《The Summer Fifty Years Ago》 Chapter 1 | The Art Club The distant chirping of sparrows, filled the evening. Sounds of brass musical instruments. Trombones, Tubas, Trumpets, somewhere across the school yard, practicing. The distant screeching of shoes, the rhytmic thudding of basketball being bounced at the gymnasium below. The rhythmic scratching of a paintbrush against canvas filled the small room, each stroke deliberate, each movement lost in the rhythm of creation. The room smelled of acrylics and turpentine, a scent that Haruki had come to associate with freedom¡ªa freedom she rarely felt outside these four walls. In the center of the room stood a girl, her figure silhouetted by the golden light of the setting sun streaming through the window. Haruki Fujiyama, her dark hair tied loosely in a ponytail, stood before an easel, her paintbrush moving almost instinctively across the canvas. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, her lips pressed into a thin line as she lost herself in the world she was creating. To anyone watching, it might have seemed like she was painting a landscape or a portrait, but to Haruki, it was something more. It was a world¡ªa world where the colors bled into each other like emotions, where the lines blurred between reality and imagination. A world where she could be anything. She stepped back for a moment, tilting her head as she studied her work. The painting was abstract, a swirl of blues and purples with streaks of gold cutting through like sunlight breaking through a storm. It wasn¡¯t perfect¡ªnothing ever was¡ªbut it was hers. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if such a place could exist. A place where she didn¡¯t have to argue with her father about art school, where her mother didn¡¯t gently suggest she consider a ¡°more practical¡± career. A place where she could just be, without the weight of expectations pressing down on her shoulders. Her brush hovered over the canvas as her thoughts drifted. What would it be like to live in a world where her dreams weren¡¯t just dreams? Where she could paint all day, every day, and no one would tell her it was a waste of time? Where her father¡¯s stern face would soften with pride instead of disappointment? She sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. Maybe such a world only existed in her paintings. Maybe it was foolish to hope for anything more. Before she could sink deeper into her thoughts, the door behind her creaked open, pulling her back to reality. The sound of footsteps and the faint jingle of a charm bracelet broke the silence. Before she could sink deeper into her thoughts, the door behind her creaked open, pulling her back to reality. The sound of footsteps and the faint jingle of a charm bracelet broke the silence. ¡°Haruki-chan!¡± a sing-songy voice called out, bright and cheerful. ¡°There you are! I¡¯ve been looking everywhere for you!¡± Haruki didn¡¯t hear her at first. Her mind was still lost in the world of her painting, far removed from the Art Club room. She was thinking about the shadows¡ªhow they should fall, how they should interact with the light. Should the reds be warmer? Did the greens clash? She murmured to herself, her brush hovering uncertainly over the canvas. ¡°Maybe if I add a touch of ochre here¡­¡± The girl, standing by the door with her hands on her hips, frowned when Haruki didn¡¯t respond. ¡°Haruki-chan!¡± she called again, louder this time. Still, Haruki didn¡¯t turn. The boy, standing beside Aiko with arms crossed, let out a quiet sigh. ¡°Aiko, don¡¯t,¡± he warned, already sensing what she was about to do. Aiko flashed him a grin, ignoring his disapproving tone. ¡°Oh, come on, Akihito. She¡¯s too in her head again.¡± Akihito adjusted his glasses, exasperation flickering across his face. ¡°So? Let her concentrate.¡± ¡°Or,¡± Aiko said mischievously, ¡°I could bring her back to reality in the fun way.¡± Quietly, Aiko tiptoed across the room, her sneakers making no sound on the wooden floor. She crept up behind Haruki, her hands poised to strike. Then, with a dramatic flourish, she clapped her hands on Haruki¡¯s shoulders and shouted, ¡°Boo!¡± Haruki jumped, her paintbrush slipping from her fingers and smearing a streak of green across the canvas. ¡°Aiko!¡± she exclaimed, spinning around to glare at her friend. ¡°What was that for?!¡± Aiko burst into laughter, doubling over as Haruki scowled. ¡°You should¡¯ve seen your face!¡± she wheezed, clutching her stomach. ¡°Priceless!¡± Akihito let out another sigh and shook his head. ¡°You¡¯re impossible,¡± he muttered, walking over to inspect the damage. ¡°And now she has to fix that.¡± Haruki groaned, turning back to her painting. ¡°Ugh, Aiko! This was almost done!¡± ¡°Relax, relax! You can totally turn that into, uh¡­¡± Aiko squinted at the streak. ¡°A tree branch? A shadow? A really abstract emotion?¡± Akihito pinched the bridge of his nose. ¡°Or you could just not ruin her work in the first place, Aiko.¡± Haruki sighed, rubbing her temple. ¡°You two are exhausting.¡± ¡°See?¡± Aiko grinned, nudging Akihito. ¡°She means you too.¡± Akihito simply crossed his arms. ¡°At least I¡¯m not the one causing her problems.¡± Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! Haruki shook her head, but despite herself, a small smile tugged at her lips. The three of them were an odd balance¡ªAiko¡¯s chaos, Akihito¡¯s restraint, and her own quiet focus¡ªbut somehow, it worked. ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± Aiko said, still giggling. She stepped closer, peering over Haruki¡¯s shoulder at the painting. ¡°Whatcha painting there, Picasso?¡± Haruki didn¡¯t look up, her focus returning to the canvas. ¡°Komorebi,¡± she said simply. ¡°I need practice painting light.¡± Aiko tilted her head, studying the painting. It was a tree, its leaves dappled with sunlight that seemed to shimmer even in its unfinished state. ¡°Whoa, that¡¯s awesome!¡± she said, her voice dripping with mock enthusiasm. ¡°Is the light going to be brighter than your future?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t be silly. It¡¯s just a painting.¡± Haruki chuckled despite herself, shaking her head. ¡°Why the weird question?¡± Before Aiko could answer, Akihito cleared his throat from where he stood, arms crossed. ¡°Speaking of your future,¡± he said, his tone even but pointed, ¡°you still haven¡¯t filled out your Career Plans paper.¡± ¡°Mrs. Kitagawa has been asking about it all day. You¡¯re one of the last people who haven¡¯t submitted it.¡± He reached into his neatly organized bag and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. ¡°You left this at your desk this morning.¡± Haruki¡¯s smile faltered as she looked at the paper. ¡°Oh, yeah,¡± she said quietly, setting down her painting knife. She peeled off her paint-stained gloves and apron, then took the paper from Aiko. The words ¡°Career Plans¡± were printed in bold letters at the top, and the sight of them made her stomach twist. ¡°So, have you thought of any?¡± Aiko asked, leaning casually against the table. Her tone was light, but her eyes were curious, searching Haruki¡¯s face for an answer. Haruki sighed, setting the Career Plans paper down on the table. ¡°No¡­ I¡¯m not sure.¡± Akihito, who had been re-organising his bag, glanced up. ¡°What about Tokyo University?¡± he suggested. ¡°You¡¯re one of our best painters in the Art Club. Their fine arts program is one of the best. My older brother goes there to study computer science, he says the professors are amazing, and their alumni do well in the industry.¡± Haruki hesitated, her fingers tightening around her paintbrush. Aiko perked up at the idea. ¡°Ohhh, that¡¯s a great idea! You¡¯d totally get in,¡± she said, nudging Haruki with her elbow. But instead of excitement, Haruki¡¯s shoulders slumped. She turned back to her painting, brushing light strokes onto the canvas as if to distract herself. ¡°You know my dad,¡± she murmured. ¡°He¡¯d rather I become a doctor or something ¡®respectable¡¯ than go there.¡± Akihito frowned slightly but didn¡¯t push. Aiko, on the other hand, scoffed. ¡°Pfft, respectable? As if painting isn¡¯t just as important!¡± Akihito gave her a pointed look. ¡°That¡¯s not how the world works, Aiko.¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± Aiko waved him off before turning back to Haruki. ¡°But seriously, Haru-chan, don¡¯t let your dad kill your dreams.¡± Haruki swallowed, eyes lingering on the painting in front of her. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she admitted. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s not a dream if I can¡¯t even say it out loud.¡± Aiko frowned, crossing her arms. ¡°Why not? Didn¡¯t one of the seniors from Art Club go there?¡± She tapped her chin, trying to remember. ¡°I think she used to be the vice president of the Art Club back when we were first-years.¡± Haruki paused, her brush hovering over the canvas. ¡°Matsuda-senpai?¡± she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. ¡°Yeah! Yaeko Matsuda!¡± Aiko said, snapping her fingers. ¡°Her paintings were gorgeous. Didn¡¯t she go to Tokyo University to pursue fine arts?¡± ¡°Aiko¡­ Didn¡¯t you know?¡± Akihito said, ¡°She never enrolled.¡± ¡°Wait,¡± Haruki swiftly turned to him, for a second, she abandoned her painting to fully turn towards them. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°Although my brother didn¡¯t study fine arts there, he is studying computer science,¡± Akihito explained. ¡°I asked him about Matsuda-senpai once, just out of curiosity. But when he checked, she wasn¡¯t on any student lists. None of the professors had heard of her, and even the students she was supposed to be friends with had no idea where she went.¡± Haruki fell silent, her expression darkening. The room seemed to grow colder, the cheerful chatter of the brass band outside, the rhytmic thudding, screeching and cheer from the gymnasium below fading into the background. She set her brush down and turned fully to face him. Aiko blinked, confused. ¡°Wait¡­ so what are you saying?¡± Akihito exhaled, folding his arms. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Just that she disappeared before graduation, and nobody¡ªnot her classmates, not even her close friends¡ªknows where she went.¡± Aiko¡¯s playful demeanor flickered, replaced by unease. ¡°Are you implying that she¡ª?¡± Haruki didn¡¯t answer right away. Her fingers tightened around the brush in her hand. Disappeared? That couldn¡¯t be right. Her gaze drifted past Akihito and Aiko, toward the wall of polaroid photos behind them. The Art Club¡¯s memories, snapshots of their weekly plein-air painting sessions, their shared laughter, the occasional paint-smudged chaos. Her eyes scanned over familiar faces, frozen mid-laughter, mid-brushstroke, before landing on one particular photo. Yaeko Matsuda. Her hair was tied in a neat braid, round glasses perched on her nose, a gentle yet confident smile on her face. Below the picture, scrawled in thick marker, were the words: Fight on, Vice President Matsuda! Haruki¡¯s throat tightened. Back when she was a first-year, she had looked up to Matsuda more than anyone. It was Matsuda who had trusted her, who had passed on the role of Vice President before her graduation. Haruki had always believed that Matsuda was out there, pursuing her dreams, painting, creating¡ªjust as she had always encouraged Haruki to do. But what if she never made it? ¡°No¡­¡± Haruki swallowed, her fingers loosening from the brush. ¡°That can¡¯t be right.¡± She tore her gaze away from the photo, but the weight in her chest remained. The room felt colder, the usual warmth of the Art Club replaced with something hollow and uncertain. For a moment, none of them spoke. The distant sound of the brass band outside felt oddly out of place, as if the world beyond their quiet art room had no idea that a mystery had just settled in the space between them. Then, Akihito exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. ¡°Sorry,¡± he said, offering a sheepish smile. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to make the room feel like a horror story.¡± He leaned back against the table, glancing between them. ¡°It¡¯s probably just a rumor, anyway. A big university like Tokyo? My brother might¡¯ve just had bad luck trying to find her.¡± Haruki let out a breath she hadn¡¯t realized she was holding. The tension eased, if only slightly. ¡°Yeah¡­ maybe,¡± she murmured. Aiko, sensing the shift, clapped her hands together. ¡°Alright! Enough ghost stories before sunset.¡± She stretched, her usual energy returning, though there was still a flicker of unease in her eyes. Haruki forced a small smile. ¡°I¡¯ll tidy up for a bit, then I¡¯ll meet you at the bicycle park.¡± ¡°Got it!¡± Aiko chirped, her usual sing-songy voice back in full force. But as she turned to leave, she paused at the doorframe, glancing back at Haruki. ¡°Hey, Haruki-chan.¡± Haruki raised an eyebrow. ¡°Hmm?¡± Aiko grinned. ¡°Have you thought of any career path, just off the top of your head?¡± Haruki tilted her head. ¡°Off the top of my head¡ª?¡± ¡°Quick! Answer, no time!¡± Aiko teased, rocking on her heels. Haruki hesitated for a moment, then smiled. ¡°Art school,¡± she said firmly. ¡°That¡¯s what¡¯s on the top of my head.¡± Aiko¡¯s smile widened, and she gave Haruki a thumbs-up. ¡°Then write it on your paper and submit it before Mrs. Kitagawa continues nagging me about it!¡± Haruki laughed, the last remnants of tension finally lifting. ¡°I will, I will. Now go on, I¡¯ll catch up.¡± As Aiko disappeared down the hallway, her footsteps echoing faintly, Haruki turned back to her painting. The komorebi¡ªthe sunlight filtering through the leaves¡ªseemed to glow brighter now, as if reflecting the spark of determination in her heart. She dipped her brush into the thinner, cleaning it carefully before putting everything in its place. Chapter 2 | Honoka Fujiyama The sky was a deep shade of purple, streaked with the last remnants of orange as the sun dipped below the horizon. Haruki pedaled her bicycle alongside Aiko and Akihito, the cool evening air brushing against her face. The streets were quiet, save for the occasional hum of a passing car or the distant laughter of children playing in a nearby park. Their conversation drifted between idle chatter and the lingering weight of their discussion in the art room, though none of them spoke about Matsuda again. Eventually, they reached the point where their paths diverged. Aiko stretched her arms above her head before turning down her street. ¡°See you tomorrow, Haruki-chan! Don¡¯t forget to submit that paper!¡± Haruki laughed lightly. ¡°I won¡¯t! See you!¡± As Aiko disappeared around the corner, Haruki turned her bike toward her own street, only to hear Akihito clear his throat beside her. ¡°Seriously, Haruki, you haven¡¯t forgotten, right?¡± He adjusted his grip on the handlebars, casting her a skeptical glance. ¡°You know Mrs. Kitagawa won¡¯t go easy on you just because you¡¯re the Art Club¡¯s Vice President.¡± Haruki huffed, rolling her eyes. ¡°I know, I know. I¡¯ll finish it when I get home.¡± ¡°Just making sure.¡± Akihito smirked before pedaling ahead, calling back over his shoulder, ¡°I better not hear you complaining about an extension tomorrow!¡± Haruki waved with a small smile, watching him disappear down the street before resuming her ride home. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant food stalls. She continued on her way, the rhythmic sound of her bicycle wheels against the pavement filling the silence. Soon, she turned onto a tree-lined street, where the houses grew larger and more imposing. Her own home stood at the end of the road, a traditional Japanese estate that exuded both elegance and isolation. The wooden gate creaked softly as she pushed it open, and she wheeled her bicycle into the garage, the dim light casting long shadows across the empty space. The house itself was grand, with a sloping tiled roof and a meticulously maintained garden that seemed almost too perfect, as if it had been frozen in time. The sliding doors were made of polished wood, and the paper screens glowed faintly with the warm light from inside. Despite its beauty, the house often felt cold and empty, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. Haruki slipped off her shoes at the entrance, placing them neatly on the shoe rack. She glanced at the other pairs¡ªher father¡¯s polished leather shoes were absent, as usual, but her mother¡¯s modest flats were there. She was home early today. ¡°I¡¯m back,¡± Haruki called out, her voice echoing through the spacious hallway. The house seemed to swallow her words, leaving only silence in their wake. Haruki stepped into the house, the polished wooden floors cool beneath her socks. She closed the door softly behind her, careful not to make too much noise. The last thing she wanted was to draw her mother¡¯s attention. She was tired, her shoulders heavy from the day, and all she wanted was to retreat to her room and lose herself in her sketchbook. She tiptoed through the hallway, her footsteps barely audible. To her left was the open doorframe leading to the kitchen and dining area. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother sitting at the dining table, still in her tailored suit from work. Her laptop was open in front of her, its screen casting a faint glow on her face. Stacks of papers¡ªstudent assignments waiting to be graded¡ªwere piled neatly beside her. Her mother¡¯s glasses perched low on her nose as she scribbled notes in the margins of a worksheet. Good, Haruki thought, relief washing over her. She¡¯s busy. Now¡¯s my chance to slip through. She quickened her pace, her hand already reaching for the banister of the stairs. But just as her foot touched the first step, her mother¡¯s voice cut through the silence. ¡°Haruki?¡± Her tone was stern and steady, the kind of voice that brooked no argument. ¡°Come talk with me at the dining table.¡± Haruki froze, her heart sinking. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady herself. ¡°Yes, Mom,¡± she said, forcing her voice to sound neutral. She turned and walked into the dining area, her shoulders tense. Her mother didn¡¯t look up immediately, her pen still moving across the paper. Haruki stood awkwardly by the table, her hands clasped behind her back, waiting. Finally, her mother set down her pen and removed her glasses, setting them carefully on the table, her nametag written ¡°Honoka Fujiyama¡± is still etched on her tailored suit. She looked up at Haruki, her expression unreadable. ¡°How was school?¡± she asked, her voice calm but probing. ¡°It was fine,¡± Haruki replied, her tone clipped. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, avoiding her mother¡¯s gaze. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. There was a brief silence between the two, broken only by the occasional click-clacking of her mother¡¯s laptop keys. The sound was sharp and deliberate, each keystroke echoing in the quiet room. Haruki stood awkwardly, her hands fidgeting behind her back, wishing she could just disappear upstairs. Then her mother took a quick glance away from her laptop, her eyes narrowing as she noticed something on Haruki¡¯s uniform and face. ¡°What is that on your uniform and face?¡± she asked, her voice tinged with disapproval. Haruki blinked, caught off guard. She looked down at her sleeve, where streaks of red and green paint had dried into a messy splatter. Her fingers instinctively brushed her cheek, and she felt the faint crust of paint there too. ¡°Oh,¡± she said, surprised. ¡°It¡¯s just paint¡­¡± Her mother sighed, setting down her pen and removing her glasses. ¡°Have you been painting again in that club of yours?¡± ¡°Yes, Mom,¡± Haruki said, her voice steady but defensive. ¡°I¡¯m the vice president of the club now, so I have to keep it running.¡± Her mother leaned back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest. ¡°You know¡­¡± she began, her tone softening but still firm, ¡°you¡¯re in your third year now. You¡¯re about to finish high school. You can¡¯t keep getting lost in your head anymore. One day, you¡¯ll need to go to university, get a job, and support yourself.¡± Haruki stayed silent, her jaw tightening. Inside, her heart was a storm of emotions. She wanted to argue, to shout that she could keep getting lost in her head, that she could make a living as an artist, that she could decide her own future. She was tired of being told what to do, tired of feeling like her dreams were nothing more than childish fantasies. But the words stuck in her throat, heavy and unspoken. All she could muster was another quiet, ¡°Yes, Mom.¡± Her mother¡¯s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before she turned back to her laptop. The click-clacking of the keys resumed, filling the silence. But then her mother paused, her fingers hovering over the keyboard, and looked up again. ¡°Have you received your Career Plan papers yet?¡± she asked, her tone casual but probing. ¡°You should have gotten one by now.¡± Haruki hesitated, then nodded. ¡°Yes, I did.¡± She reached into her bag and pulled out the folded sheet of paper, holding it out reluctantly. Her mother took it, scanning the form with a critical eye. ¡°You should consider becoming a nurse, Haruki,¡± she said, her voice matter-of-fact. ¡°The pay is good, and you said you don¡¯t want to become a doctor. I think nursing would suit you.¡± Haruki¡¯s stomach twisted. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. ¡°B-but I don¡¯t want to become a nurse either, Mom,¡± she said, her voice trembling slightly. Her mother¡¯s eyes narrowed, and she set the paper down on the table. ¡°Then what do you want to be?¡± she asked, her tone sharp. There was a heavy silence between them, the air thick with tension. Haruki¡¯s heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing. She knew what she wanted to say, but the words felt like a betrayal, like they would shatter the fragile peace between them. Still, she couldn¡¯t hold it in any longer. ¡°I want to go to art school,¡± she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. ¡°I want to become an artist.¡± The room fell silent, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Her mother stared at her, her expression unreadable. For a moment, Haruki thought she might not have heard her. But then her mother¡¯s lips pressed into a thin line, and her eyes hardened. ¡°What?¡± her mother said finally, her voice low and incredulous. Haruki flinched but stood her ground. ¡°I want to go to art school,¡± she repeated, her voice firmer this time. ¡°I want to study art and become an artist.¡± Her mother leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed over her chest. ¡°An artist?¡± she said, her tone dripping with disbelief. ¡°Haruki, do you hear yourself? Do you have any idea how difficult it is to make a living as an artist? How unstable that kind of life is?¡± ¡°I know it¡¯s not easy,¡± Haruki said, her voice rising slightly. ¡°But it¡¯s what I love. It¡¯s what I¡¯m good at. I don¡¯t want to spend my life doing something I hate just because it¡¯s ¡®stable.¡¯¡± Her mother¡¯s eyes flashed with anger, but she kept her voice calm, which somehow made it worse. ¡°You¡¯re being naive, Haruki. Dreams don¡¯t pay the bills. You need to think about your future, about how you¡¯re going to support yourself.¡± ¡°I am thinking about my future!¡± Haruki shot back, her voice breaking. ¡°I¡¯m thinking about what makes me happy, not just what makes you happy!¡± The words hung in the air, sharp and unyielding. Haruki¡¯s chest heaved as she stared at her mother, her eyes burning with unshed tears. Her mother¡¯s expression softened for a moment, but then she sighed and shook her head. ¡°You¡¯ll understand one day,¡± she said, her voice tired. ¡°When you¡¯re older, you¡¯ll see that I¡¯m only trying to protect you.¡± Haruki didn¡¯t respond. She couldn¡¯t. The lump in her throat was too big, the weight of her mother¡¯s words too heavy. She turned and walked out of the dining room, her footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. As she climbed the stairs, her vision blurred with tears, but she blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. When she reached her room, she closed the door behind her and leaned against it, sliding down to the floor. Her sketchbook lay on her desk, its pages filled with drawings and paintings that felt like pieces of her soul. She stared at it, her heart aching. After a moment, she stood up and walked over to her desk, where her Career Plans paper lay crumpled at the edge. She smoothed it out, her fingers trembling slightly as she picked up a pen. Her mind raced, but for the first time in a long time, it felt clear. She knew what she wanted. She had always known. With a deep breath, she wrote in neat, deliberate letters: Tokyo University Fine Arts Program. Her hand shook as she set the pen down, but her resolve was steady. This was her choice. Her future. And no one¡ªnot her mother, not her father, not anyone¡ªwas going to take it away from her. She stared at the paper for a long moment, the words staring back at her like a declaration of war. It was a small act of defiance, but it felt monumental. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt a flicker of hope. ¡°I¡¯ll show them,¡± she whispered to herself, her voice trembling but determined. ¡°I¡¯ll prove them wrong.¡± She folded the paper carefully and placed it back in her bag, ready to submit it tomorrow. As she sat down at her desk and opened her sketchbook, her heart felt lighter. The colors on the page seemed brighter, the lines sharper, as if they too were emboldened by her decision. For now, all she could do was keep painting, keep dreaming. But this time, it felt different. This time, it felt like the beginning of something new. Chapter 3 | Nagano Fujiyama The morning sunlight streamed through the classroom windows, casting a warm glow over the rows of desks. Haruki sat at her usual spot, her sketchbook open in front of her, pencil moving swiftly across the page. Instead of her classmates, the desks in her drawing were occupied by whimsical creatures¡ªa fox with nine tails lounged in the corner, a dragon coiled around the teacher¡¯s podium, and a flock of tiny winged sprites flitted through the air. A smirk tugged at her lips as she added the finishing touches to a griffin perched smugly on Aiko¡¯s desk. Aiko, seated beside her, leaned over to peek at the sketch. ¡°You look unusually happy today,¡± she noted, her tone equal parts curious and suspicious. ¡°Did something good happen?¡± Across from them, Akihito sat with his arms crossed, half-listening while flipping through his own notebook. He raised an eyebrow at Haruki¡¯s expression but didn¡¯t comment. Haruki didn¡¯t look up, her pencil still moving. ¡°I submitted my Career Plan,¡± she said, her voice light and sing-songy. Aiko¡¯s eyes widened, and she practically shot forward in her chair. ¡°You did?!¡± she exclaimed, much too loud for the classroom. A few students glanced their way, but Aiko didn¡¯t seem to care. ¡°What did you pick?¡± Haruki finally looked up, drawing out the moment with an infuriatingly smug grin. ¡°Tokyo University,¡± she said, pausing dramatically. ¡°Fine Arts program.¡± Aiko and Akihito reacted at the same time¡ª ¡°What?!¡± Aiko gasped, her eyes sparkling with surprise. ¡°WHAT?!¡± Akihito groaned, his tone laced with horror. Meanwhile, Akihito rubbed his temples as if physically pained. ¡°Look, I know you¡¯re impulsive and stubborn as a mule, but I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d just impulsively decide the trajectory of your career in a day, let alone from my off-hand remarks.¡± He stared at her in disbelief. Haruki scoffed, half-annoyed. ¡°Look, you were the one who suggested Tokyo University yesterday!¡± ¡°Suggested!¡± Akihito emphasized the word. ¡°I was thinking at least you¡¯d put it into consideration as one of your choices, not nose-dive into it!¡± ¡°But I want to go to Tokyo University,¡± Haruki said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Akihito exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. ¡°Look¡ª¡± he started, his voice filled with exasperation. ¡°Did at least your parents approve of it?¡± ¡°No,¡± Haruki said in a sing-songy tone. Akihito stared at her, deadpan. ¡°Of course.¡± Aiko snorted, clapping Haruki on the back. ¡°Well, you¡¯re in for an interesting conversation at home.¡± Haruki grinned, twirling her pencil between her fingers. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m well aware.¡± Akihito groaned, dropping his head onto his desk in defeat, ¡°You¡¯re crazy.¡± Haruki shrugged, her pencil still moving. ¡°Maybe. But it¡¯s my future, not theirs.¡± Aiko leaned back in her chair, running a hand through her hair. ¡°Wow. I mean, I knew you were stubborn, but this is next level. What are you going to do when they find out?¡± Haruki¡¯s smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered. ¡°I¡¯ll deal with it when the time comes,¡± she said, her tone casual. ¡°For now, I¡¯m just happy I finally made a decision.¡± Akihito shook his head. ¡°You¡¯re unbelievable, you know that? But hey, It takes guts to go after what you want.¡± Haruki chuckled, her smug expression softening. ¡°Thanks. That means a lot.¡± The bell rang, signaling the start of class, and the room filled with the sound of shuffling papers and murmured conversations. Haruki closed her sketchbook and tucked it into her bag, her mind already wandering to the future. For the first time in a long time, she felt like she was in control of her own destiny. -o- The school day had ended, and the hallways buzzed with the chatter of students heading to clubs, cram school, or home. Haruki stretched her arms above her head as she walked, a grin spreading across her face. ¡°Ahh, I¡¯ve been waiting for this all week,¡± she mused aloud. ¡°Today¡¯s the plein air session! I wonder where we¡¯ll go this time. Maybe the riverside? Or that garden behind the old shrine? Ugh, I can¡¯t wait to just sit outside and paint.¡± Aiko trailed beside her, shaking her head. ¡°You¡¯re way too excited for someone who just turned their entire career plan into an act of rebellion.¡± Behind them, Akihito sighed, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he matched their pace. ¡°I thought you¡¯d at least talk with your parents and try to convince them, Haruki,¡± he said, his tone serious. ¡°Arguing against your parents is one thing, but going against them is another.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Aiko chimed in, nodding sagely. ¡°You know, like, make a PowerPoint presentation or something. ¡®Top Ten Reasons Why I Should Go to Art School.¡¯¡± Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Haruki smirked. ¡°You¡¯re siding with him, Aiko? I thought you were all about rebelling against parental expectations with me.¡± ¡°I know,¡± Aiko groaned dramatically, throwing her hands up. ¡°But me arguing with my parents is one thing¡ªwe argue all the time. You arguing with your parents is another thing entirely.¡± She gave Haruki a pointed look. ¡°Your parents are scary.¡± ¡°Yeah, look.¡± Akihito shot her a skeptical glance. ¡°Tell me you¡¯ve at least discussed this with one of them.¡± Haruki smirked but didn¡¯t slow her pace. ¡°I talked with my mom,¡± she said simply. Akihito narrowed his eyes. ¡°And your dad?¡± Haruki shrugged. ¡°He wasn¡¯t around,¡± she said, her voice casual. ¡°But I don¡¯t think he¡¯d care.¡± Akihito let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair. ¡°You¡¯re crazy,¡± he muttered. ¡°Do you even hear yourself? Your dad¡¯s not just some businessman¡ªhe¡¯s the CEO of a major automotive company. Of course he¡¯d care!¡± Haruki stopped in her tracks and turned to face him, her expression calm but unwavering. ¡°No, he wasn¡¯t around,¡± she said, emphasizing each word. ¡°He¡¯s never around. He¡¯s too busy with work to care about what I do.¡± Akihito frowned but didn¡¯t argue. Aiko shifted uncomfortably beside them, her gaze darting between the two. Haruki sighed, gripping her sketchbook tighter. ¡°Look, I know it sounds reckless, but I can¡¯t keep waiting for their approval. If I do, I¡¯ll never get to live my life. I have to take this step, even if it¡¯s scary.¡± Akihito¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°That¡¯s not the point. You might not care about what they think, but they¡¯ll definitely care about you going against them. And your parents aren¡¯t exactly the ¡®let it go¡¯ type.¡± Haruki nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. ¡°I know. But I¡¯ll figure it out. I always do.¡± -o- As Haruki sled the door open to the arts club room, the room was buzzing with energy as club members prepared for their weekly plein air session. Easels were being adjusted, canvases stacked, sketchbooks flipped open, and tubes of paint uncapped. The faint scent of oil paint and graphite filled the air, mixing with the chatter of students discussing the best locations for today¡¯s outing. At the center of it all, like a captain amidst a storm of creativity, stood Makoto, the Art Club¡¯s president. He was giving instructions to a group of younger students, gesturing animatedly with a charcoal stick in hand. But as Haruki scanned the room, something unusual caught her eye¡ªsomeone who definitely wasn¡¯t a regular in the Art Club. Mrs. Kitagawa. Haruki stiffened. What was the school counselor doing here? Aiko and Akihito entered behind her, the three of them exchanging wary glances. Before Haruki could dwell on it, Makoto¡¯s voice rang out over the hum of activity. ¡°Haruki! Mrs. Kitagawa wants to see you.¡± A murmur of curiosity rippled through the club, but everyone quickly went back to their preparations. Haruki exhaled, schooling her expression into something neutral. She slung her bag off her shoulder, setting it down in the corner, before making her way toward Mrs. Kitagawa. Haruki crossed her arms, shifting her weight slightly as she faced Mrs. Kitagawa. ¡°If this is about my Career Plans form, I swear I submitted it this morning,¡± she said, forcing a small, confident smile. ¡°I didn¡¯t forget.¡± Mrs. Kitagawa nodded. ¡°Yes, I received it.¡± Haruki tilted her head. Then what is it? ¡°But that¡¯s not why I called you here,¡± Mrs. Kitagawa continued, her tone even, measured. Haruki¡¯s stomach dipped slightly. Her fingers curled around the strap of her bag. ¡°Then¡­ why?¡± There was a pause. Mrs. Kitagawa exhaled softly before delivering the news. ¡°Your father is in the teacher¡¯s office. He¡¯s here to pick you up for a family occasion.¡± Haruki felt the words before she fully processed them¡ªa strange weight settling in her chest, as if the air had thickened around her. Her grip tightened on her bag. ¡°What?¡± Mrs. Kitagawa¡¯s expression remained gentle but firm. ¡°Your father requested that you leave with him immediately.¡± Haruki¡¯s pulse quickened. This had to be a mistake. Her father never just showed up like this. He was supposed to be too busy for things like unannounced visits. And today¡ªtoday¡ªwas the club¡¯s plein air session. ¡°But I have club activities,¡± she argued, her voice steadier than she felt. ¡°We¡¯re heading out for plein air today, and Makoto needs my help with the first-years¡ªI can¡¯t be absent.¡± ¡°I understand,¡± Mrs. Kitagawa said, her voice soft but unwavering. ¡°But this is your father¡¯s request.¡± Request. No, this wasn¡¯t a request. It was an order. The weight in her chest sank lower. There was no room for negotiation here. Slowly, reluctantly, she turned toward Akihito. ¡°Can you cover for me?¡± she asked, her voice quieter now. ¡°Help Makoto with the first-years?¡± Akihito hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. ¡°Yeah. Don¡¯t worry about it.¡± Haruki swallowed, then reached for her bag. The excitement from earlier¡ªthe rush of stepping into the clubroom, the anticipation of an afternoon spent outside with paint and sunlight¡ªwas gone, drained out of her like ink washing away in the rain. Without another word, she followed Mrs. Kitagawa toward the door. Aiko and Akihito stood in silence, watching her go. -o- Haruki trailed behind Mrs. Kitagawa, her steps slower than they needed to be, as if dragging her feet might somehow delay the inevitable. This is it¡­ The thought settled heavily in her chest, dull and suffocating. She watched as the club rooms passed by¡ªeach doorway revealing glimpses of students lost in their passions. The soft melody of a violin drifted from the music room, accompanied by the occasional stumble of fingers pressing the wrong note. Someone in the literature club gestured wildly as they debated over a novel, voices overlapping in a lively discussion. Inside the manga club, students huddled around a table, sketching, erasing, redrawing¡ªcompletely immersed in their craft. They were all doing what they loved. Pursuing what made them feel alive. Haruki swallowed hard. And I¡¯m walking the green mile. She felt it with every step¡ªlike she was heading toward something final, something irreversible. As if, the moment she reached that office, she wouldn¡¯t just be facing her father. She¡¯d be facing the end of her dream. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. No. Not yet. She kept walking, but the weight in her chest only grew heavier. Haruki stepped into the teacher¡¯s office, her breath catching for a split second. There he was. Nagano Fujiyama. Even in the casual setting of a school, he exuded the same commanding presence that made boardrooms fall silent upon his arrival. His tailored suit sat flawlessly on his frame, not a crease in sight. His dark hair, streaked with silver, was neatly pulled back, revealing sharp, assessing eyes that took in everything without a hint of warmth. Around his fingers gleamed heavy rings¡ªsymbols of wealth and power. The nametag still hung from his neck, CEO of Fujiyama Automotive Company. As if he needed a reminder. As if she did. Mrs. Kitagawa cleared her throat lightly, stepping aside as he offered her a slight bow. "Thanks for bringing my daughter," he said smoothly, his voice even, businesslike. Then, finally, he turned his gaze on Haruki. ¡°Haruki¡­¡± Just her name. Simple. Unreadable. She gripped the strap of her bag, her heartbeat quickening. "Come," he said, gesturing toward the hallway. "We¡¯re going to talk." It wasn¡¯t a request. Chapter 4 | Flight The dining room was silent, the air thick with tension. The table was bare, no food in sight, just the three of them sitting across from one another. Haruki sat stiffly in her chair, her hands clenched in her lap, her heart pounding in her chest. Her father sat at the head of the table, his expression stern and unreadable. Her mother sat beside him, her face a mixture of concern and frustration. The room felt suffocating, the weight of their expectations pressing down on Haruki like a heavy blanket. Her father was the first to break the silence. His voice was low and steady, but there was an edge to it that made Haruki¡¯s stomach twist. ¡°Your mother told me about your¡­ desire to go to art school,¡± he said, his tone carefully controlled. Haruki¡¯s breath hitched. There was no going back now. Her mother had told him, and the truth was out in the open. She straightened her shoulders, forcing herself to meet his gaze. ¡°Yes,¡± she said, her voice trembling but firm. ¡°I want to go to art school.¡± Her father¡¯s eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward slightly, his hands clasped on the table. ¡°And what?¡± he said, his voice sharp. ¡°Starve on the street as you play with your paint?¡± Haruki flinched but didn¡¯t look away. ¡°No,¡± she said, her voice steadying. ¡°I want to make a living as an artist. I want to create something meaningful.¡± Her father¡¯s jaw tightened, and he shook his head. ¡°No,¡± he said firmly. ¡°I won¡¯t allow it. You¡¯ll become a nurse. Because I have no options left for a stable career for you. I offered you the position of chairman in my company¡ªyou wouldn¡¯t accept it. I suggested medical school¡ªI have connections so you could get in. You refused. What do you truly want?¡± Haruki¡¯s chest tightened, but she held her ground. She had known this moment would come, and she had prepared herself for it. ¡°Art school,¡± she said, her voice clear and resolute. ¡°I want to be an artist.¡± The room fell silent again, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Her parents exchanged a glance, their expressions unreadable. For a moment, Haruki thought she saw something flicker in her father¡¯s eyes¡ªdisappointment, frustration, maybe even a hint of sadness. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared. The room fell silent again, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Her parents exchanged a glance, their expressions unreadable. For a moment, Haruki thought she saw something flicker in her father¡¯s eyes¡ªdisappointment, frustration, maybe even a hint of sadness. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared. Her father took off his glasses and set them on the table, his movements slow and deliberate. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze locking onto Haruki¡¯s. ¡°I¡¯ve heard about your senior¡­ Yaeko Matsuda,¡± he said, his voice low and measured. ¡°The Parent¡¯s Board has been told of her story.¡± Haruki¡¯s breath caught in her throat. ¡°Please don¡¯t bring her into this, Father,¡± she said, her voice trembling. Her father¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change. ¡°I know you looked up to her a lot,¡± he continued, his tone softening slightly. ¡°But our situation and hers are different. She was the youngest child in her family, with two working older sisters. She could pursue art all she wanted because her older sisters could provide for her if she failed.¡± He paused, his gaze intensifying. ¡°But you, Haruki, your situation is different. You are our only child. We can¡¯t allow you to fail. You cannot fail, because who will support you? Who will look after you when we¡¯re gone? Who will feed you if your art fails? I can¡¯t afford for you to fail, Haruki.¡± Haruki¡¯s chest tightened, but she forced herself to speak. ¡°I can support myself,¡± she said, her voice shaking but defiant. ¡°I know a place. I know some connections. I can make it work¡ª¡± Before she could finish, her father slammed his hand on the table, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot. Haruki flinched, her words dying in her throat. Her father¡¯s voice rose, sharp and filled with anger. ¡°Yaeko Matsuda killed herself, Haruki! Do you think I will allow you to follow in her footsteps?!¡± Her mother gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. ¡°Nagano¡­¡± she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Haruki froze, her heart pounding in her chest. She had been looking down at her hands, but now she slowly raised her head, her eyes meeting her father¡¯s. His face was flushed, his jaw clenched, but beneath the anger, she saw something else¡ªfear. Raw, unbridled fear. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. The room was silent, the weight of his words pressing down on her like a physical force. Haruki¡¯s mind raced, trying to process what he had just said. Yaeko Matsuda¡­ killed herself? No, that couldn¡¯t be true. She had just disappeared. That¡¯s what everyone said. That¡¯s what she had believed. But the look in her father¡¯s eyes told her otherwise. Haruki¡¯s voice was barely a whisper when she finally spoke. ¡°What¡­ what do you mean?¡± Her father¡¯s shoulders slumped, the anger draining out of him as quickly as it had come. He ran a hand over his face, suddenly looking much older than he had a moment ago. ¡°Yaeko Matsuda¡­ she didn¡¯t just disappear, Haruki. She¡­ she took her own life. Her family tried to keep it quiet, but the truth came out eventually. She couldn¡¯t handle the pressure. She couldn¡¯t make it as an artist, and she couldn¡¯t face the failure.¡± Haruki¡¯s vision blurred, her chest tightening as if a vice had been clamped around her heart. She shook her head, trying to deny it, but the words wouldn¡¯t come. Yaeko Matsuda, the talented artist she had admired, the one who had inspired her to keep pursuing her dreams¡­ gone. Just like that. Her father¡¯s voice cut through the silence, firm and unyielding. ¡°I¡¯ve signed you up for a prep school,¡± he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. ¡°It¡¯s a program to prepare you for nursing school. It¡¯s a stable job, and it¡¯s what your mother recommends. You¡¯ll start next week.¡± Haruki¡¯s breath hitched, her hands gripping the edge of the table as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. Her father continued, his words sharp and final. ¡°And you¡¯ll quit the Art Club. You need to focus on your future, Haruki. No more distractions.¡± The room seemed to close in around her, the walls pressing closer with every word. Haruki sat silent, her body rigid, her mind reeling. She felt like everything had left her¡ªher breath, her voice, her strength. She was still, as still as a rock, her eyes fixed on the table in front of her. Her father¡¯s words echoed in her mind, each one a hammer blow. Prep school. Nursing. Quit the Art Club. The truth about Yaeko Matsuda¡¯s disappearance¡ªno, her death¡ªwas still sinking in, a heavy, suffocating weight on her chest. And now this. It was too much. It was all too much. She felt like she was drowning, the waves of her father¡¯s expectations and her mother¡¯s quiet resignation pulling her under. She had to sacrifice everything¡ªher dreams, her passion, the one thing that made her feel alive. For what? Stability? Security? A life that wasn¡¯t hers? Her father¡¯s voice broke through her thoughts, softer now but no less firm. ¡°Haruki, this is for your own good. You¡¯ll understand one day.¡± Haruki didn¡¯t respond. She couldn¡¯t. Her throat was too tight, her chest too heavy. She stared at the table, her hands trembling in her lap. The room was silent, the air thick with tension, but all she could hear was the pounding of her own heart. Her mother reached out, placing a hand on her arm. ¡°Haruki¡­¡± she said softly, her voice filled with concern. But Haruki didn¡¯t look up. She couldn¡¯t. Then, suddenly, Haruki stood up. The chair screeched against the floor as she pushed it back, her hands trembling but her body rigid with defiance. Her parents stared at her, startled by the sudden movement. For a moment, the room was silent, the air thick with tension. And then Haruki exploded. ¡°I¡¯ve followed everything you wanted!¡± she shouted, her voice shaking with anger and years of pent-up frustration. ¡°Everything! Back in middle school, I studied late every night. I gave up playing with my friends, I gave up everything just to get into this competitive high school. And for what? To be miserable? To feel like I didn¡¯t matter?¡± Her father opened his mouth to speak, but Haruki didn¡¯t let him. She was done listening. ¡°I was miserable,¡± she continued, her voice rising. ¡°Every single day, I was miserable. Until my first year of high school, when Matsuda-senpai saw my drawing. She asked me to join the Art Club. She taught me how to paint. She believed in me. And for the first time in my life, I felt like I mattered. Like I belonged somewhere. People liked my paintings. People found meaning in my art. And it was all because of her. Because she believed in me!¡± Her chest heaved as she spoke, her words pouring out like a flood she could no longer contain. ¡°And now you¡¯re telling me to quit? To give up the one thing that makes me happy? The one thing that makes me feel alive? No. I won¡¯t do it. I can¡¯t do it.¡± Her father¡¯s face was a mask of shock, but Haruki wasn¡¯t finished. She turned to him, her eyes blazing. ¡°Maybe Matsuda wouldn¡¯t have done what she did if her parents had believed in her! Did you ever think about that? Did you ever think that maybe she just needed someone to tell her it was okay to dream? That it was okay to fail?¡± The room fell silent, her words hanging in the air like a thunderclap. Her mother¡¯s hand was pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. Her father sat frozen, his expression unreadable. Haruki didn¡¯t wait for a response. She turned and stormed out of the dining room, knocking the chair she had been sitting on to the floor with a loud clatter. Her mother called after her, ¡°Haruki! Wait!¡± but she was already gone, her footsteps echoing down the hallway. She flung open the front door and ran outside, the cool night air hitting her face like a slap. She didn¡¯t know where she was going, but she didn¡¯t care. All she knew was that she couldn¡¯t stay there. Not in that house. Not with those expectations. Not with that suffocating weight pressing down on her chest. Her feet carried her down the street, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The tears streamed down her face, but she didn¡¯t stop. She ran until her legs burned and her lungs ached, until the house was far behind her and the world around her was quiet and still.