—20 minutes after class started—
"Ikiryo, can I have a word with you?"
The council teacher's voice cut through the classroom barely half an hour in. I knew why.
Walking with him down the hallway felt like hell.
The silence was suffocating — only my thoughts echoed: Is mom dead?
When we reached the teacher's room, I dropped into the worn black chair, heart pounding.
"About your mom…"
My mind drifted — dreary walls, stacks of papers, an ancient coffee machine wheezing in the corner.
Then reality hit.
"Is she dead?" I blurted, harsh and desperate.
The teacher, usually cold and sharp, looked pitiful. That pity made my stomach churn.
"No. But she's been admitted to intensive care."
My head dropped. I couldn't rewind to this morning, to her laughter between coughs, her cold arms around me.
It hurt.
I prepared for this moment, didn't I?Then why couldn't I lift my head?
"I can give you a ride—"
"No thanks. I'll go alone."
I snapped awake and rushed out, door left open behind me.
Running down the hall, the hill where the hospital stood felt miles away.
No bike. No cab money.
Fine. I'd use my legs.
Thank God for long legs — my only gift from my useless dad.
"IKIRYOOO!"
Only one person yells like that.
Yumi waited by the school gates, her shiny bike brighter than the hospital's tired coffee machine.
Mayor's daughter perks.
"What are you daydreaming about? Get on."
No choice.
I took the handlebars.Yumi stood behind, gripping my shoulders tight.
The wind whipped her hair behind us.
Silent.
The sun shone like a cruel spotlight.
Usually, Yumi'd joke. Say something dumb.
"IKIRYOOO!"
Her voice.
I didn't look back. I already knew the face she made.
"Why yell again?"
"I told you, dummy."
"I still don't get it."
Liar.
"Hey... Are you scared?"
"Oh, now you want me to think about my mom?"
"Trying to be serious."
"…It'd be a lie if I said no."
"Right."
"I knew this moment would come…"
"Hey, cheer up. We don't know her condition yet."
"She's in intensive care Yumi."
"Still, hope's all we have."
She wrapped her arms around me. Warm.
I didn't have words.
Pebbles rolled down the hill, like I was losing grip.
What if she's too tired to fight?
We reached the hospital.
At the Hospital
We rushed in.
"Room 5B-1. Fifth floor," the nurse said without looking up.
The place smelled like death — disinfectant and stale air.
"It smells like death in here," I muttered.
Yumi smacked me.
"Don't say that."
Her name on the plaque: Ana-Rose Bourget.
Yumi went in first. Brave as always.
The stale smell hit me — sheets, dying flowers.
Yumi's hand reached for mine.
I rubbed my head instead.
Mom lay there — pale, fragile, bones sharp.
My fist clenched.
Yumi kissed her cheek.
I couldn't move.
A knock.
"Ikiryo Bourget?"
"Yes?"
"May I speak with you?"
In the hallway
"Your mother is very ill. Probably about a week left."
Bricks hitting my chest.
"…I understand. Is that all?"
"About treatment payment—when will it be made?"
Right. Money.
I scratched my head. Bowed.
"We need an answer."
"Soon. I have a job interview in two days."
"Alright. Update me next week. Sorry again... my condolences."
I stayed bowed, holding myself together by a thread.
I wandered until I found the roof.
Passed the maternity ward — babies crying, parents laughing.
Life beginning.
Mine falling apart.
Sunset painted the sky gold.
My heart shattered.
"Why take her from me?"
No answer.
Tears came.
My voice cracked.
No more words.
Just crying.
My mom is dying.
The pain tore through me.
I wiped my face.
Crying wouldn't change anything.
Back in the Room
I slid open the door.
Yumi sat beside Mom.
She looked fragile — even weaker.
I leaned my head against her shoulder.
No tears.
I didn't want to shiver her with sadness.
She's not dead yet.
I repeated it like a chant.
Yumi, looked up.
Her brown eyes—once cheerful—now full with sadness.
Why are some kids forced to grow up too fast?
Why can't I just be a kid?