I felt the funeral before I even saw it. Branded cars stretched in a long line from the chapel entrance, while entourages of local elites crowded around the grounds in noisy clusters.

It didn’t take a genius to realise this was no ordinary funeral.

Pushing through the crowd, we stumbled our way to the entrance of a grand chapel. It was far larger than the previous funeral halls, even boasting a spacious courtyard where waiters moved among the guests serving small bites.

Enthusiastic chatter filled my ears as we walked. Discussions of business opportunities, decisions, arrangements—voices overlapped endlessly around me.

Everywhere I looked, people wore overbearing smiles. No one approached me. They could tell I had nothing to offer them.

Grunting as he shoved past another person, Sol muttered, “They’re just here to network. It’s ridiculous.”

“It’s all performative—fake,” he continued. “They came here with motives that only serve themselves…”

He could have kept going, but he caught himself. Turning slightly toward me, he asked under his breath, “What do you think?”

Grumbling, I stepped into the air-conditioned chapel. “It’s sickening. Their insincerity.”

Sol’s jaw tightened briefly before he lowered his gaze.

“It is.”

I watched him a moment longer than I meant to. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

The interior resembled a banquet more than a funeral. Massive round tables divided the elites into their little cliques, while a steady stream of guests drifted toward the main table.

Vera’s parents were easy to spot. People seemed to gravitate endlessly around them.

I could never command that kind of influence over a crowd. I liked to think I was amiable enough to speak to, but clearly that alone wasn’t enough to build strong relationships. When your very existence makes people want to approach you, you are blessed.

“They like them a lot.” I glanced toward Vera’s parents.

Sol plucked a grape from a fruit platter on a nearby table and popped it into his mouth. “Don’t mind them. Most of them are probably just trying to curry favour with the rich couple.” He pulled out the chair near him. “Let’s sit here.”

“Besides,” he added after swallowing, “I like you a lot.”

He winked, shooting finger guns at me as he did.

“You’re just one person.” Snickering, I sat down beside him.

Looking around for the casket, I found it displayed almost like a prop. Despite the elegant craftsmanship, the expensive materials, and the spotlights trained upon it, it attracted little attention.

From the back of the chapel, Ren’s parents entered quietly. Their eyes swept across the room until they found him. Even after spotting their son, they chose to sit at a different table instead.

I looked to see whether Ren had noticed, but his attention remained fixed on Vera’s casket.

Eli, however, had. Eyes shut in a weary frown, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

The former seemed lost in thought, likely still reeling from the encounter earlier that morning.

“Why are Ren’s parents here?” I whispered to Sol.

“It was a public invitation.”

The very idea felt insulting to what a funeral ought to be, though my opinion meant little to people like the elites gathered here.

The emcee’s voice boomed through the speakers, welcoming Mr and Mrs Voss onto the stage to deliver the opening remarks.

Taking the stage, Vera’s parents thanked the attendees for coming and expressed their “heartfelt” sorrow over their daughter’s passing.

It was finely tuned.

No one in the audience mourned. There were no tears, no weeping—only the composed faces of people listening to what sounded more like an important speech than a eulogy.

I wondered what Haru would think if he were here. What this performance would mean to him.

Sol leaned over and said flatly, “In the end, no one really knew her.”

I scanned the seats, looking for Haru. “You know… I don’t really have the right to say I did.”

“We know her far better than any of these people,” he replied with a small shrug.

He was right. And yet, the idea of “knowing” someone still felt like dissecting their inner workings—reducing them to something observable, something analysable. I didn’t like thinking of people as studyable.

I nodded absently. “Maybe… we know her a little better.”

Looking back at Sol, I added, “Just a little.”

He leaned back in his seat, folding his arms. “If it were my funeral, I’d have chefs chopping onions in front of everyone.”

I lifted an eyebrow.

“Then everyone would be crying,” he chuckled to himself.

The corner of my mouth twitched upward, just slightly. I looked away before Sol could notice.

Probably shouldn’t have found that morbidity amusing.

This time, I spotted him. Haru was making a beeline for the washroom.

Rising from my seat, I excused myself. I wanted to talk to him—though part of me simply wanted an excuse to leave the hall.

“And to the person who murdered my dear Vera… I forgive you. Because everyone deserves forgiveness.”

Mr Voss’s words sounded less like grief and more like a carefully rehearsed public statement.

Some things can’t be forgiven away with a speech.

By the time I reached the washroom, Haru was already on his way out. I had half a mind to bump into him deliberately—to manufacture some excuse for us to speak—but the glare he shot me made me reconsider immediately.

I decided to wash my hands, trying to make the impromptu trip to the washroom seem intentional, even if only to myself.

Looks like I’d have to catch Haru on his way out after the funeral instead.

A familiar figure turned the corner into the washroom. Hands tucked into his pockets, Eli strolled in casually.

I paid him no mind, though secretly, I hoped he had come because of me.

Flipping on the tap, he washed his hands beside me.

“You seem troubled,” Eli said, smoothing back his hair.

Was I?

Unsure how to answer, I blurted out the first thought that came to mind.

“People have been telling me a lot of things these past few days.”

I paused, trying to find the right words. The silence between us filled with the steady rush of water from the tap Eli had left running.

“I’m worried that when I forget them…” I trailed off. “Then maybe they just didn’t matter enough for me to remember.”

Eli turned off the tap. Watching the last droplets of water strike the ceramic sink, I let out a quiet sigh.

“And everything that happened with them…” I murmured. “Will they still look back on it fondly?”

Eli dried his hands and gestured for us to head back out.

“Words are easy to forget. In fact, I can’t even remember what you told me that night.”

The pauses between his sentences made it sound as though he were choosing each word carefully.

He continued walking. “But no matter how much or how little you said, what I felt in that moment was something I cannot forget.”

Then he turned to me, giving me the most sorrowful smile I had ever seen.

“So I associate that feeling with you.”

As we walked, I watched Eli’s back. He didn’t turn around. I wondered how many people had ever made him feel something he couldn’t forget.

The funeral continued around us, it hadn’t even noticed we were gone.

Sol glanced up when we returned. He didn’t ask where we’d been. Instead, he pulled out my chair with one hand and slid a glass of water toward me with the other.

“—the fact that they came all this way for you means they care about you,” he was saying to Ren, picking up a conversation I’d missed the start of.

Ren sat silently, staring at the table. For a moment, I feared Sol’s words had been too harsh on him.

“What did you say?” I asked, taking a sip from the glass of water Sol had placed in front of me.

“Just the truth he was afraid to see.”

Mr Voss was no longer on the stage, having been replaced by a procession of guests offering hollow words.

Our table remained unusually quiet. Around us, the other tables drank, laughed, and chatted amongst themselves.

The casket sat alone on the stage.

There was something painful about the sight of it. I could never look at it for long before turning away.

A commotion near the exit caught my attention. A small crowd had begun to gather there, though it didn’t look like anyone was actually leaving.

Rising from his seat, Sol remarked, “Let’s go check it out.”

After coaxing Eli and Ren to come along as well, he led us toward the disturbance. He seemed almost excited to finally have something to do.

We arrived to find Mr Voss standing before Haru, one hand extended toward him.

Through a polished smile, he said, “You’re Sora’s brother. I want you to know that we don’t hold any ill will. This tragedy has touched all of us equally.”

Haru glared at him but made no move to take the offered hand.

Without missing a beat, Mr Voss withdrew it. “Emotions are running high right now,” he said smugly. “I understand.”

His wife joined him at his side.

“Our Vera was just a child. And some girl—some cruel girl—decided her life was worth nothing.” She dabbed delicately at her eyes with a handkerchief.

Mr Voss inclined his head. “Taking a life is never justified. No matter the circumstances. No matter the provocation.”

Looking directly at the silver-eyed boy, Mrs Voss softened her voice. “We don’t blame you for what your sister did. You’re not responsible for her actions.”

“Would you have cared if it were some other child who died, and not Vera?” a familiar voice asked.

I hadn’t noticed Sol had inched his way to the front of the crowd.

In the silence that followed, Mrs Voss’s expression faltered. Mr Voss remained stoic, though a flicker of confusion crossed his face. Perhaps they hadn’t expected someone from the crowd to speak up.

Haru blinked slowly. Then, just as he had at the previous funerals, he bowed and apologised.

“I’m sorry for what happened.”

The crowd surged forward. It was almost impressive how quickly they became animals. One moment, polite guests. The next, a pack with Sol at the centre.

Then again, there was little point arguing with people who had already decided they were right.

The two police officers beside me quickly moved to contain the commotion.

Amid the chaos, Haru slipped away through the exit.

Sol was scowling at the crowd.

“I’m going after Haru,” I muttered, brushing past him.

“Wha—what? We don’t have to.” He turned his head to hear me better.

Then he looked at me from the corner of his eye.

“Let’s go,” he said resignedly.

Bursting through the exit, we were greeted by a few waiters clearing away the last of the glasses, the setting sun casting long shadows across the courtyard.

The shuffle of their feet and the quiet clink of glass made for a surprisingly calming scene.

It was relaxed.

It felt more like a funeral than the funeral itself.

Haru was already gone.

“Now what?” Sol lamented. “I don’t want to go back.”

Likewise.

“Let’s just... walk around for a bit.”