A week had passed. Watari didn’t fight. He didn’t argue. He didn’t push back.
For the st few days, he just… lived.
He fell back into the rhythm of the orphanage. Helping the kids, reading them stories at night, making sure they ate. It felt normal—almost too normal. But every night, he would pass by Mary’s door, linger for a moment, and then keep walking. Every night, he would tell himself, Tomorrow.
Tomorrow, she’ll be healed.
Tomorrow, Chizuru will do what she said.
But he knew—deep down—tomorrow was never coming.
And Chizuru knew that, too.
She never left. She never rushed. She was enjoying this. She would watch Watari. Watch his restraint. Watch his patience.
And then—she decided to test it.
It started with little comments. Mocking.
“You really are a good dog, aren’t you?”
“Such a loyal little thing.”
“It must eat away at you, knowing you’re trapped. That no matter how strong you are… you’re useless here.”
Watari ignored it. He had to.
But then, on the twelfth night, she took it further.
Mary was asleep—her breath weak, body still, her time running short. And Chizuru hovered over her, a quiet hum in her throat as she studied the dying woman.
“Hmmm,” she mused, pressing a hand to Mary’s forehead. “You don’t have much longer, do you?”
She gnced over her shoulder at Watari, a sick little smirk tugging at her lips.
“You’re still holding on, though. Are you waiting for something? Oh—are you waiting for him?”
Watari’s fists tightened. His breath slowed.
Chizuru just giggled.
“Oh, Mary, you poor thing. What if he’s just waiting for you to die so he can be free?”
That’s when it happened.
Mary’s eyes fluttered open. Her fingers twitched.
Then—with every ounce of strength she had left—she ripped the bracelet from Chizuru’s wrist.
The cube shattered against the floor.
A cold silence crashed into the room.
Chizuru froze.
Watari’s breath caught.
CRACK.
The cube hit the floor, splitting into jagged shards. The sound echoed like a death knell.
For a moment, no one moved.
No one breathed.
Then—Chizuru’s smile twitched.
Mary exhaled softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “That should do it.”
Chizuru’s face darkened. “…What have you done?”
Mary’s fingers, weak and frail, curled around Watari’s wrist. She smiled. “You’re free now,” she whispered. “So finish this.”
Watari didn’t hesitate.
A sharp chop to the back of Chizuru’s neck. She crumpled. Out cold before she even hit the ground. And then—it was just him and Mary.
Watari kneeled beside her, gripping her hand. It was so small in his.
“Mary—”
“Don’t,” she interrupted gently. “It’s alright.”
Her voice was so soft. So accepting. But Watari—he wasn’t accepting it. His grip tightened, his shoulders trembling.
“I was supposed to be stronger,” he whispered. “I told myself I’d never let this happen again.”
Mary smiled. “You always were stubborn, weren’t you?”
Watari sucked in a breath. He thought about Kaito. Thought about the promise he made to himself after the explosion. No more deaths. No more losses.
And yet—here he was. Losing another.
His throat felt tight. His chest, heavy. “I could’ve done more,” he whispered.
Mary shook her head. “You’ve already done more than enough.”
She took a slow, deep breath—her st reserves of strength pulling together.
“I heard what you told me the other day,” she murmured. “About everything you’ve been doing.”
She smiled. “It sounds like you finally did it.”
Watari frowned, confused. “Did what?”
Her fingers squeezed his.
“You helped people, Watari.”
A lump formed in his throat.
“When you first came here,” she continued, voice light with nostalgia, “you told me you wanted to help people. That you wanted to be strong enough to protect the other kids here. Even though at that time you were just a kid yourself.”
Her eyelids were so heavy now. “And now look at you,” she whispered. “You did exactly what you always said you would.”
Watari’s breath shook. “But I didn’t save you. I…I couldn’t help you.”
Mary’s smile didn’t falter. “A true hero can’t save everyone.”
Her voice grew even softer.
“They can only save the ones they’re able to save.”
Watari gritted his teeth. “That’s not enough.”
“It has to be.”
A weak cough. A deep inhale.
“But, you never aspired to be a hero. You were a born warrior,” she continued, “and a warrior’s job… isn’t to save people.”
She lifted her hand—barely—and pressed it to his chest.
“It’s to protect the people who hold other people dear.”
Mary’s hand slipped from his chest. Her body went still. The room was too quiet.
Watari didn’t move. He didn’t breathe.
He just sat there, staring. His fingers trembled against Mary’s lifeless hand. His chest felt hollow, like something had been ripped out of him.
She’s gone.
The words didn’t fully register. Not at first.
Then—his shoulders dropped. His head hung low. And before he could stop himself—
A sound tore from his throat.
Not a whisper.
Not a thank you.
A wail.
A raw, broken sound—somewhere between a sob and a scream.
His breath hitched. His body shook. He gritted his teeth so hard, his jaw felt like it would snap. But no amount of restraint could stop the flood.
Tears fell. Unstoppable.
And then—he colpsed.
Right there, beside her. His hands clenched into fists against the sheets. His forehead pressed against the mattress.
And he cried.
Hard.
This wasn’t like Kaito.
Kaito had been a storm. A violent, shocking explosion that left him lost in the wreckage.
But this… this was slow. This was suffocating.
Like being dragged under the tide. Like watching something slip from his grasp in agonizing slow motion, knowing he couldn’t reach far enough.
Knowing he had been right there—but it still hadn’t been enough.
The door creaked.
Soft footsteps.
A small gasp.
And then—small arms wrapped around him.
One. Two. Three.
The kids.
They had been watching. Listening.
They didn’t say anything. They just held him. Some of them cried with him. Others just clung to his arms, his shoulders, as if grounding him.
The other caretakers arrived next. One of them—Anne—knelt beside him, pressing a hand against his back.
“She loved you so much, you know.”
Watari squeezed his eyes shut.
“I know.”
His voice cracked. His body felt heavy. His breath—ragged.
And yet—through the grief, through the sorrow, through the weight of it all—he felt the warmth of the kids around him. Felt their presence. Their grief, but also their comfort.
They weren’t alone in this.
None of them were.
And for the first time in a long time—
Watari let himself break.
But then—
A small tug on his sleeve.
A quiet, hesitant voice.
“Big bro…?”
Watari sniffed, barely able to lift his head. He turned slightly, vision blurred, breath uneven.
The youngest kid—the same one who had clung to his arm earlier, the same one who had told him to be safe—stood there, wide-eyed, voice trembling.
“Is it true?”
Watari blinked, sluggish, exhausted.
“Huh?”
The kid fidgeted, gripping his own sleeves, voice barely above a whisper.
“That you’re leaving? That you’re going to New York? To America?”
The words hit.
Something in Watari’s gut twisted.
Because for the st week, he had been trapped in this—this grief, this guilt, this helplessness.
But now—
Now he remembered.
He had somewhere to be.
There were still people waiting for him.
Still a battle ahead.
Still a mission only he could finish.
His hands shook as he wiped at his face, his breath still uneven.
Then—slowly, weakly, but with certainty—he nodded.
“Yeah.”
The kid’s face fell.
“Will you come back?”
Watari’s throat tightened.
He swallowed hard.
Then—he forced a small, broken smile.
“You guys know I always come back.”
The kid’s lip wobbled—but after a moment, he nodded.
And then—he hugged Watari.
A moment ter, the rest of the kids followed.
Holding onto him. Clinging.
As if they could keep him from slipping away.
As if they were silently pleading— “Please, come back.”
Watari closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the little one’s.
“I promise.”
With that, he stood up and walked toward the phone.
CUT TO BLACK.
