[Dr.STONE] Whispers of a Fragile Thread.

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It's been a long time, since Tsukasa was a little boy, he once wanted to touch the moon's shadow falling on the sand. Waves kept crashing, rolling in and out, breaking apart the silver light, only to quickly retreat again, repeating endlessly. The waves tore apart beneath his feet, tangled into a tangled net stretching endlessly. The shattered moonlight sparkled, and he was drawn to it, running after that shadow.

"He really thought he could catch it. The waves kept crashing against his feet, the moonlight blurred and distorted, but he didn't stop. It was just him and the shadow of the moon." Tsukasa chuckled absently, allowing Toya to hold his hand and guide him through the thick bushes in the dark forest.

She led Tsukasa to a dense wild berry bush, where intertwining branches formed a dark patch under the pale moonlight. The surroundings were silent, only the sound of insects chirping and the cold breeze sweeping past, carrying the scent of wet grass and decaying leaves.

Toya carefully pulled his hand down, gently tracing the calluses on his large hand. The warmth from her small hand lightly gripped Tsukasa's veins. She whispered softly:

"I think every child has been like that... It's how they learn that not everything they want can be reached. But there's something poetic about it, don't you think? Chasing after something that can never be caught."

Tsukasa's gaze followed the silhouette of Toya as she leaned forward, feeling her way through the berry bushes, causing a few branches to sway. He smirked:

"Poetic, but also haunting. Because to this day, I still don't know if I should stop or keep running."

"That's why you need someone to remind you to rest. Or... someone to run alongside you, even if no one ever catches the moonlight."

Tsukasa didn't respond. He gently ran his hand through Toya's platinum hair, feeling the soft strands glide through his fingers. Toya stopped fidgeting, closing her eyes, slightly tilting her head like a duckling enjoying the affection.

She smiled faintly.

"My mother used to say that if I didn't burn my heart chasing after what I want, it would mold. White mold, green mold.

And... do you think the moon's shadow back then was like me? Something you could never catch?"

Instead of answering, he tightened his grip on her hand, as if holding onto something he never wanted to let go.

Toya gently leaned closer to Tsukasa, draping her arm over his shoulder. The silver moonlight poured through the canopy of trees, casting an ethereal glow. The breeze brushed against their skin, and Tsukasa realized there was a scent drifting through the air—something unlike anything he had ever known. Fresh, gentle, but with a hint of bitterness, like wild jasmine blooming in the deep forest.

Tsukasa couldn't help it, he leaned in closer, wanting to be sure that the scent really came from her. Her silky platinum hair brushed softly against his shoulder, and he faintly heard the rhythmic beating of his own heart echoing through the stillness.

Toya buried her face in Tsukasa's neck, inhaling deeply.

"Your hair is as soft as moss, it smells like fresh lotus root."

"... You always have such strange comparisons."

Yes. His girl never saw the world like everyone else. She was like a child who fell from the sky, sweet as if she lived on honey and dew resting on leaves.

Toya's hand still clutched his, her small fingers gently gliding over his rough skin. Without thinking, Tsukasa turned Toya's wrist, his fingertips seeking the pulse of her veins. But... there was nothing.

He frowned, a strange feeling rising inside him. "Toya," he called softly, his voice low, carrying something like a question.

Toya continued playing with the dew-covered branches above them. She slightly tilted her head, as if deliberately avoiding his gaze. "What is it?" Her voice was soft, but she didn't answer the unspoken question in his silence.

"Your hand..." Tsukasa stared at Toya, trying to mask the confusion growing in him. "I can't feel your pulse."

Toya laughed softly, but the half-smile sent a chill through him.

"Because I'm the mulberry leaf, Tsukasa."

Her voice was steady, soothing, as though telling a fairy tale.

"The veins of the leaves are just like my veins. The sap always flows through, but there's no heartbeat."

Tsukasa's fingers brushed across her wrist.

"You're trying to say you're a leaf?"

"I don't know... Maybe I'm just a shadow on the water. Close, but never really there."

Toya turned slightly toward Tsukasa. His brown eyes tried to focus on her in the dark, but her delicate features, though fragile, still stood out, especially her jet-black eyes, sharp and slender like rice stalks. Only by gazing closely could one notice all the little beauties—her eyes, her nose, her lips... so delicate and gentle. She smiled softly, even though her smile rarely seemed completely bright.

Her gaze, sometimes, like now, it felt as though she wasn't really looking at him. She was looking right through him, and he was just a barrier standing in the way of what she truly wanted.

He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Toya's figure began to blur, her face dissolving into the thick mist around them. The chirping of insects faded away, replaced by a faint, unclear sound. Toya's form disintegrated like smoke, leaving behind only the lingering scent of wild jasmine in the air.

Tsukasa suddenly jolted awake.

The familiar darkness of stone walls surrounded him, the only sound the wind slipping through the cracks in the leaves. He sat up quickly, still gripping the blanket as if holding on to something left behind from the dream. His heart raced, but he couldn't figure out why—the feelings were vague, hard to grasp, like the dream itself.

He rubbed his temple, his breath still heavy. "It was just a dream," he told himself, but the words couldn't ease the restless feeling inside him.

The way Toya had called him "aniki" – gentle, familiar, but completely different from how she did in real life. And the way he had answered her with "you," as though they always were like that, close without needing to think.

"It's funny," Tsukasa chuckled softly, but his smile carried a bitter edge. He lay back down, trying to push the dream out of his mind.

"It doesn't matter," he whispered, this time to convince himself. "It doesn't matter."

The moon outside still cast its shadow on the ground, distorted and blurred, like a distant memory. But Tsukasa was no longer the boy he once was, and he reminded himself—he would not chase after something that could never be caught.

Still, the scent of wild jasmine lingered faintly in the air, keeping him awake.

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