𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐥𝐢𝐧 || 𝚳𝐢𝐲𝐮𝐤𝐢 𝚱.

Chapter 1

It was already a month since our heated argument, I've been busy and he stopped going into my clinic for his general check up, I cant help but think about how worried I was and how I've been looking out for him.

"It's already been 3 years since then." The autumn wind curled around the headstones of the cemetery, carrying with it the dying colors of the season. Shiloh stood before a grave, her heart heavy with unspoken thoughts. She placed a single white daisy on the cold, polished headstone, wishing in vain that it could somehow bridge the chasm between life and loss. Today marked the third anniversary of his father's passing, and every year, the sadness pulsed anew in her chest, a reminder of the fragility of existence.

Kazuya's life had taken an unexpected turn after the funeral; she could remember the long, winding path they had walked together—his father's death had left a void in his life, one that Shiloh and the others had tried to fill in those tumultuous months that followed. The sharpness of her memories was vivid—how she had held him during sleepless nights, his quiet sobs breaking in the stillness of his room, the unceasing burden he bore as a catcher, both in the game and in life.

Shiloh had seen the seriousness beneath the bravado. He was determined, calculated, yet vulnerable. She cherished that side of him, the moments when he would let his guard down. She had devoted herself to ensuring Miyuki stayed healthy—physically, and mentally—as he juggled the weight of expectations, the burden of grief, and the pressures of fame that came with being a central figure in his career in the baseball field.

But somewhere along the line, as Shiloh stood in reflective silence, she could feel that the warmth of their companionship had begun to cool. In the wake of his father's death, a transformation took place. Miyuki had started gravitating towards the bright lights of nightclubs, drowning his sorrows in a whirlpool of fame and distractions, flirting with scandal and fleeting encounters. His laughter echoed hollowly through those nights, starkly contrasting with the weight of grief that Shiloh sensed behind his carefree facade.

As the years rolled on, the boy she had helped sustain began to drift. His relationships with his teammates shifted, morphing into an uncomfortable balance of admiration and distance. Miyuki's cocky remarks, once playful jabs meant to motivate, turned bitterly sharp, his words sometimes cutting deeper than necessary. He was revered for his talent, yet his heart seemed to remain locked away, shielded by arrogance and an almost reckless pursuit of validation that left Shiloh aching.

The last time they spoke, he had been so caught up in his whirlwind life that he barely acknowledged her efforts to pull him back. He was on the cusp of stardom, with magazine covers showcasing a smile that felt more like a mask. Each notch in his growing fame came with a burden, one that he tried to ignore. Shiloh could see it—the way he flinched when someone brought up his father, how his eyes clouded with unmistakable emotion when he stared into the distance, yet he would just laugh it off, spinning a tale of his nightlife, disconnected from the truth she knew.

Today, as she knelt by the grave, Shiloh couldn't help thinking of how distant they'd become. The carefree Miyuki, the one she had known who tried to navigate the social intricacies of the team while still dealing with his pain, had vanished, peeling away layer by layer into a persona that glistened but lacked substance. She had become a casualty of his ambition, the one he once leaned on becoming far too familiar with heartbreak herself.

She could feel so much unsaid, like a tidal wave behind her lips, a desperate effort to reconnect. Miyuki's choices haunted her—nights spent away from the field, the glitz blinding him, leaving a growing gulf that felt insurmountable. She had hoped he'd rise above it all, channeling his grief into his game, thriving not just as a player but emerging stronger as a person.