The dining room was silent, the air thick with tension. The table was bare, no food in sight, just the three of them sitting across from one another. Haruki sat stiffly in her chair, her hands clenched in her lap, her heart pounding in her chest. Her father sat at the head of the table, his expression stern and unreadable. Her mother sat beside him, her face a mixture of concern and frustration. The room felt suffocating, the weight of their expectations pressing down on Haruki like a heavy blanket.

Her father was the first to break the silence. His voice was low and steady, but there was an edge to it that made Haruki’s stomach twist. “Your mother told me about your… desire to go to art school,” he said, his tone carefully controlled.

Haruki’s breath hitched. There was no going back now. Her mother had told him, and the truth was out in the open. She straightened her shoulders, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “Yes,” she said, her voice trembling but firm. “I want to go to art school.”

Her father’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward slightly, his hands clasped on the table. “And what?” he said, his voice sharp. “Starve on the street as you play with your paint?”

Haruki flinched but didn’t look away. “No,” she said, her voice steadying. “I want to make a living as an artist. I want to create something meaningful.”

Her father’s jaw tightened, and he shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “I won’t allow it. You’ll become a nurse. Because I have no options left for a stable career for you. I offered you the position of chairman in my company—you wouldn’t accept it. I suggested medical school—I have connections so you could get in. You refused. What do you truly want?”

Haruki’s chest tightened, but she held her ground. She had known this moment would come, and she had prepared herself for it. “Art school,” she said, her voice clear and resolute. “I want to be an artist.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Her parents exchanged a glance, their expressions unreadable. For a moment, Haruki thought she saw something flicker in her father’s eyes—disappointment, frustration, maybe even a hint of sadness. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

The room fell silent again, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Her parents exchanged a glance, their expressions unreadable. For a moment, Haruki thought she saw something flicker in her father’s eyes—disappointment, frustration, maybe even a hint of sadness. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

Her father took off his glasses and set them on the table, his movements slow and deliberate. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze locking onto Haruki’s. “I’ve heard about your senior… Yaeko Matsuda,” he said, his voice low and measured. “The Parent’s

Board has been told of her story.”

Haruki’s breath caught in her throat. “Please don’t bring her into this, Father,” she said, her voice trembling.

Her father’s expression didn’t change. “I know you looked up to her a lot,” he continued, his tone softening slightly. “But our situation and hers are different. She was the youngest child in her family, with two working older sisters. She could pursue art all she wanted because her older sisters could provide for her if she failed.” He paused, his gaze intensifying. “But you, Haruki, your situation is different. You are our only child. We can’t allow you to fail. You cannot fail, because who will support you? Who will look after you when we’re gone? Who will feed you if your art fails? I can’t afford for you to fail, Haruki.”

Haruki’s chest tightened, but she forced herself to speak. “I can support myself,” she said, her voice shaking but defiant. “I know a place. I know some connections. I can make it work—”

Before she could finish, her father slammed his hand on the table, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot. Haruki flinched, her words dying in her throat. Her father’s voice rose, sharp and filled with anger. “Yaeko Matsuda killed herself, Haruki!

Do you think I will allow you to follow in her footsteps?!”

Her mother gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Nagano…” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Haruki froze, her heart pounding in her chest. She had been looking down at her hands, but now she slowly raised her head, her eyes meeting her father’s. His face was flushed, his jaw clenched, but beneath the anger, she saw something else—fear. Raw, unbridled fear.

The room was silent, the weight of his words pressing down on her like a physical force. Haruki’s mind raced, trying to process what he had just said. Yaeko Matsuda… killed herself? No, that couldn’t be true. She had just disappeared. That’s what everyone said. That’s what she had believed.

But the look in her father’s eyes told her otherwise.

Haruki’s voice was barely a whisper when she finally spoke. “What… what do you mean?”

Her father’s shoulders slumped, the anger draining out of him as quickly as it had come. He ran a hand over his face, suddenly looking much older than he had a moment ago. “Yaeko Matsuda… she didn’t just disappear, Haruki. She… she took her own life.

Her family tried to keep it quiet, but the truth came out eventually. She couldn’t handle the pressure. She couldn’t make it as an artist, and she couldn’t face the failure.”

Haruki’s vision blurred, her chest tightening as if a vice had been clamped around her heart. She shook her head, trying to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come. Yaeko Matsuda, the talented artist she had admired, the one who had inspired her to keep pursuing her dreams… gone. Just like that.

Her father’s voice cut through the silence, firm and unyielding. “I’ve signed you up for a prep school,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “It’s a program to prepare you for nursing school. It’s a stable job, and it’s what your mother recommends.

You’ll start next week.”

Haruki’s breath hitched, her hands gripping the edge of the table as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. Her father continued, his words sharp and final. “And you’ll quit the Art Club. You need to focus on your future, Haruki. No more distractions.”

The room seemed to close in around her, the walls pressing closer with every word. Haruki sat silent, her body rigid, her mind reeling. She felt like everything had left her—her breath, her voice, her strength. She was still, as still as a rock, her eyes fixed on the table in front of her.

Her father’s words echoed in her mind, each one a hammer blow. Prep school. Nursing. Quit the Art Club. The truth about Yaeko Matsuda’s disappearance—no, her death—was still sinking in, a heavy, suffocating weight on her chest. And now this. It was too much. It was all too much.

She felt like she was drowning, the waves of her father’s expectations and her mother’s quiet resignation pulling her under. She had to sacrifice everything—her dreams, her passion, the one thing that made her feel alive. For what? Stability? Security? A life that wasn’t hers?

Her father’s voice broke through her thoughts, softer now but no less firm. “Haruki, this is for your own good. You’ll understand one day.”

Haruki didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her throat was too tight, her chest too heavy. She stared at the table, her hands trembling in her lap. The room was silent, the air thick with tension, but all she could hear was the pounding of her own heart.

Her mother reached out, placing a hand on her arm. “Haruki…” she said softly, her voice filled with concern. But Haruki didn’t look up. She couldn’t.

Then, suddenly, Haruki stood up. The chair screeched against the floor as she pushed it back, her hands trembling but her body rigid with defiance. Her parents stared at her, startled by the sudden movement. For a moment, the room was silent, the air thick with tension.

And then Haruki exploded.

“I’ve followed everything you wanted!” she shouted, her voice shaking with anger and years of pent-up frustration. “Everything! Back in middle school, I studied late every night. I gave up playing with my friends, I gave up everything just to get into this competitive high school. And for what? To be miserable? To feel like I didn’t matter?”

Her father opened his mouth to speak, but Haruki didn’t let him. She was done listening. “I was miserable,” she continued, her voice rising. “Every single day, I was miserable. Until my first year of high school, when Matsuda-senpai saw my drawing. She asked me to join the Art Club. She taught me how to paint. She believed in me. And for the first time in my life, I felt like I mattered. Like I belonged somewhere. People liked my paintings. People found meaning in my art. And it was all because of her.

Because she believed in me!”

Her chest heaved as she spoke, her words pouring out like a flood she could no longer contain. “And now you’re telling me to quit? To give up the one thing that makes me happy? The one thing that makes me feel alive? No. I won’t do it. I can’t do it.”

Her father’s face was a mask of shock, but Haruki wasn’t finished. She turned to him, her eyes blazing. “Maybe Matsuda wouldn’t have done what she did if her parents had believed in her! Did you ever think about that? Did you ever think that maybe she just needed someone to tell her it was okay to dream? That it was okay to fail?”

The room fell silent, her words hanging in the air like a thunderclap. Her mother’s hand was pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. Her father sat frozen, his expression unreadable.

Haruki didn’t wait for a response. She turned and stormed out of the dining room, knocking the chair she had been sitting on to the floor with a loud clatter. Her mother called after her, “Haruki! Wait!” but she was already gone, her footsteps echoing down the hallway.

She flung open the front door and ran outside, the cool night air hitting her face like a slap. She didn’t know where she was going, but she didn’t care. All she knew was that she couldn’t stay there. Not in that house. Not with those expectations. Not with that suffocating weight pressing down on her chest.

Her feet carried her down the street, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The tears streamed down her face, but she didn’t stop. She ran until her legs burned and her lungs ached, until the house was far behind her and the world around her was quiet and still.