After Sakuya’s funeral, the only thing left in everyone’s hearts was a loud, suffocating silence.

Itsuo hadn’t spoken a single word since the moment she died, as if his entire world had frozen in place. He was so shattered he couldn’t even bring himself to name their child. He hadn’t even looked at him once.

Itsuo’s parents — Kagasawa Reiko and Kagasawa Mitsusada — grew deeply concerned. At first, they tried to give him time to grieve, to let the pain settle enough for him to at least acknowledge his newborn son. But the hours turned into days, and the days quietly stretched into a week.

Eventually, Reiko decided she couldn’t wait any longer. She called Itsuo and asked him to meet her that evening in the main residence’s living room. But because he ignored every call and text, she finally sent Kenzo, their butler, to bring him back from the penthouse where he’d been isolating himself.

That penthouse had once been Itsuo and Sakuya’s home after their marriage — now, it was merely a place he used to wall himself off from the world.

◇

“I heard you wanted to meet me. Kenzo-san spent the whole evening dragging me here,” Itsuo muttered as he sat down across from Reiko.

By the time he arrived, it was already night — far past the evening meeting she had planned. His son had long fallen asleep, completely defeating the original purpose of calling him here.

“Before I sent Kenzo, I called you and texted you several times. You didn’t respond to anything. I had no choice but to send someone to physically bring you here,” Reiko sighed, rubbing her forehead as if she’d exhausted every method of nagging she had left.

The infant lay in a cradle next to the couch, a pediatric nurse standing attentively by.

“I called you here so you could look at your newborn son. You haven’t seen him at all, have you?” Reiko said in a flat tone.

Itsuo stared at the cradle with a blank, hollow expression.

Reiko shot him a look that practically screamed: Go look at your son. At least now.

He reluctantly stood, stepped closer, glanced briefly at the child, and said:

“He seems to be affected by albinism.”

Reiko’s eyes widened. She wanted to scold him, but forced herself to hold back.

“Sakuya was partially affected by albinism too… but in his case, it’s more severe,” Reiko explained.

“Now that you mention it… yes, she was. But she still had some colour in her hair and skin. Unlike this… completely white.”

Itsuo spoke as though realising it for the first time. “But he has her face, too.”

And with that, as though he’d already lost interest, he returned to the couch.

“It’s getting late. I’ll head ba—”

“Have you decided on a name for your son? Or… did Sakuya suggest any?” Reiko cut him off.

“No…” Itsuo replied distantly. “I didn’t. And Sakuya… didn’t say any…”

“I see…” Reiko’s voice softened, her heart tightening at the sight of him — so empty, so unlike himself. “If you’re having trouble deciding, then let’s come up with something together. Your father is very enthusiastic about it.”

But—

“I see. Then I’ll leave it up to you two, Mother.”

Itsuo abruptly stood, leaving the entire responsibility to his parents, showing not even the slightest engagement. He walked out without sparing a glance at his son or his mother.

“Wait! Itsuo!” Reiko called after him — but he had already disappeared.

◇

She held her face in her palms, utterly lost. Her son felt like a stranger — drained of colour, hollow-eyed, barely human.

The attentive, kind, gentle man she’d raised was nowhere to be seen.

Everyone knew he cherished Sakuya… but no one had realised just how deeply he had loved her until now.

A while later, Mitsusada returned home. As he loosened his tie and cuffs, he handed his coat to Kenzo while inquiring about the situation, but Kenzo quietly shook his head.

Mitsusada understood everything instantly. He sat beside Reiko.

“I guess… it’ll take him time to overcome the grief,” he murmured.

“He didn’t feel like my son,” Reiko whispered, tears gathering in her eyes. “He didn’t even feel human. He’s empty. He didn’t say a single word about his own child until I forced it out of him.”

Her voice cracked, and Mitsusada pulled her into his arms as she cried.

“We knew this wouldn’t be easy… Things won’t be the same — not for Itsuo, and not for the newborn,” Mitsusada said gently.

“He even left naming his own child to us,” Reiko added bitterly.

“…”

“Did you hear what I said?” she demanded.

“Y-yes, I did,” Mitsusada stammered, flustered. “Well… it can’t be helped. Then let’s give the boy a good name — one better than anything that son of ours could come up with!” he declared, trying a little too hard to cheer her up.

“Like…?” Reiko narrowed her eyes.

“Uh… how about Shiro?” Mitsusada suggested.
It seemed random, but he had actually put more thought into it than she wanted to admit.

Reiko stared at him silently. She already knew he was terrible at naming things, but seeing it proven again was both painful and unsurprising.

I am not letting him name my grandson that, she decided.

I only mentioned this to Itsuo to scare him into participating. I didn’t expect him to dump the responsibility on us… and I DEFINITELY didn’t expect Mitsusada’s ideas to be even worse than I imagined.

“Reiko…?” Mitsusada leaned toward her. “What do you think? Is it bad? Then how about Haku?” he asked, completely sincere.

Seeing him so serious, Reiko couldn’t help thinking,
His naming sense is hopeless… but watching him try so earnestly is somewhat cute. He hasn’t changed at all since back then, has h—

A loud cry interrupted her thoughts.

The infant had burst into tears. The nurse tried to soothe him, but his crying only intensified.

Reiko quickly took over.

At that moment — hearing the wailing child coincide perfectly with Mitsusada’s naming attempts — she decided firmly:

“Yes. We’re stopping this here.”

Because clearly, even the baby didn’t want to hear any more of Mitsusada’s ideas.

◇

Mitsusada was a little disappointed, but he backed off the moment Reiko told him to stop. Seeing her mood lighten, he decided to simply enjoy the rare moment of peace.

But—

“Do you still think it’s good to let Itsuo remain like that?” she asked quietly. “I don’t think anything will change unless we do something.”

Originally, they had agreed to let Itsuo handle his grief on his own. They had never interfered in his marriage or his married life. When he first expressed his desire to marry Sakuya, both Mitsusada and Reiko had hesitated. She had always looked so fragile — delicate, frail, and almost evanescent, as if she would vanish the instant they stopped watching.

But she had been part of Itsuo’s life since childhood, practically family, long before the engagement. They couldn’t bring themselves to oppose it outright. So they set their worries aside and blessed their union.

Now, the time to face those unspoken concerns had arrived — long before either of them was ready.

“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to force him to move past his grief,” Mitsusada said, his voice heavy. “But it seems that’s no longer an option.”

“I want to give him time too… but the longer he takes, the more it affects the child,” Reiko admitted. “Children grow up before we even notice. I don’t want him to regret this someday.”

“There’s only so much we can do,” Mitsusada murmured. “Unless he tries to help himself, we can’t pull him out. The best we can do is give him the right conditions — make it easier for him to cope.”

“What we can do for him… and for that child… has been limited from the very beginning,” Reiko whispered.

Mitsusada, seeing the sadness settle over her again, gently switched the topic back to the baby’s name.

“I’ve already decided what to name the boy. So don’t trouble yourself with it any further,” Reiko declared firmly, stopping him before he could suggest another disaster.

“Wha—what…?” Mitsusada deflated instantly, looking like he’d just lost his chance to become his grandson’s nazuke-oya. “At least tell me the name you chose…”

“Yukiko,” Reiko said. “His name will be Yukiko (優希子). It means a gentle child filled with hope. It also reflects that he was born in winter — and his white hair, like freshly fallen snow.”

“Hm… that’s a good name,” Mitsusada admitted, immediately accepting it. He even looked a little proud.

“Then it’s decided,” Reiko said, smiling for the first time that night.

Mitsusada nodded happily, and just like that, the child’s name was settled — without Itsuo, the boy’s own father, present for the moment that should have been his.