📘 2007: A Girl with No Tomorrow

✦ Chapter 4: Buy Me Another Medal

> “I don’t remember when I stopped feeling proud.

Maybe it was the first time they gave me money instead of a hug.”

— Aki Hoshino

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That evening, the house smelled like whiskey and old pride.

Laughter echoed from the living room. Deep, masculine voices. Her father’s old archery buddies — men who hadn’t picked up a bow in years, but still acted like champions when they drank.

Aki entered through the back door, her medal tucked inside her school bag.

She quietly set her shoes by the entrance.

“She's back!” her father called out. “Come here, girl.”

She froze for a second.

Then walked in, hands behind her back, eyes down like always.

“There she is,” one of the men grinned, glass in hand. “The prodigy.”

“Got first place again?” another asked. “Just like her old man, huh?”

Aki forced a small nod.

Her father stood proudly in front of them. “Told you she’d win. Same hands as me. Same blood.”

He tossed a bundle of cash onto the table and pushed it toward her.

“Go buy something. I don’t care what.”

Aki stared at it. Neat bills, rubber band around them.

“This… isn’t necessary,” she whispered.

Her father’s eyes sharpened. “Are you arguing?”

“No, sir.”

“Then take it. That medal’s not just yours. It’s the family’s honor. You think I got no pride in front of these men?”

Laughter followed.

“You’ve got a machine for a daughter, Hoshino,” one of the guests said. “Raise her right, and she’ll shoot straight forever.”

“She’s already perfect,” another added. “Just like her father used to be.”

Her father drank to that.

Aki stood there, the money still untouched.

“Go now,” her father said, turning back to the group. “Don’t stand around.”

She picked up the cash like it was something dead.

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In her room, Aki placed the money on her desk.

She didn’t need it.

Didn’t want it.

She had everything she needed — medals, silence, scars you couldn’t see.

She opened her notebook.

> Date: October 14, 2007

Death thought: Do medals sink in water?

Father gave me money. Not for me. For his old image.

Said I have his hands. Strange. I thought mine were trembling.

I don’t want their pride. I want to stop being a mirror for people who don’t look at me.

She paused.

Then slowly, with a black pen, she wrote on the envelope of money:

> “Price of being his daughter.”

She slid it into a drawer full of similar envelopes.

All unspent.

All silent.

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End of Chapter 4

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