It hurts; Sakura doesn’t want to admit it, but it does.
And it’s not just a momentary sting of disappointment. It’s far worse than that. It’s as though a piece of her spirit has been carved out of her chest, leaving this gaping hole that now throbs with dull pain.
It reminds her of how she felt when she stayed at the hospital after her injury. An emptiness that, against all logic, seems to possess a tangible quality to it. Weight that slowly crushes her from the inside. Even her steps, as they walk towards the train station, are more sluggish than usual.
They, of course, didn’t go to the pub to celebrate, as both Yunjin and Kazuha felt conflicted about the news. Yunjin hasn’t decided which team to join, and she told Coach she would tell him tomorrow.
Sakura supposes she’ll want to talk it through with Chaewon. She doesn’t understand her hesitation, though. You go with the better team, obviously; what’s there to think about?
But what irks her even more is the fact that Kazuha also told Coach she would give him her answer tomorrow. She doesn’t seem to be happy at all with her achievement, which makes it even harder for Sakura to be happy for her as well.
“I can reject it, right?” Kazuha says, breaking the suffocating silence that has lasted between them since Coach’s announcement.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sakura mutters into her scarf. The frigid December wind prickles her cheeks, threatening the arrival of snow. “Why would you do that?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Because I want to do it together with you.”
Sakura scoffs, the sound muffled by her scarf.
It doesn’t matter what any of them want. It doesn’t even seem to matter how well they play together. And now she’s just left feeling stupid for thinking that this time it would work and for believing all the promises they made. In the end, they amounted to nothing.
She’s stuck in the same place as she was before. Despite all her best efforts, somehow she’s still unable to achieve the one thing she wants the most, and she’s slowly growing tired of the constant failures.
She sighs, words escaping her lips in puffs of smoky, white clouds. “You know we won’t play together forever, right?”
Soon Kazuha will get an offer from a better team, some prestigious club from overseas. With her talent, and now also with the international attention on her, it’s just a natural course of events.
“Don’t say that,” Kazuha protests as her steps come to a sudden halt.
With another drawn-out sigh, Sakura stops and turns around to face her. She’s met with a look as though she has just uttered the most offensive statement imaginable. Kazuha’s eyebrows furrow, her lips purse, and she drops her gaze to the ground.
“Zuha, look at me,” Sakura says, but Kazuha only clenches her fists. It’s like disobeying Sakura’s words costs her every ounce of her willpower. “Haachan, please?” Sakura takes her hands into her own, surprised to find them warm despite the frigid weather.
Kazuha lifts her eyes, her scowl appearing as intimidating as that of a puppy’s. All it does is just make Sakura smile.
“You’re gonna go there, and you’ll win that match, okay?” she tells her in a tone that’s gentle yet, at the same time, leaves no space for arguments.
Snow begins to fall from the sky, and Kazuha’s face softens to a sad pout. “Will you come and cheer for me?” she asks, running her thumbs along Sakura’s cold knuckles.
“Of course I will.” Sakura brushes snowflakes from Kazuha’s hair before reaching for the hood of her jacket to pull it over her head.
“Promise?” Kazuha asks, lifting her pinky.
It’s only now that Sakura realizes they’re at the exact same spot where they made their first promise to each other three months ago.
Let’s win the World Cup together.
But the fire of determination she saw that day in Kazuha’s eyes is nowhere to be found. What’s left is a mere flicker of a silent apology. Because this isn’t how it was supposed to be. They were supposed to be celebrating now, not replacing broken promises with new, less significant ones.
Still, swallowing her resentment, Sakura wraps their pinkies together. “Promise,” she mutters quietly.
None of it matters, anyway. It never did, and maybe Kazuha understands it too, because later at night, she wraps her arms around Sakura in a tight embrace, like she wants their bodies to merge.
As if becoming one would be her only guarantee that Sakura stays with her forever.
🌸ðŸƒ
“Zuha, you’ll miss your train,” Sakura says, lightly patting Kazuha on the back, but the girl only hugs her tighter.
Even Hana-chan starts to become a little impatient with how long this farewell is lasting as she joins them in the corridor and rubs on their ankles, demanding with loud meows that someone serve her breakfast finally.
“I don’t want to leave you,” Kazuha mumbles against Sakura’s shoulder, still not letting go of her.
“Dummy, you’ll be just fifty kilometers away in Saitama.” Sakura chuckles into Kazuha’s dark hair, which smells of jasmine and honey—a sweet, comforting scent she grew addicted to.
Kazuha pulls away from her, but her hands remain on Sakura’s shoulders as she asks, “Will you miss me?”
“Of course,” Sakura assures, looking into Kazuha’s sad, puppy eyes while fixing the loose scarf around her neck.
But her actions get interrupted when Kazuha leans in and captures her lips in a soft, lingering kiss. Sakura’s hands turn slack against the woolen fabric as Kazuha snakes her arm around her waist and draws her in, deepening the kiss that tastes like cherry chapstick.
Sakura tries to ignore how desperate this kiss feels. Too desperate for mere fifty kilometers.
“Bye, Saachan,” Kazuha murmurs after their lips part with a quiet smack. “See you at the stadium.” She flings her duffel bag over her shoulder and opens the door behind her.
With a nod and a heavy heart, Sakura mutters a faint ‘See you’ before closing the door and leaning her forehead against it.
Maybe next time we can leave together, a naive thought worms its way into her head.
It’s not the last qualifying match Japan is going to play. But then, she also knows that if Coach Ikeda wanted them both on the team, she wouldn’t be standing here right now, alone.
Well, not exactly alone, as Hana-chan stretches herself against her leg, interrupting her thoughts with a loud meow. Sakura smiles and bends down to scoop her into her arms.
“At least you’re not leaving me.” She scratches the cat behind her ear. “Not that you have a choice…”
But Kazuha does. And she even wanted to stay. Yet what would it change? Coach Ikeda didn’t even want her as a substitute.
So in a few months, Kazuha will again be the only one to leave for the qualifying match. Then another, and another, until the day she heads to the World Cup, leaving Sakura behind to watch her on a TV screen in some pub, the number 9 displayed proudly on her back as she sprints across the field, scoring goals, and…
Hana-chan’s paw smacks her lightly on the cheek.
“Okay, okay. Breakfast, I get it.” She giggles and takes the cat to the kitchen.
There’s no use in thinking about such a distant future now. Once Kazuha comes back, then they can figure out together what’s next.
And she hopes that this time it won’t end with them just making more empty promises.
🌸ðŸƒ
Unfortunately, Sakura’s disappointment and that bitter taste of failure only intensify during the training.
All she can think of is how Kazuha, Chaewon, and Yunjin, who of course chose South Korea’s team, are currently training with their national teams while she’s stuck doing drills with Yumi, who’s constantly asking her about Kazuha. Never in her life has she felt so discouraged to play soccer as she feels right now. Not even after that dreadful fourth place at the U-20 World Cup finals.
It’s so bad that, for a moment, she even considers that maybe her mom was right—maybe she should have quit this sport. She shoves the idea aside. For now, at least, because she’ll have to suffer through another four days of this dreadful ordeal, so who knows how it’ll end? Hopefully not with her ending up in prison over strangling Yumi.
The rest of her teammates sense her sour mood, wisely keeping their distance unless absolutely necessary. Sakura greatly appreciates it, since the last thing she needs right now are their attempts to cheer her up. No words can soothe this dull ache in her chest, anyway, and it’s not like any of them can even begin to understand it.
Her dad also didn’t come to see her today, which comes as no surprise. He gave her the last chance, and she wasted it.
Nothing ever will be like it used to…
Her own promise to him turned out to also be just a bunch of empty words—nothing more, nothing less.
When Coach Takahashi dismisses them, she all but runs to the locker room. She checks her phone, but there aren’t any new messages from Kazuha. The last one is about her arriving in Saitama.
Maybe she’s still training, or she’s busy getting to know her new teammates.
Just then, the phone vibrates in her hand, and she almost drops it to the floor. It’s a message from her dad telling her to meet him at their usual spot in an hour. She blinks at it, dumbfounded. She assumed he wouldn’t want to talk to her anymore. Unless perhaps he just wants to meet her to tell her how disappointed he is in her, give her the whole ‘I told you so‘ speech.
Whatever the reason, she goes to meet him. It’s not like she has anything better to do.
As she enters the court, she sees him sitting hunched on the bleachers. Their eyes meet, and he points his gaze to the seat beside him. She shuffles towards him and takes a seat. For a moment, they sit in silence, Sakura’s gaze fixed on her scuffed sneakers.
“You really thought you two could make the team together, didn’t you?” he says, his voice more hoarse than usual, as if he spent the whole night yelling or drinking.
Guessing it’s the latter, she dreads the implication that it’s because of her—that her failure made him so angry that it reminded him of his worst losses, and he had to deal with it the only way he knew how to.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” she mutters through her gritted teeth as tears begin to stain her jeans. “Why would he pick only—?” Words catch in her throat.
She doesn’t want to sound resentful or envious. She was doing well keeping these awful emotions in check so far, but it’s like her dad’s presence amplifies them to the point that she can no longer control them.
We won those league matches together. I even had more goals than her. So why? Why he only picked Kazuha? None of this it sense.
“I’ve told you already. She’s stronger, faster, and younger than you,” her dad says, and it scares her how stoic he is about it, like the calm before the storm.
“But perhaps you should also know that Coach Ikeda insists on keeping personal and work issues apart. Mixing the two just leads to drama and inconsistent performance, and I’d agree.”
Sakura frowns, wiping her cheeks. “I don’t understand.”
Her dad lets out a drawn-out sigh, as if he’s about to lose his patience with her. When he turns to look at her, his features are twisted with scorn. “Break up with her, or else you’ll never make the team,” he spits out.
Sakura feels her heart sink, her eyes wide as she stares back at him in disbelief.
“You really thought there would be no rumors about the two of you floating around?” he asks, his voice shaking with barely contained rage. “I felt sick watching you make those googly eyes at her like some hormonal, lovesick teenager. I don’t give a damn who you date, but I’d assume you at least knew better than to date her. You chose to ignore my words, and look where that got you.”
His every word feels like a punch to Sakura’s gut, leaving her winded. So that was it—the worst-case scenario she chose to ignore came true.
“I still can’t believe you thought this would work. I honestly considered never contacting you again. You wasted enough of my time already. And maybe your mother was right. Maybe you should quit this sport.”
Sakura blinks away her tears.
It’s the first time in years that her dad has mentioned her mom. And she doesn’t even care that it’s in the context of her quitting soccer, because him simply talking about her is enough to rekindle this tiny hope in Sakura’s heart that perhaps not everything has been lost just yet.
She swipes at her cheeks, asking, “So why did you contact me?”
“I suppose I was curious to see whether you still wanted to keep our promise.”
“I do!” She turns to him, silently begging him to look at her with at least a flicker of warmth in his eyes. “I want to win the World Cup. I want to avenge you. Make you proud. Make mom proud. I just want—”
Things to get back to how they used to be.
Her dad stares at her, his expression unreadable, which she supposes is the best outcome she could have hoped for. “Then I trust you know what to do to get your spot on the team.”
Looking down, Sakura gives a solemn nod.
So there is no happy ending for them, after all. And it’s quite ironic how she was so afraid that Kazuha would leave her, but now that’s exactly what she needs her to do. Even though she doesn’t want her to.
Then again, it doesn’t matter what any of them want when it comes to this.
She and Kazuha were never meant to be. They were always going to lose. The game was rigged against them from the very beginning. She can, of course, lie to herself, thinking that if only she had been more careful, she could have avoided all of this, but she knows that sooner or later they’d get caught anyway.
“Good,” her dad says.
“Do you miss her sometimes?” Sakura asks, staring into his cold eyes before he has a chance to look away from her. “Did it hurt you to leave her? Do you still love her?”
A tiny crack shows in his facade of indifference. A blink and you miss it twitch of his eyebrows. She took him by surprise, and the fact brings her an odd sense of pride and solace.
“She called me recently,” he mutters as he turns away from her and runs his hand across his chin. “Asked me whether you have plans for the Christmas break.”
“She did?” Sakura grabs his arm, as if afraid he’s about to disappear, like a hazy illusion created by her fractured mind. “And what did you say?”
“That she should ask you about it.”
“Did she say anything else? What did you talk about? How is she doing?”
He yanks his arm out of her grip as he stands up, making her recoil. “Meet me here tomorrow for training,” he says, staring down at her, and then he leaves.
She’s left alone in the empty court, feeling like she just woke up from a nightmare and a dream all at once. The confusion of it all overwhelms her so much that she’s not even sure what she’s supposed to do now.
Her phone buzzes in the pocket of her jacket, and she scrambles to quickly check it. But it’s a message from Kazuha. Not her mom. And so, she switches it off.
Not now. Not yet.
🌸ðŸƒ
HaachanðŸƒ
hey
how was your day? 😘
mine was pretty rough 🥲
i’m so tired and i miss you soo much 🥺🥺
[1 missed call]
HaachanðŸƒ
you must be sleeping already 🥺
sweet dreams 😘😘😘
🌸ðŸƒ
it was okay
pretty boring
hang in there 🩷
miss you too 🩷🩷
🌸ðŸƒ
HaachanðŸƒ
[photo attached]
this diet will kill me 🥲
we have to cook something together when I come back 😘
or bake! let’s bake cupcakes! 🤤ðŸ§ðŸ§
[3 missed calls]
HaachanðŸƒ
or we don’t have to bake
let’s just chill on the couch and watch a movie 😘😘
sorry
had a training with dad
baking sounds like fun 🩷
goodnight 😘
🌸ðŸƒ
HaachanðŸƒ
how was the training?
seems like you came back pretty late 🥺🥺
i waited for your reply but fell asleep 😔
it was fine
don’t worry about it
focus on your training
remember, you have to win that match
HaachanðŸƒ
okay
i’ll try
i’ll do my best for you 😘😘
i just wish you were here 😔
me too
HaachanðŸƒ
but maybe next time coach will take us both 🥺
girls are saying it’s weird he didn’t draft you
do you think I should ask him about it?
[missed call]
HaachanðŸƒ
okay i won’t
i’m sorry for bringing this up
🌸ðŸƒ
HaachanðŸƒ
good luck on your game today
i’ll be cheering 😘😘
Sakura stares at the message she received earlier this morning. Now, she’s in the locker room, about to leave for the match, but she still hasn’t replied to it. A simple ‘thank you’ doesn’t feel quite right. Then again, nothing really does when she thinks about how she’ll have to tell Kazuha that they can no longer be together.
It’s why she also ignores Kazuha’s calls. She’d fall apart if she were to hear her soft, cheerful voice. And then Kazuha would know everything right away, which isn’t how one should find out about such news.
“Sakura?”
She hears Mei’s voice and notices the woman looking at her expectantly from the threshold. Looking around, she realizes that everyone has already left.
“Ah, yeah, I’m coming.” She tosses the phone into her bag and follows Mei.
🌸ðŸƒ
The match doesn’t nearly go as badly as Sakura imagined it would.
She stays focused all throughout it and manages to score two goals. They win 2:1, and although their overall performance is a far cry from their previous displays of complete domination, she’s still pretty satisfied with how it went. Especially considering how tough those recent few days have been to her. She barely slept and had to force herself to eat since she had virtually no appetite.
Briefly, she wonders whether her today’s performance is finally enough to earn her place on the national team, and a sudden wave of disgust washes over her at the thought.
But then she reminds herself of her mom and dad and of all the blood, sweat, and tears she has poured into this sport ever since she was just a little kid, and that it all has to be worth it in the end.
Winning the World Cup is what matters the most. Always was.
She is the last one to leave the stadium. Shuffling her feet, she passes its gates but stops when she hears a faint clapping sound behind her.
“Congratulations. Impressive game, Miyawaki-san.”
At first, she thinks it’s her imagination playing tricks on her, or that maybe she has reached her limit and gone insane. But it’s neither of those things. Because when she turns around, Kazuha is standing before her, hands shoved to the pockets of her unzipped puffer jacket and a cheering scarf hanging loosely around her neck. Her cheeks red from the cold as she grins at Sakura.
“Zuha? What are you doing here?” she asks, still not quite sure whether this is real or if she’s just losing her mind.
Kazuha isn’t supposed to be here. Can’t be here. She has a qualifying match tomorrow in Saitama.
“I came to cheer you on,” Kazuha says, and her smile slips a notch when all Sakura can do is just frown at her.
“Does Coach Ikeda know you’re here?”
“Not exactly?” Kazuha makes a grimace, like she’s bracing herself for the impact of Sakura’s reaction.
“What the hell, Zuha?” Sakura exclaims, clenching her fists around the strap of her duffel bag. “They may kick you out of the team if they find out you left the training camp.”
“No one will find out. I promise,” Kazuha says, but it comes off more like a plea than an assurance.
Just like no one was supposed to find out about us? Just like you promised, we’d get into the team together?
Ugly thoughts start invading Sakura’s mind, slipping through the cracks of old doubts and fears. And that gaping hole inside her chest so huge now that it threatens to swallow her whole.
“I just really missed you,” Kazuha says softly, taking a step closer.
Sakura, however, steps back, watching as Kazuha’s eyebrows knit in pained confusion while her shoulders slump.
Sakura knows that this face, this expression of sad disappointment reflected in these soft, brown eyes, will haunt her for the rest of her life. Yet at the same time, she can’t ignore how careless Kazuha acts. How she doesn’t seem to care that she might be throwing away something that has been Sakura’s biggest dream for years now.
“You should treat this more seriously, Zuha,” she mutters, frustration seeping into her voice. “Please, just go back to Saitama.”
She turns to walk away, but then she hears Kazuha’s voice call out to her.
“Maybe you should treat me more seriously!”
She freezes in place.
“You stopped replying to my messages,” Kazuha continues, and her voice cracks slightly at the end.
Sakura listens to the sound of her footsteps drawing nearer, the snow crunching under her boots.
“You don’t take my calls. It feels like you’re shutting me out. And it wouldn’t be the first time, but I thought we had moved past that already.”
Sakura bites the inside of her cheek, tasting the metallic tang of blood. It’s true what Kazuha is saying, so what else can she add? That she knows why Coach Ikeda didn’t draft them both? That there’s no future to this thing between them?
She can’t do it. Not now. Not when Kazuha is playing such an important game tomorrow.
“I talked to Coach. I told him it was a mistake not to draft you onto the team.” Kazuha’s words cut into Sakura’s thoughts, and something snaps inside her like a stepped-on tripwire.
She whips around to face Kazuha. “You told him what?” she asks, seething. “You think I need someone to speak on my behalf?”
“No, that’s not—” Kazuha says, frowning, but Sakura cuts her off.
“Do you think I’m not good enough to get into the team purely based on my skills?” she asks as all the barbed thoughts she tried to hold back come pouring out of her lips. “That I need to beg for it? That I can’t play better than you unless you are missing goals on purpose?”
“What? That’s not what I meant. I just—”
“Save it,” Sakura hisses, silencing Kazuha, who recoils as if bitten by a viper. “You’ve said enough.”
Kazuha’s fists clench at her sides, and her face darkens. It’s the first time Sakura sees her delicate features twisted in an expression akin to pure rage. It catches her off guard enough for her to stay rooted in her place.
“No, as a matter of fact, I haven’t,” Kazuha retorts, her voice devoid of its usual softness, matching the freezing temperature around them. “Sometimes I feel like the only reason you even play soccer nowadays is just to win that trophy for your dad. Not even for yourself. And certainly not because you love this sport like you used to.” Her gaze veers to the side for a moment as she palms at her wet cheek roughly. “You know, I was really hoping I could remind you how much joy soccer brings you, but no matter how hard I try, all you seem to care for is that damn World Cup.”
Damn World Cup…
Sakura scoffs.
Of course Kazuha doesn’t understand anything. And how could she, really? With her perfect parents and her gold medals, everything was always so easy for her. She never had to make any sacrifices, never felt the fear of losing it all.
To Kazuha, soccer is just a game. And it doesn’t matter if she wins or loses, as long as she has fun playing it.
She never truly cared about their promises the way Sakura did. Never truly understood her. She just liked the idealized version of Sakura she knew from back when she was just a kid.
But what she doesn’t realize is that even back then, victory was what mattered the most to Sakura. And she can’t let go of it. Not even for her.
“If that’s the case, then when will you start playing for yourself rather than for me?” she asks, calm, now that she realizes her mistake. “When will you stop centering your whole world around me? Hm? Tell me, Kazuha, who are you without me?”
As expected, Kazuha doesn’t say anything, but her wide eyes speak volumes.
Sakura hit a sore spot, bullseye. She can tell Kazuha has asked herself the same question at some point in the past but never found the answer. Her lips tremble like she wants to say something, but in the end, no sound escapes them, and she averts her gaze to the ground as if in shame.
Sakura wants her—no—needs her to strike back. To slap her across the face. To tell her that she hates her. That after all, Kaname was right; she really is unable to love anyone. It’d be easier this way. And less scary than what she thinks right now. That maybe, at the end of the day, she’s more like her father than she wants to admit.
But Kazuha does nothing.
So Sakura swallows the lump in her throat and mutters, “Good luck on your game tomorrow,” then walks away.
It’s not until the train arrives and she sees her reflection in its windows that she realizes her eyes are red and her cheeks are completely tear-streaked.
🌸ðŸƒ
Despite spending almost the entire night pathetically crying into her pillow, the next day, Sakura still goes to attend Kazuha’s game. Maybe because she promised her, or maybe because she simply wants to see her, she isn’t sure. But she also decides not to show herself to the girl. She doesn’t want to give her false hope, as though she came here so that they could reconcile.
The match begins, and it doesn’t take long for Sakura to notice that their yesterday’s argument has taken a heavy toll on Kazuha as well. She’s completely unfocused, loses the easiest balls, and her every shot is completely off target.
It’s painful to watch, and even the supporters lose their motivation to cheer as they’re just left staring and holding their heads in bewilderment over another wasted opportunity by Kazuha. If it keeps on going like this, Sakura imagines the Chinese team scoring at some point and beating them on their own turf.
See? Told you something like that could happen, she thinks to herself as she remembers their late night conversation at the park.
But when Kazuha misses her shot again, Sakura can no longer just passively watch this train wreck of a match and jumps to her feet, shouting at the top of her lungs, “Number nine! Get your shit together!”
Kazuha’s eyes immediately find hers in the crowd, and after her initial shock wears off, she gives her that signature mega-watt grin of hers that lights up the entire stadium. And Sakura, try as she might, can’t hold back a grin of her own.
After that, the match takes a complete 180. Kazuha’s moves become fast, sharp, and precise, and soon she scores her first goal after a perfectly executed counterattack.
In a burst of celebration, Kazuha jumps and runs to the stands, where Sakura is cheering for her. She looks at her, smiling, as if she just enjoys the view of Sakura simply being there for her.
Not long after that first goal, Kazuha scores another one, this time from a header. Japan wins 2:0, and Sakura leaves the stadium just before the final whistle.
She hopes to reach the apartment before Kazuha so that she can hide in her own room and pretend she’s sleeping. But the train to Tokyo gets delayed due to heavy snowfall, and so when she arrives home, Kazuha is already there, greeting her with an unsure smile as she enters the corridor.
They mutter stilted ‘heys‘ at the exact same moment, but neither of them finds it amusing.
“Thank you for coming to cheer me on,” Kazuha says, her hands at her sides, nervously fidgeting with the edge of her gray hoodie.
It’s the same hoodie Sakura once wore during one of their movie nights. They’ve never finished watching that movie, though, because that day, Kazuha enjoyed the sight of her wearing her clothes a bit too much. So the hoodie stayed on while the rest of her clothes ended up on the floor.
Swallowing, she shakes off the image, ignoring the sudden jolt of pleasure it sends down her spine. “I promised.”
And unlike you, I keep my promises, she thinks bitterly to herself as she takes off her jacket and hangs it on the coatrack, then unlaces her boots. “Besides, I had to make sure Japan won,” she mutters as she’s about to enter her room.
“Sakura, wait. Please.”
She glances at Kazuha with her palm still on the door handle.
“Look, I’m sorry about what I said the other day. I didn’t mean it,” Kazuha says, her voice laced with aching desperation.
Sakura shakes her head, smiling. “You’re a bad liar, Zuha. I’ve told you that already.”
Kazuha lowers her gaze, wrapping her arms around herself, her fingers digging into her sleeves.
“You did mean it,” Sakura continues. “And you were right. But that’s not something I can just change about myself, nor can I give up on that trophy.”
“Why? Is it really so important to you?” Kazuha asks, blinking back tears, and Sakura knows that what she really wants to ask is, ‘Is it really more important than me?‘.
Sakura sighs. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Then help me understand,” Kazuha says, taking a step closer. “Please, Saachan. I’m sure whatever it is, we can-“
“Coach Ikeda doesn’t accept couples within the team,” Sakura says, her words quick and sharp, not giving Kazuha any chance to spin her naive tales of how they can overcome this crisis and still be together.
Kazuha’s eyes widen. “W-what?”
“I’m sorry if I knew sooner; I’d never- “
“Don’t,” Kazuha cuts her off, but unlike Sakura, she sounds so soft, so sad and broken. “Don’t say it, please. Don’t make it sound like you regret it.”
“I don’t. Zuha, I-” Sakura stumbles over her words, her voice faltering.
I love you…
It’s too late to say it now, isn’t it?
But even if she said those words before, it wouldn’t have changed anything. It would only make it harder. Maybe that’s why she was so scared of saying them in the first place. After all, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, she always knew they were never meant to last.
“Then that’s all I need to know,” Kazuha says, and the smile she gives Sakura is just so beautifully bittersweet.
She knows. She always knew. Just like Sakura did.
“Good night, Miyawaki-san.”
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