The afternoon sun was streaming through the 7-Eleven windows, highlighting the dust motes dancing over the magazine rack. It was a rare, quiet lull between the lunch rush and the after-school crowd. Rika was meticulously aligning a row of electrolyte drinks, her mind drifting toward the upcoming physics lab, when her phone—tucked into her vest pocket—vibrated with a violence that made her jump.
She pulled it out, expecting a promotional alert or a notification from a study app. Instead, the screen displayed a name she hadn't seen in weeks: Mio.
Rika stepped into the walk-in cooler, the sudden drop in temperature matching the chill in her chest. She pressed 'accept.'
"Mio? Why are you calling at this hour? Don't you have—"
"Rika-nee..." The voice on the other end was a jagged, wet mess of sobs. "Rika-nee, please... you have to come. They won't let me leave. I didn't... I didn't mean to, I just wanted to see if I could..."
"Mio, breathe. Where are you? What happened?" Rika’s grip tightened on the plastic shelf, her knuckles turning white.
"The station. The West District police station. They caught me at the mall. It was just a few lipsticks and a necklace, I don't know why I did it, Rika-nee! Mom and Dad... they said they can't come yet, they said it would look 'suspicious' if their car was seen there during the day. They told me to call you."
Rika felt a wave of nausea. Her parents weren't worried about Mio's mental state; they were worried about the neighbors seeing the Shinozaki sedan parked in front of a precinct.
"I'm coming," Rika whispered, her voice hollow. "Stay quiet. Don't say anything else until I get there."
She stepped out of the cooler, her face as pale as the milk cartons. Rentaro was standing just outside, holding a clipboard. He took one look at her and dropped the board. It hit the floor with a sharp clack.
"Shinozaki? You look like you just saw a ghost."
"I have to go," she said, her voice trembling. "My sister. She's at the police station. My parents... they won't go. They're waiting for the cover of night to 'handle' it."
Rentaro didn't ask for details. He didn't mock her. He simply looked toward the manager’s office, then back at her. "The West District station is three miles away. The buses are slow this time of day. You’ll never make it there before your parents start making 'arrangements' that involve you taking the blame."
"I don't have a choice, Rentaro."
"Yes, you do," he said, already unzipping his vest. "I have my bike in the back. I’m coming with you."
"You'll get in trouble with Tanaka-san! You can't just leave your shift—"
"I’ll tell him it’s an emergency. Which it is," Rentaro interrupted, his eyes hard and focused. "You’re shaking so hard you’d probably walk into traffic. Now, move. Every minute we waste is a minute your parents use to write a script for your life."
Five minutes later, Rika was on the back of Rentaro’s motorcycle, her hands gripping his waist with a desperation she didn't want to admit. The wind whipped past them, blurring the city into a smear of grey and neon.
When they arrived at the station, the atmosphere was clinical and cold. Rika saw them immediately: her mother and father were standing near the front desk, looking immaculate and utterly furious. Mio was sitting on a wooden bench further back, her head down, her signature piano-player hands trembling in her lap.
"Rika," her father said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble as she approached. He didn't even look at the boy standing behind her. "You’re late. We’ve already spoken to the officer. We told him there was a misunderstanding—that Mio was merely holding the items for you."
Rika stopped in her tracks. The air in the room seemed to vanish. "For... me?"
"It's the only way to save the family name, Rika," her mother added, her voice a sharp hiss. "You’re already living in a slum, working a common job. One 'youthful indiscretion' on your record won't change your trajectory. But Mio? She has the conservatory. She has a future. You will tell them you asked her to hold the bag."
Rika felt a cold, familiar weight settling in her stomach—the weight of being the "spare" child. She looked at Mio, who wouldn't meet her eyes. Then she felt a presence behind her.
Rentaro stepped forward, not enough to be aggressive, but enough to place himself firmly at Rika’s side. He didn't speak, but the heat radiating from him was a reminder that she wasn't standing in that cold office alone.
"No," Rika said, her voice small but clear.
"What did you say?" her father demanded, his eyes widening in disbelief.
"I said no," Rika repeated, louder this time. She looked at Rentaro, seeing the steady, encouraging fire in his gaze, and then back at her parents. "I am not your scapegoat anymore."19Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhh7syvvy4A
and then Add to home screen.