Chapter 26: You Already Knew the Answer.
The café was quiet at this hour. Not empty, but subdued-the kind of place where people spoke in hushed tones, where the clinking of spoons against porcelain cups was the loudest sound in the room.
Takeshi sat by the window, his fingers wrapped loosely around a cup of black coffee that had long since gone cold. He wasn't drinking it. Just holding it, feeling the warmth fade, as if timing how long it took for something to go from comforting to indifferent.
Across from him sat a man who hadn't touched his drink at all.
His name was Kenta.
He was younger than Takeshi, but not by much.
Mid-thirties, maybe. Dressed in a stiff suit, the tie loosened just enough to suggest he wasn't as put-together as he wanted to be. His fingers tapped a slow rhythm on the table-restless, nervous. The kind of habit people had when they were trying not to say something.
Takeshi had seen this before.
Kenta let out a breath, finally breaking the silence. "I don't know what to do."
Takeshi tilted his head slightly, watching him.
Kenta sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "That's a lie. I do know. I just don't want to admit it."
Takeshi remained silent.
Kenta glanced at him, as if expecting something. A question. An opinion. Anything.
Takeshi didn't give it.
Instead, he reached for his coffee and took a slow sip. Bitter. Cold. But it gave Kenta time to sit with his own words.
Kenta let out a humorless laugh. "You're really not gonna say anything, huh?"
Takeshi raised a brow.
Kenta shook his head. "Right. Should've expected that."
Takeshi leaned back, tapping his fingers against the ceramic cup. "You said you already know the answer."
Kenta stiffened slightly.
Takeshi didn't press. Didn't ask what the answer was. He just let it sit there, waiting.
Kenta's shoulders sagged. "I just..." He hesitated. "If I do this, everything changes. And not just for me. For my family. My friends. People who don't even know what's happening."
Takeshi nodded, waiting.
Kenta clenched his jaw. "It's not fair."
"No," Takeshi said simply.
Kenta looked up, startled by how quick the response was. "That's it?"
"Did you want a lecture?"
Kenta scoffed. "No."
Takeshi nodded again. "Then why are you here?"
Kenta opened his mouth, then hesitated. His fingers curled into a fist on the table.
Takeshi let the silence stretch. He had no intention of filling it.
Because the truth was, Kenta hadn't come for advice.
He had come for permission.
And Takeshi wasn't in the business of giving it.
Kenta let out a shuddering breath, like something inside him had cracked open. "Damn it," he muttered, pressing his hands against his face.
Takeshi watched. Said nothing.
Kenta took a long moment before lowering his hands. His expression was different now-still tense, still uncertain, but something had settled. Like a decision had already been made, even if he hadn't spoken it yet.
"You knew, didn't you?" Kenta murmured.
Takeshi sipped his coffee. "Knew what?"
Kenta gave him a tired, knowing look. "That I didn't actually need to ask."
Takeshi didn't reply immediately. Instead, he studied Kenta's face-the tension in his jaw, the exhaustion behind his eyes, the weight pressing down on his shoulders. He'd seen it before, in different forms, on different people. The moment when uncertainty turned into inevitability.
Kenta leaned back, running a hand through his hair. "I kept telling myself I needed someone to tell me what to do. That I needed some kind of sign. But that was just an excuse, wasn't it?"
Takeshi tapped his fingers against his cup. "Depends."
"On what?"
"On whether you wanted a sign , a excuse or a way out."
Kenta let out a breath. Not quite a laugh. More like an exhale of something heavy, something old. He drummed his fingers against the table, staring at his untouched coffee.
"If I go through with this," he murmured, "there's no going back."
Takeshi said nothing.
Kenta looked up at him. "And if I don't..."
The words trailed off, unfinished, but the meaning was clear. If he didn't, he would be stuck in the same place, asking the same question, a week from now. A month. A year.
Takeshi raised a brow. "Sounds like you already made your choice."
Kenta let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. "It's not that simple."
"It never is."
"But you still think I should do it, don't you?"
Takeshi shrugged. "I think you should stop pretending you need my opinion."
Kenta blinked. Then, after a moment, he let out an actual laugh-short, dry, but real. He rubbed at his face, shaking his head. "You're a real bastard, you know that?"
Takeshi sipped his coffee. "So I've been told."
Kenta exhaled through his nose, staring at the ceiling like he was searching for an answer that wasn't already in front of him. But they both knew it was. It had been from the moment he walked into the café. Maybe even before that.
A long silence stretched between them, but it wasn't heavy anymore.
It wasn't waiting for anything.
Finally, Kenta reached for his coffee. He lifted it to his lips, took a sip, and let out a soft hum.
Kenta lifted the cup to his lips, took a sip, and grimaced.
"It's cold," he muttered, setting it back down with a soft clink.
Takeshi watched him for a moment, then exhaled through his nose-something almost like amusement, but not quite. He tilted his head slightly, as if weighing his next words.
"Yeah," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "But you still drank it."
Kenta froze.
The words sank in, settling somewhere deep, past hesitation, past doubt. He let out a slow breath, tapping a finger against the side of the cup.
Then, finally, he gave a small, tired chuckle.
Takeshi leaned back, the ghost of a smirk still on his lips.
"You already knew the answer."