The Yakuza's flower

Healing days part 2

Kozue's POV

I visited her almost every day.

I was there when she woke up.

I was there when she was much calmer now. No more screaming. No more violent outbursts.

But....

she acted like nothing had happened.

She smiled when she saw me and Asked how Baki was doing.

Like if Everything normal?

Like she wasn't lying in a hospital bed.
Like if she hadn't almost died.
Like if the man that hurt her didn't exist.

At first, I went along with it. I laughed at her dumb jokes. Painted her nails like we always did. Brought her favorite snacks she barely touched.

But it wasn't real.

She wasn't real... at least to me.

It was like she'd locked everything away—shoved it deep into some place inside her chest and thrown away the key. Every time I tried to talk about the fight, the fall, him—she would smile, change the subject, ask about something small and meaningless.

And I didn't know what to do.

One afternoon, I sat beside her bed, watching her stare blankly out the window. Her eyes didn't move. She looked like she was somewhere far away.

"Ume..." I said softly, hesitant. "You don't have to pretend with me."

She didn't answer.

I reached out and took her hand. "You can talk to me, you know."

For a moment, I thought she might.
Her fingers twitched slightly in mine. Her lips parted.

But then she just smiled.

"I'm okay, Kozue."

And I didn't know if she was trying to convince me—or herself.

I sighed and squeezed her hand tighter. "Ume... "

Her smile wavered. Just a little. Then it cracked completely.

Tears spilled over, sudden and silent. And before I could say anything else, she collapsed into me, sobbing.

I held her tightly, rubbing her back, trying not to cry with her.

Her grandmother had told me what happened to her when she was younger. Things I could barely believe. Things I didn't want to believe.

And now, feeling her break apart in my arms, I finally understood how much she'd been holding in all these years.

We stayed like that for a long time, until her sobs quieted and her body stopped shaking.

Then—
A knock at the door.

A woman stepped in, dressed in a traditional kimono, holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers.

"Miss Ume," she said gently. "I've brought these for you. I hope they are to your liking."

Ume lifted her head. Blinked.

Recognition flickered in her eyes.

It was one of the maids from Hanayama's home.

Ume sat up straight so fast I thought she'd rip her stitches. "Hanayama? Where is he? Is he here? Please—I need to see him."

Her voice cracked with urgency.

The maid's expression softened. "I'm sorry. Mr. Hanayama is away on business."

Ume froze. Just for a second.
Then she nodded and forced a smile, accepting the flowers with both hands like they were made of glass.

"Tell him... thank you," she said.

But her eyes were already dimming again.

—

Weeks Later

Dr. Rize had finally approved male visitors.

Baki came with me this time, and I walked into her room first.

"Hey," I said.

She looked up from her book. "Hey."

"Can Baki come in?"

She blinked. "Hah—yeah? Why would you even ask?"

I laughed and motioned to the door.

Baki stepped in, grinning. "Ume, you're not gonna throw something at me, right?"

She gave a soft chuckle. "No, Not this time."

He sat beside her bed, arms crossed. "How are you holding up, little fighter?"

"I'm great."

And this time—I believed her.
Not because she said it. But because she meant it.

Something in her posture had changed. Her eyes were clearer. Her laugh more real.

People started coming more after that. The room filled with warmth. Laughter. Life.

And it felt like we were getting her back.

But not him.

Not Hanayama.

I hadn't seen him since the incident.

And neither had she.

⸻

Ume's POV

Discharge day!

I was ready.

Ready to breathe air that didn't taste like antiseptic.
Ready to sleep without the hum of machines.
Ready to stop pretending I was okay.

Ready to see him.

The second I got in the car, I pulled out my phone. My fingers moved without thinking.

Kaoru <3
Hey. I'm out. Can I see you?

No response.

I stared at the screen, waiting for that little bubble to appear.
Five minutes.
Ten.

Nothing.

I called.

It didn't even ring.

Just a flat, robotic voice:
"This number is no longer in service."

My stomach flipped.

No. That couldn't be right.

I checked the number.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.

Still the same.

My palms were slick. My chest felt tight, like something invisible was pressing down on it.

Maybe he changed his number.
Maybe his phone broke.
Maybe it died.
Maybe—

But I knew.
I knew.

That cold, sinking feeling rooted in the pit of my bones told me everything.

Something was wrong.

I turned to the window, watching the city smear past in streaks of gray and neon.

I had survived hell.
Fought my way back from the edge of something I didn't think I'd come back from.

And the one person I wanted to see at the end of it all—

Was gone.

No goodbye.
No message.
Just silence.

And a dead line.

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