Chapter 1: Akita (1)

Akita (1)

I swept my gaze across the room, confirming that every last task had been completed. The once-beautiful living room now stood hollow, its former splendor faded into a husk of memory. I had told myself there was nothing left to feel nostalgic for—yet now, standing at the threshold of farewell, a quiet ache bloomed in my chest once more.

I drew in a deep breath, then exhaled it slowly. Ah… I had nearly forgotten. I slipped the wedding ring from my finger and laid it gently on the table, placing it beside the documents and the envelope.

I turned, stepped out of the room, closed the door behind me, and tossed the key into the mailbox. It was done. And yet, no wave of relief came. Only a murky residue, thick and unmoving, remained in my chest.

I had uncovered Fuzuki’s affair about a month ago—but perhaps, deep down, I’d sensed it even earlier. She had started saying work kept her busy, avoided spending evenings with me, came home later and later—and the moment she walked through the door, she’d head straight for the shower. The kind of signs you see all the time in online forums. Had I simply chosen to ignore what was right in front of me, brushing it off with instinctual denial?

In the end, I checked Fuzuki’s phone. She had stumbled home drunk that night and passed out. I used her fingerprint to unlock the screen, and my suspicions were confirmed.

The other man was an old senior from the school where she works—a person who had stepped in to help her many times when she was struggling.

Their messages were plentiful. From what I gathered, about three months ago—two months before I looked at her phone—their affair had begun. After resolving something significant together, they had both gotten drunk, emotions spiraled, and the boundary between them dissolved.

Fuzuki had hesitated at first. But they spent more time together than she did with me, and gradually, their bond deepened. They didn’t just trade racy messages. They exchanged photos from their dates—and eventually, even videos.

“You’re really such a naughty boy… um…”

I heard her speak in a syrupy, indulgent tone she had never once used with me. She coaxed him for more, flashing her ringed hand with calculated care, flaunting it like a twisted charm. Revulsion welled up. I yanked the earbuds from my ears. Now wasn’t the time to vomit—but I knew I couldn’t listen a second longer.

At first, I was furious. But the anger quickly turned inward. What right did I have to feel betrayed? Had she always seen me as a burden—something small and tiresome she had to care for? Was my idea of love just a performance of righteousness, like a teacher scolding a child? A former delinquent working in a factory, who couldn’t even cover the rent?

Maybe she had never loved me at all. Once that thought took root, I couldn’t tear it out. Even now, when I see her smiling in my dreams, I no longer believe that smile was ever meant for me.

The photos of them looked far too fitting. The man wasn’t handsome, but he exuded a kind of poised maturity. He wore a tailored suit that hugged his frame, and they dined in what looked like a high-end restaurant, admired the city lights from a rooftop observatory. They looked more like lovers than Fuzuki and I ever had, even in our early days.

——Marry me, okay?

——Yeah, yeah, yeah.

The words struck me like a blow, stealing the air from my lungs. I felt something inside me snap.

So that’s how it is—I was never the one who could make Fuzuki happy.

From that moment, my resolve was set. I would leave. It breaks my heart to admit it, but I’m not the one who can bring her joy. I’ve clung to Fuzuki for five long years. That’s enough.

I found a place I could afford, sold or gave away my things—most of them tethered to memories we’d shared. Last night, while she lay drunk and sleeping, I took her phone one final time and completed the last steps. With everything in place, I called in to work and took the next day off. I disposed of my old phone, moved into my new apartment, and spent nearly all of the savings I had scraped together over the years. They were mine alone. Every yen left over from her contributions to our shared expenses—I left untouched.

My new place is a cramped one-room unit, old and worn. The walls are thin—I can hear the neighbors. The bathroom is a tiny unit-type. The only upside is that there’s no one living on one side. On the other, it sounds like a family of four.

And so, two days later, as I was preparing dinner—just about to sit down and eat—the doorbell rang.

I opened the door, and there she was—Fuzuki, standing there, fury blazing in her eyes.