The next morning, Sakura and Mai sat quietly on the sofa in the Yoshida residence. The living room was unnervingly still, broken only by the soft, rhythmic ticking of a clock on the wall. Opposite them, Haruto and Natsuki Yoshida sat with stiff postures, tension etched into every line of their faces. The document resting on the coffee table between them felt like more than just paper—it was the physical weight of the decision none of them wanted to make.

  Sakura glanced sideways at Mai, whose expression remained composed, though the steel in her eyes was unmistakable. Haruto’s gaze flickered between the document and Sakura, unable to settle. Natsuki sat beside him, her brow drawn in tight lines, hands wringing slowly in her lap. The atmosphere in the room was suffocating, as though even the air had gone still, waiting.

  At last, Haruto broke the silence. His voice was calm, but the undercurrent of frustration was impossible to miss. “I can’t sign this document,” he said, looking directly at Sakura. “But I promise you this—I will do everything in my power to bring Hikaru back to you, safe and unharmed.”

  Mai leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing. “Then why the hesitation?” she asked, her voice sharp and cutting. “You were the one who said we’re running out of time. You’re the one who insisted this was the only way. So why stop now?”

  Haruto’s jaw tightened. “Because signing that paper means admitting I might not be able to keep Hana safe,” he replied, his tone rising. “It feels like giving up.”

  Mai didn’t flinch. “No,” she said firmly. “It’s not giving up—it’s preparing for the worst while fighting for the best. You’re not the only one afraid, Mr. Yoshida. But fear doesn’t excuse recklessness.”

  Natsuki looked between them, her voice trembling as she spoke. “Haruto, maybe... maybe this is what we need to do. Just until this is over.”

  Haruto closed his eyes briefly, as if trying to shut out the world around him. His hands clenched on his knees, knuckles white.

  Sakura finally spoke, her voice quiet but resolute. “This isn’t about surrendering your daughter. It’s about protecting both our children. You’re asking me to trust you with Hikaru. I’m only asking for the same in return.”

  A silence followed—long, heavy, and full of everything left unsaid. The document remained untouched on the table, but its presence loomed over them all.

  “Mr. Yoshida, this document ensures accountability,” Sakura said gently, though her tone carried a quiet steel beneath the calm. “It’s about protecting both of our families.”

  Natsuki, sensing the growing tension, placed a gentle hand on Haruto’s arm. “Haruto... what exactly is in the document?” she asked softly, her voice tinged with concern.

  “I asked you about it yesterday too,” she added, her gaze steady and questioning. “But you didn’t explain.”

  Haruto hesitated, his jaw tightening as his eyes flicked from the document to Natsuki. Then, without a word, he slid the paper across the table to her.

  Natsuki picked it up and unfolded it with care. Her eyes scanned the text, moving faster as she reached the latter part. When she came to the critical clause, her breath hitched.

  “If anything happens to Hikaru Hanabira while under the Yoshidas’ care,” she read aloud, her voice tightening, “Ms. Sakura Hanabira will have full rights to adopt Hana Yoshida.”

  Her hands trembled slightly as she lowered the paper to the table. The shock in her expression was unmistakable. “This... this is enormous,” Natsuki whispered. “It’s not just a guardianship. It’s... permanent if something goes wrong.”

  “Give me time to think,” Haruto said, his voice low as he bowed his head, his hands steepled tightly in front of him. His whole frame seemed to shrink under the weight of the decision.

  Mai’s smirk was sharp, slicing through the stillness. “Time?” she repeated, standing abruptly. Her tone was cool, commanding. “You’re the one who said we didn’t have any left, remember?” Her eyes narrowed. “It’s your daughter’s life on the line, Mr. Yoshida. We can’t afford hesitation.”

  Sakura rose as well, her movements fluid and composed. “Let us know when you’re ready to act,” she said quietly, her eyes never leaving Haruto’s.

  They turned and began heading toward the door when Haruto’s voice, suddenly hoarse and urgent, stopped them in their tracks.

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  “Wait.”

  The two women turned slowly to face him. Haruto stared down at the document, his hand trembling above the pen. For a beat, he stood frozen, wrestling with the finality of the decision.

  Then, with a sudden resolve, he muttered, “I’ll sign it.” His voice was uneven, brittle.

  As he bent over the table and signed his name with a shaky hand, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth—one that didn’t go unnoticed by Mai.

  When he straightened, his face was pale, and a cold sweat clung to his forehead. His eyes darted to Sakura and Mai, but then something shifted. His expression twisted into one of startled fear as his gaze fixed on a point behind them.

  Sakura noticed the change instantly. “Mr. Yoshida?” she asked, her tone soft but wary. “What’s wrong?”

  Haruto blinked rapidly, rubbing his eyes. He stared again at the space behind them, but whatever he’d seen was gone. The dark, scarred figure—so vivid just seconds before—had vanished without a trace.

  “N-Nothing,” he stammered, though his voice cracked. “I’ve signed it.”

  Mai arched a brow but said nothing. She stepped forward, took the document from the table, and inspected it carefully.

  “Good,” she said curtly, folding the paper and slipping it into her bag.

  “Now I’ll get Hikaru, right?” Haruto asked suddenly, his tone unsettlingly eager.

  Mai and Sakura exchanged a glance, their unease deepening, but neither responded. Without a word, they turned and left the Yoshida residence, their steps purposeful yet heavy with the weight of what had just transpired.

  Back at Sakura’s home, they stepped through the front door only to be greeted by an unexpected sight—Hikaru, Akitoshi, and Gaeto standing in the hallway, arms crossed and brows furrowed in comical seriousness. The effect might’ve been intimidating if not for the childish puffiness of their cheeks and their oversized eyes.

  “We’re hungry!” they announced in unison, their voices slicing through the tension like a ray of sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

  Sakura blinked, momentarily thrown. “What?”

  “Breakfast!” Hikaru added, stomping his little foot. “We’re starving!”

  Mai let out a small chuckle, though the sound carried more weariness than amusement. “All right, all right. Let’s get you fed,” she said, ruffling Hikaru’s hair gently.

  As the day wore on, the children filled the house with their usual energy, peppering Sakura and Mai with questions—some playful, others disarmingly insightful. Most were easy to laugh off, but a few landed too close to the tension simmering just beneath the surface. Sakura deflected as best she could, but the strain was evident in her eyes and posture. By evening, the atmosphere in the Hanabira household had grown dense with unspoken worry.

  That night, the family gathered at the dining table for dinner. The children chatted animatedly, slurping noodles and trading stories as though the world outside didn’t exist. Their laughter rang through the room, but it barely reached the adults, whose minds remained elsewhere.

  Then, without warning, Mai spoke. Her voice was calm, but her words struck with precision.

  “I’m leaving in a few days.”

  Sakura choked on her food, nearly dropping her fork. “What?!” she blurted out, louder than she intended.

  “I need to go,” Mai repeated, her tone unwavering. “There’s something I have to take care of.”

  The days that followed passed in a blur—subtle preparations, hushed conversations, and quiet goodbyes. Time slipped through their fingers like sand.

  One evening, as Sakura tucked Hikaru into bed, he looked up at her with wide, searching eyes.

  “Mama, why is Aunt Mai leaving?” he asked, his voice soft with curiosity.

  Sakura paused, her fingers gently smoothing his hair as she searched for the right words. “It’s just for a little while, sweetheart,” she said quietly. “She has to help a friend.”

  Hikaru frowned, clearly not satisfied. “Can’t her friend ask someone else for help?”

  Unseen by him, Mai stood in the doorway, listening silently. She didn’t step in, letting the moment unfold.

  Sakura's heart ached as she searched for the right words.

  "Sometimes, sweetie, helping someone is something only you can do," Sakura said gently. "Imagine if someone you love needed help, and you were the only one who could be there for them. Wouldn't you want to help?"

  Hikaru looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head with innocent certainty. “I don’t want to go anywhere. I want to stay with you and my brothers.”

  Sakura pulled him into a tight hug, tears slipping down her cheeks as she held him close. “I hope you always stay with us, sweetheart,” she whispered into his hair.

  Mai, who had been silently standing in the doorway, turned and walked away without a word. Her face was unreadable, her footsteps soft against the hallway floor.

  —

  On Christmas morning, the Hanabira household buzzed with a mixture of joy and tension. The children’s laughter filled the air as they tore through wrapping paper, their delight momentarily masking the heaviness that lingered just beneath the surface.

  Sakura and Mai sat nearby, exchanging weary smiles as they watched the kids celebrate. They tried to preserve the warmth of the moment, even as the weight of the days ahead pressed against their hearts.

  Suddenly, the sharp ring of Sakura’s phone cut through the cheerful noise. Mai, who was holding the device, glanced at the screen. Her expression darkened.

  “It’s Haruto,” she said, her tone edged with suspicion.

  Without hesitation, she swiped to answer. “Yes, Mr. Yoshida? What is it now?” Her voice was firm, clipped, and brimming with irritation.

  But the voice that replied wasn’t Haruto’s.

  “It’s me… Natsuki,” came the hesitant response. Mrs. Yoshida’s voice was soft, almost trembling. “I… we just… actually…”

  Mai froze mid-sentence, the color draining slightly from her face. Her eyes widened in surprise as she listened to Natsuki’s faltering words on the other end of the line. Her expression shifted slowly—shock creeping in, tightening her features, and casting a shadow over her usually composed demeanor.