Chapter 5

Mio's words lingered in my mind, an unending loop, haunting and persistent like a cassette tape with its reels caught in an endless cycle. Each time I gazed up at the vast expanse of the dark sky, where cherry blossoms danced gracefully in the air, their soft-hued petals twirling and drifting on the whims of the cold breeze, her voice echoed within me. It wasn't the desperate confession of 'I love you' that replayed over and over, but rather a phrase that seared itself into my consciousness, stirring a turbulent sea of emotions deep within.

"If he loved you, then why did he sleep with me?!"

Mio's question, a piercing arrow of truth, shattered the illusions I had held so dearly. It was a brutal awakening, a challenge to the reality I had constructed in my mind. Despite the gravity of her words, I couldn't bring myself to face them. I turned away, leaving her alone in the enveloping darkness, her calls for me fading into the night, not knowing that it would be the last time her voice would reach my ears.

"No... it couldn't be..."

The next I heard of Mio was the tragic news of her lifeless body, found in a stark, chilling scene. The blood that pooled around her spoke a silent, harrowing confirmation of the truths she had uttered that night. Yet, even faced with this grim reality, I found myself turning away, unwilling to accept it. My mind pushed through the gathered crowd, fixated only on Papa's face, on the desperate need to hear his denial, to hear him profess his love for me.

But when I finally faced him and his hand struck my face, the pain was more than physical. It was a jolt back to a reality I had refused to acknowledge. The sting of his slap was a cruel revelation, a realization that cut deeper than any physical wound – Papa's affection had never truly been mine.

In that instant, the painful truth dawned on me: So, Papa loves Mio...

When the world was busy mourning the loss of their beloved star, I tried to move on from the nightmare right before my eyes. For many nights, Mio would visit my dream with her face covered with blood as if it were her tears. Sometimes, she'd be seen holding a newborn child in her hold as she came forward to me. But every time, she'd say the same thing.

"He doesn't love you, Dai-kun..."

Night after night, sleep eluded me, leaving me drenched in cold sweat, my breaths coming in ragged gasps as if fleeing from the monsters that lurked in the shadows of my mind. The crushing weight of solitude enveloped me; Papa's unspoken rejection was palpable in his distant demeanour and actions. He aligned himself with the Horie family, sharing a long table at a media conference, united in their public display of grief over the tragic loss of Mio, their proclaimed beloved daughter.

There he was on television again, a déjà vu moment, maintaining his usual composed demeanour under the relentless assault of camera flashes.

"Horie-san was a talented soul, despite her young age," he spoke, his voice sombre yet resonant, filling the room heavy with the breaths of curious onlookers. "Her tragic loss is a great sorrow to us, and we deeply regret our failure to protect her innocent heart from the depths of depression."

Of course, Mio was special to him. If not, why else would he sleep with her?

Despite being a middle schooler, I felt engulfed by childish jealousy, a bitter emotion that gnawed at me. And when the accusing fingers of others pointed at me, suggesting I played a role in Mio's demise, the burden grew heavier. Reporters, hungry for a sensational story, hounded me after school, their questions like arrows I couldn't deflect. But I remained silent, choosing flight over fight, running as I did from the piercing truth in Mio's words, and from the haunting image of her lifeless form surrounded by mournful cherry blossoms.

The ripples of the scandal touched not only me but also Papa, who continued to wear the mask of fatherhood amid the storm. He maintained a façade of composure and neutrality, his voice steady as he addressed the hungry press.

"We wouldn't deny their closeness, but there's no official report claiming that Morikita-kun is involved. Hence, for now, we cannot blame him for what happened to Horie-san."

Some might interpret his words as a father's defence of his son, but I could see the truth. Even through the cold, impersonal barrier of the television screen, his eyes betrayed a well of disdain for me, a silent condemnation that his carefully chosen words could not mask.

Mama, on the other hand, was a mirror of my own avoidance, shunning the intrusive glare of camera flashes and the relentless pursuit of microphones, offering no comment to the ravenous media. Yet, in a twist of fate, for the first time since her separation from Papa, her gaze found mine.