Chapter 12

Passing the exam came as no surprise to me, but it felt like securing a golden ticket to a new realm, a place far removed from the shadows of my past. With this newfound freedom, I set my sights on a future unburdened by the unsavoury deeds that once defined me. I chose a university in the distant western reaches of Japan, eager to immerse myself in a society that knew nothing of my history.

At one of Fukuoka's top universities, I began to rediscover my own worth. It marked the start of a new chapter, where I crafted a new identity. I morphed into a figure of conviviality, a gregarious extrovert, weaving my way through a bustling tapestry of social connections. Around me swirled a kaleidoscope of acquaintances, each interaction painting vibrant strokes on the canvas of my university days. Amidst this new social landscape, I found myself unexpectedly at the centre of a whirlwind of affection, receiving a flurry of love confessions that both surprised and challenged my perception of self and my place in the world.

"Eh, you rejected her?"

"Popular guys do have a high taste, eh?"

"Ha-ha, I just don't feel like dating anyone."

"Tell us, Morikita-kun. Were you seeing anyone back in high school?"

"I'm curious about this, too."

Despite the toll it took on me, I persisted with my new extroverted persona. It demanded a performance, often compelling me to weave tales far from the truth. I spun stories of a fictional past romance, claimed roots in a middle-class family, and denied my origins in Tokyo. Each fabrication was a brick in the wall I built to separate my new life from the shadows of my past.

Yet, even amidst the vibrant social circles I found myself in, moments of solitude inevitably brought a return to introspection. In the quiet, when the laughter and chatter of my new friends faded into the background, my thoughts would invariably drift back down the stream of memories I had tried to dam. Curiosity would bubble up: Where had Nanase and Inoue's academic journeys taken them? Did Asakura manage to keep our club alive? And what of Hasegawa – was his life still intricately woven with Maki's, and were the feelings he once harboured for me dissolved into the ether of the past, like mist fading at dawn?

Each time these musings about the lives of those I once knew surfaced, a bittersweet chuckle would escape me, unbidden and tinged with melancholy. I couldn't deceive myself that there was a part of me that missed them, harbouring a faint hope that I still flickered in the corners of their memories just as they did in mine.

In these reflective interludes, when my gaze would drift to my phone, resting silently beside me. My fingers would hover over the screen, a part of me tempted to bridge the gap of years and miles with a call to Mama. I imagined asking about the contours of her life, expressing gratitude for the second chance she had granted me, and sharing snippets of my own existence in this new world I had carved out for myself. Yet, even as the thought lingered, an unspoken reluctance always held me back. The phone call remained unmade, a connection to the past that I hesitated to rekindle.

"With us today is Akizuki-san, one of the lead actresses in the trending drama 'A Minute with You'. Thank you for taking the time to join our show, Akizuki-san."

"Thank you for having me here."

Each time Mama's familiar face flickered across the television screen, a subtle twinge of longing would stir in my heart, a gentle echo of connection. In stark contrast, whenever Maki's presence surfaced on social media as an influencer as she always was, my heart would leap into a frantic rhythm, not out of disgust or fear of her, but because of the lingering spectre of Papa that seemed to hover in her shadow. The thought of Papa, with his deceptive gentleness, still haunted me, prompting a mantra of reassurance that I was now in a haven, far removed from his predatory reach.

The chapters of Papa's life after I stepped away from our shared narrative remained a book closed to me, its contents unknown and unread. Whether he still sought me out, harbouring a lingering grudge against Mama, remained an unanswered question in the back of my mind. Yet, above all, my heart clung to the hope that any child within his orbit remained unharmed, shielded from being deceived by the façade of his supposed kindness.

I cannot deny that the shadows of resentment towards Papa still cling to me, and the twisted journey it led me on, to the extent that revisiting my past feels unbearable. Yet, there is an acute awareness within me, a quiet understanding that this past, however tumultuous and painful, is an indelible part of my being. It is a relentless companion, a series of chapters in the story of my life that, despite my reluctance, will forever be etched in the fabric of who I am.