Chapter 28: What Remains Untouched || Furerarenai Mono

  Shunsuke’s apartment, Roppongi → October 31st, 2022

  “Some losses do not bleed. They simply stop answering when called.”

  After breakfast, the apartment settled into a quiet, familiar hum.

  Miyu stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, the soft splash of water and the muted clink of porcelain filling the kitchen. In the living room, Yuki was practically vibrating with anticipation, her backpack already strapped on as she waited for her promised ride.

  Shunsuke emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later.

  He had traded his loungewear for a crisp, tailored suit — chosen with deliberate care. He didn’t want to disappoint Yuki’s image of her cool Papa.

  He came up behind Miyu without a word, his presence a warm weight as he slipped his arms around her waist. She leaned into him instinctively. He pressed a lingering kiss to her temple.

  “See you later, Miyu,” he murmured, breath warm against her skin. “I’ll drop her off at school, pick up my new prescription, and then I need to stop by Club Crystal for a few hours.”

  Miyu turned in his arms, one eyebrow lifting.

  “Club Crystal, hmm? Should I be worried about all those women fawning over the Midnight Prince?”

  Shunsuke’s ears flushed pink.

  “I— it’s just paperwork,” he said quickly. “Manager stuff.”

  She laughed softly and kissed his jaw.

  “I know. But you do look very handsome right now. I can’t blame them for trying.”

  “I’m taken,” he said, firm despite the color still burning in his ears, pulling her closer.

  “Completely.”

  Reluctantly, he let go.

  Yuki was already by the door, staring at him with wide eyes. For a heartbeat, she didn’t say anything at all — and then her face split into a grin so bright it bordered on dangerous.

  “You look SO cool, Papa!” she squealed, bouncing on her toes. “All my friends are going to be SO jealous!”

  His ears warmed again as he adjusted his cufflinks, a shy smile tugging at his mouth.

  “I hope that’s a good thing.”

  “The best thing!” she declared, grabbing his sleeve and tugging him toward the door.

  “Then let us go, Yuki-chan,” he said, his voice slipping into that softer register meant only for her.

  They had barely taken two steps when a sharp, indignant rustle rose from the corner of the living room.

  By the floor-to-ceiling windows sat Kuro’s blanket fortress — an elaborate sprawl of cashmere and fleece, perfectly positioned for morning surveillance of the Tokyo skyline.

  Shunsuke looked over just in time to see a small masked face emerge from the folds, one ear twitching in rhythmic irritation.

  “You stay here and look after Miyu, Your Royal Fluffiness,” Shunsuke said, amusement threading his voice.

  Kuro answered with a long, high-pitched chirp that sounded unmistakably like betrayal.

  It wasn’t that he disliked being alone with Miyu — she was, after all, his most reliable source of unauthorized treats — but this was clearly a matter of principle. A proper farewell had been neglected.

  From the kitchen, Miyu laughed.

  “Don’t worry, Kuro. I’ll make sure you get extra treats while they’re gone.”

  The raccoon’s ear perked up instantly. Betrayal forgotten.

  Shunsuke sighed.

  “You’re spoiling him.”

  “Someone has to,” she called back.

  Yuki crouched to wave enthusiastically.

  “Bye-bye, Kuro! Be good for Mama!”

  Kuro turned his back on them with theatrical dignity, tail flicking once in dismissal.

  “He’s so dramatic,” Yuki whispered as they headed for the door.

  Shunsuke’s lips twitched.

  “He learned it from Ryuichi.”

  He gave the raccoon a final, respectful nod before ushering Yuki toward the elevator.

  When did this become my life?

  Saying goodbye to a judgmental raccoon before taking my daughter to school.

  My daughter.

  The words still felt new. Fragile. Like something he might wake up from.

  But Yuki’s small hand slipped into his, warm and trusting, and he let himself believe it.

  The quiet peace of the penthouse fell away behind them.

  It was time to face the world.

  Shunsuke and Yuki stepped into the elevator, the quiet hum of the descent the only sound as they dropped toward the private garage.

  The school administration already had the paperwork on file; Miyu had been clear that she was Yuki’s mother, not her sister, and she had officially registered Shunsuke as a primary guardian. He was one of the few people authorized to handle the school runs—a responsibility he took more seriously than almost any board meeting.

  As the elevator doors slid open, the cool, scent-neutral air of the garage greeted them. They walked toward his designated spots, where two vehicles sat under the glow of the LED overheads. Both were finished in a deep, shimmering Midnight Blue that looked almost black in the shadows.

  One was the Lexus RX—the practical, luxury SUV Yuki was used to. The other was the Lexus LC500, a sleek, low-profile grand touring coupe with aggressive lines and a carbon-fiber roof.

  “Which one are we taking, Papa?” Yuki asked, her voice bouncing off the concrete walls. She stared at the coupe; she had seen it many times, but she had never actually been inside it.

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  Shunsuke pulled the key fob from his pocket, and the LC500 chirped in greeting, its flush door handles popping out automatically. He pointed a finger at the low-slung masterpiece.

  “This one,” he said softly, his eyes glinting with a bit of shared mischief.

  Something mischievous glinted in his eyes — a secret shared only between them.

  Shunsuke leaned into the low cabin, carefully helping Yuki secure her seatbelt and ensuring the strap was comfortable over her shoulder. He closed her door with a solid, expensive thud and walked around to the driver’s side. As he settled into the leather seat and pressed the start button, the engine came to life—a deep, refined hum that vibrated through the chassis before settling into a silent idle.

  He buckled his own belt and navigated the sleek coupe out of the garage. A soft, melodic chime echoed from the dashboard as the car’s interface synced with his iPhone.

  His eyes flickered to the screen for a split second. He needed to call Yoshida, but that could wait until Yuki was safely inside her classroom. His mind drifted to the storm waiting for him online. Three days ago, a candid photo of the three of them—him, Miyu, and Yuki—had been leaked. It hadn’t been a professional shot; it was a paparazzi-style photo taken in secrecy, capturing a private moment that was now public property.

  The Midnight Prince and “Cherry blossom Princess” fanbases were currently at war, fueled by speculation and old rivalries. Shunsuke had promised a formal statement video to settle the chaos, but the onset of the cluster headaches had paralyzed his schedule. He still didn’t feel at his best, but as he glanced at Yuki’s happy face, he knew he couldn’t delay it any longer. He had to take control of the narrative before someone else did.

  The drive was tranquil, the silence in the cabin punctuated only by Yuki’s favorite music playing softly in the background. Yuki remained glued to the window, watching the city blur past in a midnight-blue streak.

  When they reached the school, Shunsuke pulled into the parking lot with practiced precision. He stepped out and walked around to the passenger side, opening the door for Yuki with the courtly grace he always afforded his “little princess.” Yuki hopped out, her small hand immediately seeking his as they walked together toward the school gate.

  Yuki was a beam of pure sunlight, her eyes sparkling as she spotted her best friend, Sayuri, near the entrance. Shunsuke felt the weight of a dozen gazes—mostly mothers—lingering on him. He tried his best to maintain a neutral “Presidential” expression, but he couldn’t stop the tell-tale pink flush from creeping onto his ears.

  He had never grown used to being the center of attention. At Todai, his unofficial fan club was a constant source of quiet dread; alongside Ryuichi, he was considered the most desirable man on campus, yet he had always felt like an outsider to his own fame.

  Reaching the gate, Shunsuke knelt down to Yuki’s level, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. “I’ll be the one to pick you up this afternoon,” he promised softly. “Have a wonderful day, Yuki-chan.”

  Yuki beamed, throwing her arms around him for a quick, fierce hug. “I will! Thank you, Papa!”

  She turned and ran toward Sayuri, the two of them disappearing into the school building in a flurry of giggles. Shunsuke stood slowly, a lingering smile on his face, before turning back toward the Lexus to face the rest of his day.

  Shunsuke sat in the silence of the LC500, the high-end leather interior acting as a temporary sanctuary from the prying eyes of the school run. He pulled up his navigation system, searching for the nearest pharmacy that could handle high-intensity neurological prescriptions.

  He reached into the glove box and pulled out the crumpled prescription from the Keio ER. The ink felt like a heavy reminder of his vulnerability. He knew he was playing a dangerous game with time—if he didn’t get these medications into his system soon, another “attack” was inevitable. And he was right: his pride wouldn’t survive another trip to the Keio ER.

  A weary sigh escaped him as he imagined the fallout at the University of Tokyo. The rivalry between Todai and Keio was legendary, and the image of Todai’s Student Council President “surrendering” to the enemy’s medical grounds was a joke that would write itself.

  He could already hear Ryuichi’s voice, dry and amused. Ryuichi would be the first to offer a hand if Shunsuke were truly falling, but once he was certain the danger had passed, he would be absolutely ruthless with the teasing. It was their love language—intellectual sparring and well-timed ego-bruising.

  Shunsuke tapped the call button on his steering wheel. The line rang twice before the car’s speakers filled with a crisp, neutral voice.

  “Ishihara. What can I do for you?” Yoshida sounded exactly as he always did—efficient, professional, and entirely focused on the brand.

  “I’m calling to check in,” Shunsuke said, navigating the Lexus through the morning traffic. “I’ve been unreachable for the last forty-eight hours. There was a medical emergency, but I’ve been cleared.”

  “A medical emergency?” Yoshida’s tone didn’t shift, but there was a sharp alertness to it now. “I assume the press didn’t catch wind of it?”

  “Not yet. I’m handling it,” Shunsuke replied, his voice steady. “I’m calling about the statement video we discussed. I plan to record it today. Should I send the final cut over to you before I post it?”

  There was a long, calculated silence on the other end. Yoshida was likely weighing the risks of Shunsuke’s raw honesty versus a polished PR script.

  “I trust your judgment, Ishihara. You’ve never been one to damage your own image,” Yoshida finally said. “However, given the volatility of the fanbases right now, I would prefer to see it before it goes live.”

  Shunsuke had expected nothing less. It was Yoshida’s job to be the safety net. “Understood. I’ll have it to you later today. Thank you for keeping the lid on everything while I was down.”

  He heard a single, short, amused chuckle—the closest thing to a compliment Yoshida ever gave. “Just doing my job. Have a productive day, Ishihara.”

  “You too, Yoshida.”

  The call disconnected with a soft beep. Shunsuke pulled the Lexus into a small, discreet parking space in front of a high-end pharmacy. The “Midnight Prince” had done his duty; now the “Patient” had to secure his survival.

  Shunsuke stepped into the pharmacy, the atmosphere clinical and hushed. Soft instrumental music played in the background, meant to soothe the patients waiting in the upholstered seating area. He walked to the counter and presented the prescription from Keio.

  The pharmacist, a middle-aged man with sharp eyes behind wire-rimmed spectacles, scanned the document. “You are Kawamura Shunsuke? Born October 28th, 1998?”

  “Yes, I am,” Shunsuke replied, his tone polite but firm, maintaining his composure despite the public setting.

  “Is this your first time taking this specific medication?”

  Shunsuke nodded. “In this high-dosage injectable form, yes. However, I am familiar with the tablet form of Sumatriptan for my migraines.”

  The pharmacist made a note, then looked up. “Are you currently taking any other medications? I need to check for potential contraindications.”

  Shunsuke took a deep, steadying breath. He loathed disclosing his personal medical history in a semi-public space, but he knew the risks of drug interactions were too high to ignore.

  “Sertraline and Prazosin,” Shunsuke answered, his voice barely a whisper, carrying a slight, involuntary tremor.

  The pharmacist paused, his gaze softening with a flicker of understanding. “I assume the Prazosin is for an off-label use?”

  Shunsuke simply nodded, the implication of the drug—often used to treat trauma-induced night terrors—hanging heavily between them.

  “I understand. I will prepare your medication now. Please, take a seat in the waiting area.”

  Shunsuke sat in the waiting area, leaning his head back against the wall as he let the soft instrumental music wash over him. Almost instantly, his mind began to work. He hummed the melody under his breath, his brain instinctively mapping out every note, identifying the intervals and the harmonic structure of the piece.

  It was a reflex he’d had since he was a small child. He possessed a naturally analytical, musical mind; to those who truly knew him, it was no surprise that he was a gifted pianist. He had been born to create, to find order and beauty in sound.

  He closed his eyes, but as the mental “score” of the music became clearer, it brought a sharp, familiar ache to his chest. He quickly pushed away the memories of his time as a Music Composition major—the late nights in the practice rooms, the dreams of a life defined by staves and clefs rather than ledgers and bloodlines. That part of his life was a deep, unhealed wound. He had sacrificed his art to become the “heir” the family needed, and the cost of that trade still haunted him every time he heard a beautiful melody.

  The grand piano still occupied a place of honor in his apartment, a silent, black-lacquered ghost in the corner of the room. But in truth, Shunsuke hadn’t touched the keys since the day he was forced to abandon his major and trade his sheet music for the family business.

  Miyu had asked him once—only once—if he would play something for her. He had wanted to. He had wanted to share that piece of his soul with her more than anything. But as he had reached for the keys, his hands had begun to shake with a violent, uncontrollable tremor. The trauma of his “duty” had effectively severed the connection between his mind and his fingers.

  He hadn’t been able to press a single note.

  It was a cruel, poetic irony: a master of sound silenced by his own life. The inability to play for her had hurt more than any cluster headache ever could. Every time he looked at the instrument now, he didn’t see music; he saw the cage he lived in.

  The sharp, clear pronunciation of his name snapped Shunsuke out of his musical reverie. He stood up, his posture automatically straightening into the composed, dignified stance of a leader, and approached the counter.

  The pharmacist slid a small, sturdy box across the counter. “These injections are strictly for an acute cluster headache attack, Ishihara-san. Please do not use them as a preventative measure or for standard migraines. They are high-potency; only use them when the pain becomes unmanageable.”

  Shunsuke nodded, his eyes fixed on the box. It was a strange feeling, holding a lifeline that was also a reminder of his own fragility. “Understood. Thank you for the clarification.”

  He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out his slim leather wallet, and paid his share of the bill. With a polite nod of farewell, he exited the pharmacy and stepped back into the crisp morning air. The weight of the medication in his pocket felt like a safety net, allowing him to push the fear of another attack to the back of his mind.

  He climbed back into the Lexus, the engine purring to life. Now, the morning’s domesticity was officially over. He adjusted his rearview mirror, checking that his tie was perfect and his expression was impenetrable. It was time to head to Club Crystal and ensure that his empire was running exactly as it should.