Following

The shop owner's expression froze at first, then the corner of his mouth twitched violently. His brows immediately knotted together, as though he had swallowed a live fly and could neither spit it out nor swallow it down.

His gaze swept back and forth between the two of them several times, searching Kiryu Yume's face for even half a hint of a joke. But the other man's expression was far too composed—so composed that not even the corners of his eyes moved—making it impossible to tell whether he was serious or just talking nonsense.

"...Are you joking?"

The shop owner lowered his voice, with an awkward edge that was hard to tell whether it was probing or suppressed anger. A trace of impatience had already surfaced in his eyes.

Kiryu Yume's expression did not change. He even tilted his head slightly, with not the slightest hint of humor in his tone.

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

Sakura Airi stood half a step behind him, completely stiff as a wooden post. Her face burned from the base of her neck to the tips of her ears and all the way to her forehead; even her ears hurt from the heat.

Her eyes behind her black-framed glasses were wide round, her mouth opening and closing, then closing and opening again. Her mind was completely blank. What did he mean, she was his mother? She was clearly a year younger than him, okay? If anyone else heard that, how was she supposed to show her face again?

The shop owner stared at Kiryu Yume for several seconds without even blinking, but in the end, he got nothing out of him. The corners of his mouth pressed downward again and again before he finally waved his hand impatiently. He bent down, pulled a paper bag from beneath the counter, and dropped it heavily onto the countertop. The corner of the bag struck with a dull thud, making the camera inside tremble slightly.

"Your camera. Take it and go."

His tone had turned several degrees colder, and he did not even bother with a single polite honorific.

Kiryu Yume did not take it right away. He reached out, unzipped the paper bag, and took out the camera, turning it over in his fingers as he inspected it. The casing was intact, the screen had no cracks, and the lens had been cleaned.

He casually pressed the shutter button a few times to confirm it was working properly, then flipped through the compartments of the camera bag. The moment his fingertips reached the stitching at the bottom of the inner compartment, they touched a small hard object—flat, about the size of a fingernail, with edges that scraped slightly against his skin. It was hidden tightly in the deepest part of the fabric lining.

His fingers instinctively recoiled in that instant, as if stung by something, but he forcibly stopped himself. It was so fast that it was nearly impossible to notice, less than half a second. Then, as though he had touched nothing at all, he put the camera back into the paper bag, zipped it shut, and picked it up.

"Fine. Nothing wrong with it."

He turned and waved the bag in his hand at Sakura Airi, his tone as natural as if nothing had happened.

"Let's go."

Only then did Sakura Airi snap back to her senses. Flustered, she took the paper bag and hugged it to her chest, lowering her head as she followed closely behind him out of the repair shop. The wind chime on the door rang out with a crisp jingle, especially clear in the quiet air.

After they had walked more than ten steps from the shop, her pace gradually slowed. She finally could not resist glancing up at him. The red had not completely faded from her face, and the tips of her ears were still pale pink, but beneath her embarrassment lingered a trace of unease. Her voice was so quiet it was like she was doing something furtive, ready to scatter with the slightest gust of wind.

"K-Kiryu... why did you say that just now...?"

She bit her lower lip, lowering her voice even more until it nearly melted into the evening breeze.

"What mother... um... I, we clearly..."

She could not continue. The tips of her ears grew even hotter, and even the fingers clutching the paper bag curled slightly.

Kiryu Yume did not turn around, nor did he stop walking. His back still looked as carefree as ever.

"If he thought it was strange, he wouldn't dare ask too much. The more outrageous it was, the less he could figure us out."

Sakura Airi paused, blinking as though she half understood. She still thought that explanation was absurd beyond belief, but when she thought carefully about the shop owner's stifled yet reluctant-to-probe expression just now, it seemed he had really been right. She lowered her head and gently rubbed the edge of the paper bag with her fingers, wrinkling it with faint creases.

"Then... weren't you afraid he'd get angry...? What if he turned on us and refused to give us the camera...?"

There was lingering fear in her voice, along with a dependence she had not even realized herself.

"He wouldn't."

Kiryu Yume sounded certain. He did not explain why. He knew perfectly well that the shop owner had something to hide and would rather they take their things and leave as quickly as possible. He would not dare create more trouble.

Sakura Airi fell silent for a few seconds and did not ask further. Hugging the paper bag, she felt the outline of the camera through the material, and suddenly felt much more at ease. If she had come alone today, there was no telling how panicked she would have been. Lowering her head, she spoke softly, with sincere gratitude.

"Thank you... really... for going through all this trouble today..."

"Enough. Go back. Message me if anything happens. Don't try to tough it out alone."

Kiryu Yume stopped and looked back at her. The setting sun fell across his profile, softening his features a little, and his tone was gentler than usual.

Sakura Airi nodded and headed toward the dormitory with the paper bag in her arms. After taking a few steps, she could not help looking back at him again. Her lips moved as though she wanted to say something else, but in the end, she merely pressed them together slightly, quickened her pace, and disappeared around the corner of the street.

Kiryu Yume stood where he was until her retreating figure vanished completely. Only then did the carefree look on his face slowly fade. He turned and headed toward the convenience store, his steps a little heavier than before.

He bought a bottle of ice water. While waiting in line at the register, he ran through what he had felt in the camera bag's inner compartment—the location, the texture, the deliberate way it had been hidden deep in the fabric.

There was no way it had fallen in there by accident. Someone had deliberately placed it there, and the camera had been in the repair shop for two full days. There was only one person with enough time to tamper with it.

He twisted open the cap and took a drink. The icy water slid down his throat as he sat on a bench by the roadside, took out his phone, and pretended to scroll through the screen. Yet the corner of his eye remained fixed on the repair shop's rolling shutter.

Whatever the object hidden in the camera bag was, the shop owner had put it there for one purpose only: to know where the camera was at any time. And if he knew who had the camera, he could find that person. Sakura Airi's feeling that someone had been watching her was not her imagination. Someone really had been keeping an eye on her from the shadows.

About fifteen minutes later, the repair shop's rolling shutter came down with a rattling crash.

Kiryu Yume did not stand up right away. His gaze lifted slightly from his phone screen, while the corner of his eye remained fixed on the door.

The shop owner emerged from the side entrance, having changed into a dark gray jacket. His cap was pulled so low that it nearly covered half his face, making him look completely different from when he had worn his work uniform.

He stood at the door and glanced down at his phone, tapping the screen once with his thumb before slipping it back into his pocket. He looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to him, then quickly headed in the direction Sakura Airi had gone.

Kiryu Yume put away his phone and rose to his feet. He threw the bottle of ice water, still more than half full, into the trash can. His gaze grew colder as he followed at an unhurried pace, always maintaining a distance that was neither too close nor too far.