Hiyori's brief reprieve ended the moment she was found. The police had been searching for her after her escape from the trafficking operation, their intent focused not on arresting her but on understanding how a child like her had ended up so far from home.
The officers cornered her in a quiet marketplace, their uniforms imposing, their questions sharp.
"Where are you from, little girl?" one of them asked, crouching to her level. His voice was firm but carried a veneer of concern.
Hiyori's body trembled. Her lips parted, but no words came out. The weight of everything she had endured—the violence at home, the captivity, the escape—pressed down on her like a crushing wave. Running wasn't an option; her legs felt like stone, and the officers' watchful eyes were everywhere.
"She's just scared," another officer said, less gently. "We need answers. Let's take her in for questioning."
Hiyori's heart raced. She shook her head frantically, tears streaming down her face. She wanted to scream, to run, but fear rendered her mute and motionless.
Before the officers could act, a voice called out from the crowd.
"There you are, Ray!"
Hiyori turned, startled. A man in his late twenties stepped forward, his smile disarming, his eyes warm but calculating. He moved with confident ease, addressing the officers without hesitation.
"She's my sister," he said smoothly, placing a protective hand on her shoulder. "We got separated during the trip here. I've been looking everywhere for her."
The officers exchanged skeptical glances. "She's your sister?" one of them asked.
The man nodded, his expression calm but earnest. "Yes. Her name's Ray. She doesn't talk much to strangers—always been shy like that. Our parents are going to be worried sick if I don't get her back soon."
Hiyori stared at him, her tears drying as confusion took their place. She didn't know this man, yet something about his demeanor made her hesitate.
"Do you have any identification?" one officer pressed.
The man produced a card from his pocket, handing it over with steady hands. The officer inspected it closely, then glanced back at Hiyori.
"She seems terrified," he said. "If she's your sister, you need to keep a better eye on her."
"Believe me," the man replied with a chuckle, "I won't let her out of my sight again."
The officers, though still suspicious, relented and left after a few more warnings. Once they were gone, the man's smile softened, and he crouched down to Hiyori's level.
"You've been through a lot, haven't you?" he said gently.
Hiyori didn't respond, her wide eyes still fixed on him.
"Don't worry," he continued. "I'm not here to hurt you. My name's Yuto, and I'm going to help you."
True to his word, Yuto brought Hiyori to a reputable children's support organization. There, she was met with kindness she hadn't known in years. The staff were patient, their smiles genuine, and the environment felt safe—almost foreign after everything she had endured.
Within weeks, a foster family was found for her, a couple who welcomed her into their home with open arms. Hiyori was wary at first, flinching at sudden movements and avoiding prolonged eye contact. But gradually, she began to trust again. The warmth of her new family's care started to chip away at the walls she had built around herself.
Yuto didn't visit, but Hiyori often wondered about him. She wanted to know why he had helped her, why he had lied to the police, and who he really was.
One evening, as Hiyori played in the garden of her new home, Yuto stood in the distance, watching from the shadows. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his expression unreadable.
"She's safe now," he murmured to himself, a faint smile touching his lips. "But this isn't the end for you, Ray."
He paused, his gaze lingering on the girl as she laughed softly, her eyes lit with a joy she hadn't known in years.
"When the time comes," he said quietly, "I'll be back to give you the proper conclusion to your story."
With that, Yuto turned and walked away, disappearing into the night.