The orphanage had quieted. The children were asleep, their ughter fading into the stillness of the night. The warm glow of nterns flickered against the dark sky as Watari sat on the orphanage steps, arms resting over his knees, staring at the stars.
Yumi plopped down beside him, stretching her legs out. For a moment, neither spoke.
Then—
“Hey, Watari.”
“Yeah?”
She hesitated.
“That kid earlier… asking if I was your girlfriend…”
Watari smirked. “What, you thinking about it?”
BAM.
Yumi smacked his shoulder. “Shut up!”
Watari ughed, but his voice had a tired edge to it. He exhaled, resting his head back against the wooden steps.
“You know…” he muttered, his voice quieter now.
Yumi gnced at him, sensing the shift in his tone.
“I talk a big game,” Watari admitted, “but the truth is… I don’t think I’m strong at all.”
Yumi frowned slightly. “You’re plenty strong. You just wiped out a shadow beast not too long ago.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Watari rubbed his hands together as if searching for the right words. Yumi remained silent, listening.
“When I was younger, I thought strength was about being the toughest guy in the room, about winning fights, about protecting people… But what if you can’t protect them from something you can’t fight? My parents had… it. An incurable sickness. They were just lying there my whole life, like they weren’t even living. And now, Mary… I don’t know. It feels like watching the same thing happen all over again.”
He grits his teeth.
“But then I see the kids here… they’d go through things I can’t even imagine. Losing their families, losing their homes, losing everything. And yet… they still find ways to ugh. To smile. To keep going.”
His fingers curled into his palms.
“That’s real strength.”
Yumi’s eyes softened.
“Me? I don’t think I have that. I’ve always been running forward without thinking. I get knocked down, and instead of facing things, I just tell myself to keep moving. But those kids? They’re stronger than me in ways I can’t even expin.”
He let out a dry chuckle.
“I just want to be half as strong as them. I want to be strong enough to protect them, to protect the people I care about.”
A pause.
“To protect you.”
Yumi’s breath hitched for just a second. She turned away slightly, hugging her knees to her chest.
“Idiot,” she muttered.
Watari blinked. “Huh?”
“You’re already strong, dumbass,” she said, still looking away. “Strength isn’t just about having power. It’s about what you do with it.”
Her grip on her knees tightened.
“I spent years thinking I had to be strong alone. That if I let someone in, I’d just get hurt. But then I met you and…”
She exhaled sharply.
“Now I’m starting to see that strength doesn’t mean carrying everything by yourself. It means letting people in. Fighting for something bigger than just yourself.”
She finally turned to look at him.
“That’s the kind of strength you have, Watari. And that’s the kind that actually matters.”
Watari stared at her.
Then, slowly, he grinned.
“WOW, Mi-chan.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“That was really deep. You been reading self-help books or something?”
Yumi’s expression immediately soured. “You’re ruining the moment.”
Watari just ughed, nudging her with his elbow.
“Nah, but seriously. Thanks.”
Yumi sighed but allowed herself a small, genuine smile.
As the night deepened, they sat there in comfortable silence, side by side.
For once, there was no bickering. No teasing.
Just two people—growing.
The next day, a car pulled up.
Watari and Yumi stood by the entrance.
“This is it, huh?” Watari murmured.
Yumi nodded. “Yeah.”
One of the younger kids ran up, grabbing Watari’s sleeve.
“You’ll come back, right?”
Watari ruffled the kid’s hair.
“Of course. Big Bro always comes back.”
With that, the two stepped into the car, heading toward the Musabori.
But unknown to them—inside the orphanage—Chizuru watched them leave.
Her fingers gently traced her bracelet.
And she smiled.
?
