The small café on the corner of Shibuya-Harajuku was busy even on a weekday afternoon. Sunlight filtered through the large windows, catching on the metal edges of tables and the steam rising from coffee cups. At one of the tiniest tables by the window barely enough room for three sat Genzō's parents and a neighbor from their apartment building. She was in her late thirties, short neat hair, a soft smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
Genzō's mother leaned forward slightly, cradling her latte in both hands.
"We went to submit the documents to 235 this morning. They said he can start next week. The principal seemed nice calm, not like some of the schools we've heard about."
The neighbor nodded, slowly stirring her iced tea with a spoon.
"Yes, good choice. Not too big, not chaotic. My daughter studied there for two years before we switched her to private. Teachers are strict but fair, and the location is perfect right in the middle of everything but still quiet. Your boy won't get lost in the crowd."
Genzō's father smiled a bit awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.
"We were worried about the commute at first, but it's really just fifteen minutes on foot. He'll handle it. He's pretty independent anyway."
The neighbor laughed softly.
"Fifteen minutes? That's nothing in Tokyo. And at his age… they grow up so fast. One day they're asking for help with homework, the next they're choosing schools themselves."
Genzō's mother glanced at her husband, then back at the neighbor.
"We're just glad he found something close. After the move… everything felt so heavy. But he's coping better than we expected."
They all smiled small, polite smiles, the kind people share when they want to believe things will turn out okay. The neighbor reached for her glass.
"You'll see. Kids adapt. And 235 has a decent reputation. Not elite, but solid. He'll make friends. Maybe even join a club."
Genzō's father nodded.
"Yeah… we hope so."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching people pass outside the window. The conversation drifted to lighter topics weather, new convenience stores in the area, rising rent prices. But underneath it all was a quiet relief: at least something was moving forward.
A few blocks away, in the quiet green corner of the residential neighborhood, Renji sat on the same old wooden bench under the big zelkova tree. Leaves rustled softly overhead in the breeze. He held a can of Coca-Cola in both hands cold, condensation dripping onto his fingers. He hadn't opened it yet. Just stared at the silver top, tracing the wet lines with his thumb.
The street was empty. Only an occasional bicycle passed, tires whispering on asphalt. The bench was the same one he used to sit on with Aya back when conversations were easy and didn't hurt. Now it felt too big for one person.
He thought about yesterday. About the empty spot at the kitchen table this morning. About how Mom hadn't said a word when he left. Just looked at him with red-rimmed eyes and nodded at his "I'm going out for a bit."
He finally cracked the can open. The hiss was loud in the quiet. Took a sip sweet, cold, familiar. But it didn't loosen the knot in his chest.
At the same time, several large blocks away, Kaoru stood alone on the empty courtyard of an old hospital. Long dark hair loose over her shoulders, school jacket unbuttoned, skirt slightly shorter than regulation. She stood in the middle of the asphalt expanse, surrounded by a low fence and sparse trees. No patients, no visitors only the wind chasing dry leaves across the concrete.
She stared somewhere into the distance, at the gray wall of the hospital building, and spoke quietly, almost to herself.
"People can be kind… in small things. Smile at a stranger, offer a hand, say a nice word. But kindness is just a pause. Short. As soon as something they really want appears everything changes. The mask falls. And what was always inside remains."
She slowly raised her hand and touched her chest lightly, fingers through the fabric of her blouse, as if checking whether her heart was still beating, or simply reminding herself that the body was still here.
"Evil doesn't pretend. It doesn't promise. It just does. And that's its honesty. People say: 'I'm not like that.' But everyone is. Some just haven't reached the edge yet. Others… have already stepped over."
She fell silent. The wind caught her hair, lifted it slightly. Kaoru stood motionless, gazing at the hospital wall as if the answer were written there. Or as if she were waiting for someone to come out of the doors.
No one came out.
She turned and walked away slowly, unhurried, disappearing around the corner of the building.
Renji was still sitting on his bench in the quiet neighborhood. He finished the Coca-Cola. The can was empty. He crushed it in his hand, felt the cold metal give under his fingers.
Somewhere far away Genzō was probably unpacking his school bag, thinking about next week. Renji didn't know that. He just sat and stared at the empty street, wondering how long the pause would last this time.