Hotaru speculated Mutsumi was there for Soyo.
He saw her expressionless profile, eyes blinking occasionally at the intercom.
She held a black bag labeled "chocolate."
Her beautiful clothes and cute face made her look adorable, but her lack of emotion felt flat.
Mischievously, Hotaru stepped forward, "Xiao Mutou, what're you doing?"
Mutsumi paused, confused, turned.
Seeing Hotaru, she wondered if he was there for Soyo too.
She glanced around, confirming "Xiao Mutou" meant her.
"Xiao Mutou, here for Soyo?" Hotaru asked.
Not understanding the nickname, Mutsumi replied softly, "Mm."
Hotaru glanced at the intercom, "Can't get through?"
"Mm…" Mutsumi said, disappointed but calm. "No phone replies either."
She worried Soyo didn't want to talk; Soyo usually replied fast.
"Maybe not home?" Hotaru suggested.
"Don't know…" Mutsumi shook her head, eyes down. "Soyo hasn't been to school for three days."
"Three days?" Hotaru repeated, surprised.
He hadn't seen Soyo either, busy with roadshows and lyrics.
Not attending school raised concerns—sick? Something happened?
She lived alone.
That night, Soyo seemed better, but got soaked.
Hotaru was fine, though.
Mutsumi, at a loss, looked at Hotaru, hoping for advice like Sakiko gave.
"I'll take you up to check," Hotaru said.
Mutsumi's golden eyes brightened, then hesitated at the glass door.
Hotaru waved his access card, chuckling, "I live here too."
Didn't expect that?
Mutsumi's mouth parted, surprised, then she bowed, holding the bag, "Thank you…"
Hotaru nodded, noticing the "chocolate" bag held cucumbers.
"Cucumbers?" he asked.
"Mm, for Soyo," Mutsumi nodded, a faint smile curving her lips.
"She smiled!" Hotaru was startled.
Noticing her yellow bow tie, like a cucumber's calyx, he asked, "Like cucumbers?"
Mutsumi nodded, surprised, "I grew them."
"They look good, very… glossy," Hotaru said. "Soyo should like them."
Mutsumi's eyes lit up.
"Let's go up," Hotaru said.
"Mm," Mutsumi nodded.
Her legs tensed to follow, but numbness and soreness hit, nearly dropping the cucumbers.
She swayed, about to fall.
Hotaru caught her; her petite frame felt light, soft.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
In his arms, Mutsumi stared blankly, then said slowly, "My legs are weak…"
Her voice, weaker, held grievance.
Hotaru barely heard.
"Ah…?" He looked down.
Her knees bent slightly under her green skirt, calves trembling.
"How long you been standing?" Hotaru asked.
"Two hours," Mutsumi replied.
Hotaru stared, lips twitching.
No wonder.
Soyo, making Xiao Mutou stand so long?
"I'll help you up."
"…Mm."
"Or rest till your legs recover."
"…Mm."
"If you can't reach someone, go home next time."
"…Mm."
Hotaru sighed. Does she even listen?
…
On the 45th floor, Hotaru brought Mutsumi to Soyo's door.
Mutsumi saw the "Nagasaki" nameplate, her first time at Soyo's new home.
She pressed the doorbell.
No response.
She looked to Hotaru for support.
"Maybe not home," Hotaru said, pressing the bell, knocking.
"Soyo."
"Soyo, you home?"
Mutsumi was surprised, grateful; like Sakiko, he helped when she was lost.
Hotaru didn't care; only they lived on this floor.
No embarrassment.
No response.
Hotaru, figuring they'd try anyway, twisted the doorknob.
It opened!?
They exchanged shocked glances.
Something happened!?
Tension rose.
They entered.
Past the entrance, Soyo lay face-down on the dining table, arm as pillow.
Asleep?
They approached.
Unopened cold medicine, cold plain porridge, no side dishes.
Soyo looked unwell, pale.
"Soyo…" Mutsumi called, worried.
Hotaru guessed she was sick, touched her forehead—hot.
Likely from the rain.
Neon's rain was toxic; locals got sick.
Hotaru, not local, was fine.
Soyo's emotional state and rain exposure explained it.
Unknown to Hotaru: after her shower, Soyo's mother called, saying she wouldn't return.
Soyo's mood sank.
She didn't dry her hair, sat on the cold floor, skipped dinner.
Next day, she felt unwell, tried enduring.
Under their shaking, Soyo woke, dizzy, disoriented, barely opening her eyes.
Confused, she thought she was dreaming, seeing Hotaru and Mutsumi.
Wasn't I eating?
No appetite, no energy to cook, she reheated morning porridge.
Bland, bitter, dizzy, aching, she fell asleep on the table.
Mutsumi, recalling last week, felt timid but worried, "Soyo, are you sick?"
Soyo rubbed her eyes, surprised, confused. "Why are you here?! Cough…"
Her voice was hoarse, coughing, fragile.
"Your door wasn't locked," Hotaru said, shaking his head.
Dangerous, despite no outsiders.
Mutsumi nodded.
Soyo stiffened; she forgot to lock it after buying medicine.
"I forgot…"
Hotaru looked at the table, "No food or medicine?"
Soyo nodded.
"Help her lie down," Hotaru told Mutsumi.
Mutsumi helped Soyo up.
Soyo chose the sofa over her room.
She watched Hotaru head to the kitchen—cooking?
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