𝐖𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 | 𝐓𝐥𝐨𝐊

XX

A week had passed since the fight between Mako and Bolin. Following his sister's advice, Mako had kept his distance during that time, and Bolin now frequented Sora's apartment more often.

But despite being advised to keep his distance, Mako still tried desperately to talk to his brother. He used the fact that they were on the same team to try to start conversations with Bolin, which resulted in several failed attempts—each met only with his brother's silence or harsh words and insults. 

And although Bolin complained to his older sister over dinner about how annoying Mako was being, Sora knew that the distance between them weighed even more heavily on him. Unlike the rocky relationship between her and Mako, this was the first time the brothers had fought seriously. And Bolin, however much he tried to hide it, was still missing his older brother beneath all the resentment and pain of having his heart broken.

And although she disliked seeing her younger brother walking around her apartment depressed whenever he was free after training, she knew that this was something she couldn't fix. She had done what she could, and now all that remained was for Mako to do something he never did—face the consequences of his actions.

Sighing, Sora dismissed those thoughts and refocused on the other matter she had to resolve.

There she was, after so long.

She had arrived some time ago, but she stood beside her motorcycle for several minutes, contemplating what lay before her, deciding whether or not to continue. Because there, standing in front of her, was none other than the Sato Mansion in all its glory.

The Sato Mansion was exactly as Sora remembered it: tall iron gates, immaculate stone, glass, and metal polished to an almost sterile shine. It seemed even more beautiful now, with a layer of snow covering every corner of the enormous estate. Wealth—carefully selected and aggressively protected. That was the image the mansion presented to anyone who looked at it from the outside.

Moving away from her motorcycle, she heard the crunch of snow beneath her heavy boots as she began walking toward the entrance. Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, her hands tucked into her coat pockets, she took a deep breath. For a moment, that familiar feeling of insecurity resurfaced—something she had locked away for years behind the polished exterior she had carefully cultivated over time.

With trembling hands, she raised them to her hair, adjusting the white strands for the tenth time that day—even though they were already more than tidy. Next, she adjusted the green scarf around her neck, loosening it slightly when it suddenly felt suffocating. She straightened her coat, dragging her hands firmly across the fabric, as if trying to brush away any remaining dirt or snow.

Sora could feel a lump forming in her throat, her heart pounding behind her ears, and the trembling in her hands only worsened.

Where had she put her pack of cigarettes?

Her hands frantically searched her coat pockets, then her pants pockets, when she didn't feel the familiar bulge of the small box that usually stayed there. When she failed to find it, she let out a soft, frustrated, "Fuck."

Closing her eyes, she tried to regulate her breathing and steady her heartbeat. The last thing she wanted was to have a panic attack right there on the steps of the Sato Mansion. Opening her eyes again, she looked down at her still-trembling hands and squeezed them together, trying to force them to stop shaking.

Compose yourself, Takashi.

Being there wasn't about the past. It wasn't about Asami. And it wasn't about a younger version of herself standing at those same gates, her hand trembling and her hope painfully visible.