spoke of life’s eight sufferings—perhaps using the suffering of death to heal Aoi’s suffering of unrequited love could count as atonement.  

It’s not like I’ll really die anyway.  

Close her eyes. Lean back.  

Just like falling backward onto a bed.  

That’s all it would take to end this world.  

“Wait—don’t jump!”  

A hoarse, desperate cry tore through the air.  

Sakuya’s eyes flew open.  

As she fell, she saw—  

A figure lunging for her, hand outstretched but grasping only empty air.  

Long, straight black hair whipped wildly in the wind.  

Amber eyes wide with horror, regret, disbelief.  

A face she’d never seen before—yet somehow achingly familiar.  

Wait—!!  

That outfit… a background NPC?  

But why is a background NPC’s features so detailed?!