Episode 61 — Always

“Are you Uta’s mother?”

Shion asks it in a steady, centred voice, without a single waver. And yet the hand joined to mine was faintly damp with sweat.

“Y — yes. I’m Uta’s mother.”

My mother answers, caught off guard. Shion glances at my mother’s self-deprecating manner — and then:

“Cute.”

She murmurs it softly.

— Wait, what did she just say?

As if to answer that bewilderment of mine, Shion arranges her words.

“Uta’s mother is beautiful too, just like Uta…”

Shion’s cheeks are dyed the colour of the evening sky, with a slightly dazed quality. Usually that blush of hers makes my heart race — right now I can only watch it with a complicated expression.

The heartbeat stirred by being called beautiful — and the fact that it came via my mother’s appearance — and being told I resemble her. All of it tangled together.

And besides, to begin with: the two of us, mother and daughter, are in an entirely different league from Shion’s appearance — so far beneath her it would almost be insulting to compare. And yet I know all too well that Shion isn’t the kind of person to say something like that as an insult. With nowhere to settle my feelings, I was at a loss.

Whether my mother felt the same discomfort — she answered:

“Thank you very much…?”

With a question mark mixed into the polite form. And then, as if to confirm the beauty for herself, she looked at Shion with a rather rude, unguarded stare.

Just as I was about to open my mouth to check that gaze — my mother murmured softly:

“Actually — you’re…”

But those words only took on an outline and went no further. Before their full shape could be revealed, Shion cut in, covering them with her words:

“I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

Another enigmatic statement, released into the air. Unlike my mother’s, Shion doesn’t just leave her feelings as words — she gives them careful shape through action too.

The joined hand touched Shion’s knee. Shion’s silver hair fell forward like a curtain, concealing that beautiful profile.

Shion bowed — more deeply than she had after the competition performance.

“Thank you. For raising Uta to be who she is. For letting me meet her…”

A voice like a bell’s ring trembled through the air. My mother’s eyes shook. Shion’s words echoed and re-echoed inside my eardrums.

And then Shion slowly raised her head, squeezed the hand tight again, and once more, with quiet force, wove her words together:

“I was always empty with nothing but music, alone, lonely. I had no reason to keep living. But it was then that I encountered Uta’s words. I was saved by them. So thank you. For letting me meet the reason I keep living.”

Shion’s words illuminate everything around them, like moonlight. I stand there, unable to form words, arrested by the beauty of it.

The one who opened her mouth was my mother.

“That can’t be right… I’ve done nothing but make Uta feel lonely. On top of that I couldn’t give her a decent life. Couldn’t let her do the things she wanted. Couldn’t even properly buy her cute clothes like the ones you’re wearing. I’m such a foolish mother that I can barely look Uta in the face… so, Uta being any kind of salvation to Kanzaki-san — that’s not because of me at all. It’s simply because Uta is a good person. I think it’s thanks to Uta growing up to be so much better than someone like me.”

My mother poured out her feelings in a rush. From that, all manner of things welled up in my chest.

For instance, the irritation at my mother’s self-deprecation that she couldn’t even hide from her daughter’s friend. And the small, odd question of how she knows Shion’s name.

But more than anything—

By the time I noticed, I was already speaking.

“You really are foolish, Mum. You’re too foolish. Working day and night for someone like me, spending your whole life on me, grinding yourself down. You should be living for yourself — and even now, the moment you open your mouth it’s about being sorry for me, not even looking at your own pain, always thinking only about me… I’m not worth that. I don’t deserve to have your whole life spent on me. I’m not the kind of child worth that…”

My emotions rose and my voice trembled. As if to hold that trembling still, I bit hard on my lip and kept speaking. Those words were everything I had been carrying all this time. Both the contempt toward my mother and the guilt — all of it had the same root: the question of why time was being spent on someone like me.

Released like that, into the evening dark — feelings accumulated over years. The construction noise grinding on without pause, cutting jaggedly through the air. Silence still lying there between us.

Shion looks back and forth between me and my mother, as if wanting to say something.

But the one who opened her mouth was not Shion — it was my mother. My mother lifted her downcast gaze and took one step toward me and released her words:

“If you say that again — I’ll be angry.”

The abrupt force of that resonance made me open my eyes wide without thinking. Shion too, surprised, squeezed my hand tight.

As if the usual self-deprecation had been a lie — my mother’s eyes burned the colour of madder red. As if it had been a lie that she’d been apologising for her daughter’s defiant words — the contrast flashed, vivid and sharp.

And then, just like that, my mother slowly wove her words:

“Never say someone like me again. Don’t speak badly of my reason for living. If anyone speaks of my precious treasure that way — even if that person is Uta — I will never forgive it.”

Being scolded by my mother like this was a first. In her tone, her manner, I was reminded of the time I confronted Anon-san. The overlap between that memory and my mother’s figure made me feel something like blood — something tender and embarrassing. Just as I feel toward Shion, my mother feels toward me. I was surprised to find myself moved by that fact.

I said it brusquely, hiding my embarrassment:

“All right. I won’t say it again.”

And at those words, my mother — slowly, shyly — smiled. I thought: it had been a very long time since I’d seen my mother’s smile.

“That’s a promise.”

Even the way she immediately turned it into a promise was hopelessly, entirely like me.

After that, my mother turned toward Shion and said:

“Kanzaki-san — thank you for being Uta’s friend. Thank you for treasuring your meeting with Uta. Please continue to take good care of her.”

My mother bowed her head. And strangely, the bow held none of the self-deprecation from before.

As the sun sank from view, the rows of streetlights lit up, illuminating us.

The same familiar town as always. Nothing had changed. Of course — in this single moment, I hadn’t fully processed my feelings toward my mother. Somewhere in my heart I still thought: what a foolish person.

But. Breathing felt just a little easier.

The familiar smell of exhaust fumes tickled my nose.

“Yes. I intend to be with her always — whether you ask me to or not.”

Shion’s bell-clear voice, the soft warmth of our joined hands, dissolved and sank into the ordinary world.