Embers of the Garden, Flames of the Future
Yuka turns to her mother, her gaze steady despite the sheen in her eyes. “Thank you, Mama. For always being their anchor—and mine.”
Manami’s fingers tighten around Yuka’s hand, a silent promise in the warmth of her touch. Her eyes drift to the family photograph on the shelf—Akina mid-laughter, her joy unguarded. Beside her, Ruri, quieter, her pride a more subdued kind. And Yuka, standing behind them, composed, fierce, the eldest in both age and responsibility.
A breath escapes Manami, light and full of memory. She chuckles—low, knowing.
Yuka tilts her head. “Something on your mind?”
Manami’s gaze shifts to the smaller photograph beside the teacups. Akina at six, gripping a toy microphone as if the world depended on it. Ruri, barely four, clutching an oversized academic certificate, her small fingers lost in its width. Their joy radiates from the image, unburdened by expectation.
“Do you remember when they were little?” Manami’s voice is softer than she intends.
Yuka follows her gaze, smiling. “Of course. They turned the garden into a stage—singing, dancing, reciting poetry… sometimes all at once.”
Manami laughs, rich with nostalgia. “The neighbors thought we were raising prodigies.”
The memory unfurls, delicate yet unbroken. She picks up the photo, running her fingers along its edges, as if it might still hold their laughter. “And those costumes,” she murmurs, shaking her head. “Your old scarf, cut in half, tied around their waists. Mismatched shoes. Wild colors everywhere. They called them their ‘good luck outfits.’”
She can see it still—the sun-drenched garden, crates and planks forming a makeshift stage. Akina, belting out festival songs only she knew. Ruri, spelling words with unshakable certainty. Fear did not exist for them then. The world beyond their small town was too far to matter.
“They had spark,” Manami whispers, tracing the photograph’s edge. “Even then, they burned so brightly.”
Yuka leans back, curling her fingers around her teacup. “They still shine, Mama. But now it’s under spotlights—and in courtrooms. The world isn’t as kind as a garden stage.”
Silence settles, thick yet unspoken. Manami exhales, setting the photo down. The glass catches the light, gleaming softly in the dim room.
“And Ruri?” she asks. “Do you think she feels overshadowed?”
Yuka’s brow furrows. “Ruri doesn’t need the stage. She’s quieter, more introspective. She wants to understand the world, not perform for it.”
Pride swells in Manami’s chest. “She sees what others miss. That kind of brilliance—it’s a gift.”
Yuka watches her carefully. “Do you think Akina remembers that joy? Before the cameras. Before the contracts.”
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Manami hesitates, curling her fingers around her teacup. The warmth seeps into her skin, grounding yet bitter.
“Fame complicates everything,” she says finally. “But I hope she remembers. The garden. Her sister. The way we clapped, even when they were off-key.”
Yuka’s smile is faint. “And Ruri? Will she find her way too?”
Manami meets her gaze. “She already has. She doesn’t need a spotlight to shine.” A pause, then, with a wry smile, “Although, I hear they call her ‘Pitbull’ in the courtroom.”
Yuka laughs, pulling out her phone. “See for yourself.” She tilts the screen toward Manami.
Kyoto Pitbull Strikes Again. The headline jumps out, recounting Ruri’s latest victory—winning an aging Hollywood actress 90% of her earnings in a brutal case against a corrupt producer.
Manami slaps her knee, laughter bubbling up. “That’s my Ruri.”
Their laughter fills the room, warm and familiar.
The clock chimes, gentle, reverberating in the quiet. Moonlight spills through the window, silvering the furniture. Yet amidst the sanctuary of old memories, something sharp intrudes. The sleek black portfolio on the coffee table, crisp edges cutting through the warmth.
Yuka leans back, eyes glinting with purpose. “Speaking of transformations…” Her tone is light, but there’s weight beneath it. “I’ve been thinking about expanding Enomoto.”
Manami raises an eyebrow. “Expanding? Beyond Tokyo?”
Yuka nods, her smile small, knowing. “We opened a boutique in Milan last month. Ruri’s been a godsend, navigating the legal chaos.”
Manami tightens her grip on the teacup. “Milan? You went international without telling me?”
Yuka chuckles, pulling the portfolio closer. “I wanted it settled first. And now…” She flips it open. The new Enomoto logo stares back—elegant calligraphy entwined with modern typography.
Manami inhales sharply. “Yuka… this is…”
“Ambitious?” Yuka offers with a small laugh.
“Stunning,” Manami whispers, tracing the design.
For the first time, Yuka hesitates. A hairline crack in her confidence. “Hozuki doesn’t agree.”
Manami sets her teacup down. “Hozuki? What’s his issue?”
Yuka’s gaze flickers to the window, shoulders stiff beneath her poise. “He doesn’t know the full scope. But he’s… consumed. With Akina’s career. And I’m starting to believe he’s using her for more than just family pride.”
A chill slips into the space between them. Manami’s stomach tightens. “Using her?”
Yuka exhales, shoulders slumping. “I think he’s been negotiating behind my back. Deals with Shade Entertainment—contracts that would trap Akina in ways she doesn’t fully understand.”
Manami’s jaw clenches. “Shade Entertainment? That’s not a company—it’s a snare.”
Yuka nods. “Exactly. That’s why I need your help.”
The weight of her next words presses against Manami’s chest before they’re spoken.
“I want Akina to go to Los Angeles,” Yuka says, clear, decisive. “To represent Enomoto in the US. A fresh start, away from Hozuki’s reach. While she’s there, Ruri and I will work on severing her ties with Shade legally.”
Manami stiffens. “Los Angeles? You want me to uproot her completely?”
Yuka meets her gaze, steady. “Yes. She needs space, Mother. From him, from everything he’s built around her. You’re the only one I trust to protect her while we handle this.”
Manami searches her daughter’s face for doubt—but finds none. This is not a request. It is a battle plan.
“And Hozuki?” Manami’s voice sharpens.
Yuka shrugs, but tension clings to her frame. “He’ll fight it. But he won’t stop me. Not this time.”
The clock chimes again. Shadows stretch long across the room.
Manami exhales, heart heavy yet resolute.
“If we’re doing this,” she says, voice steady, “we need to prepare for the fallout.”
Yuka’s lips curl into a cold, determined smile.
“We already have.”