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HELIO SCANS
[Translator - Hestia]
[Proofreader - Kaya]
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Chapter 52: Surely, the letter must have been delivered
(Kimiyama Reiko – Story within the story)
Plud-Plud—
Heavy raindrops began to fall.
They plummeted straight down, as if gravity met no resistance.
Each drop landed with full weight atop the umbrella.
Plud-Plud—
Through the falling rain, a girl slipped a letter into the mailbox of an empty, ownerless home.
Just one of many meaningless routines.
A letter filled with the kind of regret that only surfaces on rainy days—pressed hard with feelings meant for someone who would never receive it—was dropped into the box.
＊ ＊ ＊
Kirigawa Akane, first-year university student.
She had finally entered college after graduating high school. A prestigious university, one of the best in Japan.
And yet—she didn’t feel like anything had really changed.
Not that she was disappointed. She hadn’t expected anything in the first place, so there was nothing to be disappointed by.
In the end, human society—no matter where you go—tends to fall into the same patterns once people start gathering. That was just the law of nature.
It hadn’t even been a full year since she started university, but already, everything looked faded through Akane’s eyes.
People, places—everything in her sight had long since lost its color.
The world she saw had been drained of hue, and she had grown used to it.
If you don’t expect anything, you don’t get disappointed.
If you don’t get emotional, you don’t have regrets.
Let reason do the steering, and most things unfold logically.
Input only the necessary information. Take only the necessary actions.
There was no more efficient way to survive in the world.
At least, that’s what she believed.
Thud, Thud—
It was a rainy day during the monsoon season.
Just like always, Akane was about to slip a letter into the mailbox of the empty house—Her eyes widened in surprise.
The mailbox, which should’ve been stuffed with letters no one would ever read—Was empty.
“Why is there nothing—?”
The question barely had time to form before it answered itself.
Someone had taken the letters.
And that someone appeared almost instantly.
“Hello!”
The cheerful voice called out, cutting through the downpour.
The boy didn’t have an umbrella, didn’t even wear a raincoat. Fat drops of rain soaked him completely, but he didn’t seem to care.
Normally, meeting an unfamiliar boy on a rainy day like this would’ve triggered fear.
But Akane just stared at him curiously.
“You’re the one who’s been leaving the letters, right? I’ve been delivering them to the person they’re meant for!”
He beamed as he said it.
Not a man, not quite—
But a boy.
Much younger than Akane.
Barely middle school age, if even that.
＊ ＊ ＊
“You’re... working as a mailman?”
“Yes! I deliver letters that have nowhere to go—letters that never reached their owners. I bring them to the people they were meant for!”
He was a strange child.
Sure, there were plenty of odd people at university, but this boy still stood out.
Akane found herself wondering if he might be… unwell somehow.
As she watched him, the boy tilted his head in innocent confusion.
There wasn’t a speck of guile in his eyes—pure and untainted by the world.
He gave off an almost otherworldly aura, as if he didn’t belong to this world at all.
“Where are your parents?”
“I don’t have any!”
“......”
At first, Akane wasn’t sure if he meant they had passed away, or if he was just saying that casually.
But then—
“They all died because of me.”
Thump.
Akane’s heart dropped like a stone.
Her breath caught in her throat, panic instantly rising as she started to hyperventilate.
Haa—Haa—
Gasping, struggling for air, she could barely steady herself.
The boy gently patted her back.
“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No… It’s not you. It’s… it’s just my own stuff…”
Inhale—Exhale—
With ten slow, shaky breaths, Akane finally calmed her racing heart.
Then she looked at the boy again.
“And you… you’re okay with that?”
Her voice was cautious, wavering.
The boy replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world—
“No.”
He smiled brightly.
But what he said next clashed violently with the warmth of that smile.
“It hurts a lot.”
A trail of rainwater slid down from the edge of the roof, brushing past the boy’s cheek—Right where a tear would’ve fallen.
＊ ＊ ＊
Whenever it rained, Akane would meet the boy.
Under the roof of that empty, abandoned house, they sheltered from the rain and shared stories.
“You know, I used to want to be a novelist. My dad was one. I admired him so much… I wanted to follow in his footsteps.”
“You’re not writing anymore?”
“No. I don’t deserve to.”
Rainy days always came with a sky veiled in clouds.
Maybe it was that sense of being hidden from the world, or maybe it was because the boy somehow felt like someone who understood—someone a little like her—that Akane found it easier to open up.
Her mother had died in a car accident on a rainy day.
The day before, she had screamed at her—said awful things—and kicked her out of her room.
She’d taken her mother’s love completely for granted, never even realizing it was there, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
It wasn’t until she’d lost everything that she finally understood it. And regretted it.
These were the things Akane told the boy, little by little, day after day.
Her words always came out more clearly than she expected—as if all the tangled thoughts in her head had been quietly lining up in order, waiting for someone to listen.
Maybe it was the remnants of that would-be novelist in her. Or maybe she’d just needed someone—anyone—to talk to all this time.
But at this point, it didn’t matter. These were stories that didn’t care what happened to them anymore.
“Even after I stopped writing, my dad never said anything. I guess… I must’ve disappointed him.”
“Did you ask him?”
“There was no need to ask.”
“Why not? How could you know if you never asked?”
At the boy’s innocent question, Akane cast her eyes downward.
“There are some things in this world you just… know. Even without asking.”
After her mother’s death, her once-stable relationship with her father had grown distant.
He was strict, reserved. A man of few words.
He spent his days quietly reading or sipping tea in silence.
As Akane spilled all these thoughts aloud, the boy looked at her and said—
“I think you’d make a great novelist, Akane-san.”
“…What?”
Akane gave him a bewildered look.
What part of that entire monologue made him think that?
“How can you understand anything without asking questions? How can you know someone without listening to them? Only a god could pull that off. But you—”
He grinned, almost mockingly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“You just assume everything and make up the rest in your head—like a real writer.”
Just as Akane opened her mouth to fire back at that ridiculous logic—
Bzzzt.
Her phone vibrated.
- Hello? Is this Ms. Kirikawa? It’s your father…!
THRADHA!
Thunder roared.
As the sky shook with the thunderclap, Akane bolted out into the rain.
Splat—!
The moment she hit the slick, wet road, her untied shoelace caught underfoot. She fell hard.
Groaning, she tried to get up.
“Ugh… ughhh…!”
But it wasn’t easy. Maybe she’d twisted her ankle during the fall, or maybe it was just the shock—either way, her legs weren’t cooperating.
Splash, Splash—
Through the sound of rain and pain, someone stepped toward her.
“You’re always so calm and composed, and yet in moments like this, you're such a klutz.”
With barely any effort, someone swept her off the ground—lifted her up like she weighed nothing.
“You’re okay. You’ll be okay.”
It was unmistakably the boy’s voice.
But the figure in front of her now… was no boy. It was a young man.
Soaked to the knees, kneeling down in the muddy street without hesitation, he gently tied Akane’s loosened shoelaces.
“You’ve got this. Even if your leg hurts a bit, you can run. Even if you fall, it's okay. As long as you get back up—even if it takes a little time.”
His voice carried warmth.
As he smiled softly, his face still bore traces of the boy Akane had spoken with day after day.
“I read all the letters you wrote every day. Akane, your writing really is beautiful.”
Despite the completely different voice, Akane instinctively knew who he was.
Just as she opened her mouth to speak,
“Shhh.”
He gently placed a finger over her lips.
Then, ruffling her rain-matted hair with care, the young man said—
“I love your stories, Akane-san. But… sometimes, I’d like to hear stories about you and your dad too. Letters with both your voices in them.”
He gave her back a light pat, then continued:
“You can spend your whole life trying to understand someone… and still never truly know everything about them. That’s why we have to keep trying. Even if we never fully succeed.”
“Just like how you came to understand your mother’s love, even if it was late—there’s still time. It’s okay if it takes a while.”
Another soft pat on the back.
“It’s not too late yet.”
And with that—Akane didn’t look back.
She ran.
Ran through the storm, through the lights, through the wet blur of it all.
She couldn’t remember how she crossed the street.
Didn’t know how far she ran.
She just kept running—through the rain, toward the hospital.
And finally—
“Dad!!”
“…Akane?”
There he was. Sitting upright on the hospital bed, his leg in a cast.
Alive.
＊ ＊ ＊
The monsoon season had ended.
A crisp autumn breeze gently swept through the air.
Akane stood in front of the house—once her family’s home, now long without an owner.
The same house where, once upon a time, she had met that mysterious boy… and the young man he had become.
She slipped a letter into the mailbox.
“Today, Dad and I went to a dessert cafe. Turns out, he’s got more of a sweet tooth than I expected. Did you know that, Mom?”
It was a letter not just about herself—but about the two of them.
A story written in the voices of both father and daughter.
Suddenly, feeling the presence of someone behind her, Akane turned around, almost out of habit.
There stood a young man, dressed in a postman’s uniform, silently watching her.
Without a word, he stepped forward and handed her a letter.
She opened it on the spot.
Inside, written in large, bold letters, was just one simple word—
I love you.
A single phrase—so obvious, and for that very reason, infinitely precious.
Kirigawa Akane – In the letters that were surely delivered.
＊ ＊ ＊
The two of them, after reading each other’s works, were in tears.
Kimiyama Reiko had poured her own shortcomings and regrets into her writing.
Kimiyama Togo, in turn, had drawn a comic—a photo album in manga form—filled with memories for his daughter.
Junhyuk recalled Togo’s simple answer when asked why, as a novelist, he chose to draw it as a manga instead. The memory brought a faint smile to his face.
- When I drew manga, Reiko once praised me, saying I was good at drawing.
It was a clumsy yet heartfelt answer—unmistakably “Him”.
Hearing the sound of the two quietly sobbing behind the study door, Junhyuk quietly hummed a short hymn, then quietly left the room.
Today was October 12, the death anniversary of Kimiyama Asako.
From this point on, it was time for the three of them—and no one else.
＊ ＊ ＊
After leaving Kimiyama-sensei’s home, I hadn’t walked far before stopping in my tracks.
Reiko had overcome the same illness as me and managed to finish writing her manuscript.
It would be too much to say she had fully conquered it—but even so, the fact remained: she completed her work despite the hardships.
So then… could I do it too?
That presumptuous thought crossed my mind—only for me to shake my head.
Reiko and I carry different weights of guilt. It’s not something I could dare to compare.
But still… if I could wish for something—if I could allow myself to selfishly want it…
Just as I was about to take another step forward with those thoughts in mind—
“Jun-kun!”
That familiar voice brought me to a halt.
“Reiko-san… what are you doing here?”
Before I could even finish voicing my question, Reiko grabbed both of my arms.
“I was planning to tell you after I finished my next novel, but turns out, I’m not as patient as I thought.”
“Huh…?”
“I’m an only child, right? I’ve never missed out on something I wanted. Guess I’m a little spoiled.”
“What are you—”
Before I could finish, Reiko pulled on one of my arms, closing the distance between our faces in an instant.
It all happened so fast that my body reacted before my brain could process it.
Something soft and warm touched the back of my hand—then gently pulled away.
When I looked down to see what had just happened, a faint pink lip print was left behind on my skin.
“…I’ll let that one slide. But next time, you won’t get off so easy.”
With a mischievous smirk, Reiko tapped her lips and turned back the way she came.
“What the hell…”
Unable to make sense of what had just happened, I stood there alone—dumbfounded—watching her disappear into the distance.
＊ ＊ ＊
As summer break came to an end, so too did the creative work of the Kimiyama father and daughter. It was November now—a month spent solely buried in work.
That’s when a call suddenly came through on my phone.
- Author Enju! Have you ever considered working on a game project?
“…Huh?”
It was Sanae, the leader of the game development circle Field Scroll, who had helped me in so many ways. Her voice was panicked, rushed.
- There’s this game called ‘Shoot'n'Gate’, and it’s in a crisis right now!
It was a title I’d never seen—not in that Bright White Room, nor in any of the futures I’d experienced.
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HELIO SCANS
[Translator - Hestia]
[Proofreader - Kaya]
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