Rewrite Our Love? Too Late-Chapter 123: Between the Lines of Her Diary

A few days passed like a fleeting dream.

During that quiet, suspended stretch of time, neither Yukima Azuma nor Kurokawa Akane set foot outside the vacation house. The world beyond their walls faded into white noise, irrelevant and distant. All necessities—groceries, toiletries, even stacks of light novels—were delivered right to their door. The storm outside might have calmed, but within this sealed pocket of time, something even more profound was beginning to settle.

Kurokawa Akane no longer required instructions or veiled threats to tend to Yukima Azuma. She did so on her own now—subtle, quiet acts of care that revealed her shifting mindset. One evening, noticing him gently rotating his wrist after a long writing session, she silently approached and began massaging his forearm with careful fingers, helping the tension melt from his muscles.

Their dynamic had evolved in the subtlest of ways.

She began cooking, slowly learning his preferences: less salt, light miso broth, grilled rather than fried proteins. Her skills were modest—nothing compared to Yukima Azuma's level 7 culinary mastery—but her earnest effort made each meal surprisingly satisfying. The care behind each dish mattered more than the taste.

Nights brought further changes. After sharing a bed and blanket for several evenings, Akane stopped waiting for requests. She would wordlessly wrap her arms around Yukima Azuma's neck, her breath soft against his shoulder, as if clinging to something warm and steady in a world that had too often been cold.

Their conversations, once one-sided and sparse, began to grow. At first, Yukima Azuma had to initiate every topic. But now, Akane would answer all his questions without hesitation—and sometimes, she was the one to start talking. They'd sit side by side on the floor or at the desk, their voices weaving through the space like gentle music. He complimented her miso soup; she shared her thoughts on character arcs in a light novel. Slowly but surely, the walls between them were lowering.

If anyone had peered in from the outside, they might've mistaken them for old friends, or perhaps an odd couple basking in quiet domesticity. There was nothing overtly strange or strained about their interaction anymore.

Outside, the skies were beginning to clear. The sun peeked out more often, and the storm's lingering grip on the city was fading.

The reality show LoveforReal had temporarily suspended filming due to the storm, and no new schedule had been announced. Part of the delay was because of Akane. Despite the binding contract, no one dared pressure her return. Everyone on the production team remembered that she had almost taken her own life because of the program. She was only seventeen—still legally a child. The storm hadn't just delayed the show; it had averted what could've been an unforgivable tragedy.

Inside their secluded cocoon, Yukima Azuma sat in front of his laptop, staring at the completed draft of his latest Chapter. And yet, something gnawed at him.

A subtle emptiness lingered between the lines.

Even though he'd poured everything he remembered about Akane from his previous life into the text, the story felt incomplete. Missing something vital. Something human.

He tilted his head, glancing at Akane, who was seated nearby with a light novel in hand. She looked up, catching his gaze.

"What's wrong? Are you thirsty?" she asked, her voice crystalline, like wind chimes in the breeze.

He shook his head. "No... I just wanted to ask—do you keep a diary?"

The question surprised even him with its directness.

Akane blinked once, then nodded. "Yes. I've been writing one since I was seven."

He raised an eyebrow. Ten years of entries? That was astounding.

"Can I... take a look at them?"

He realized the request sounded invasive as soon as the words escaped his mouth. Her diary was something private, deeply personal. He prepared to apologize—but Akane responded before he could.

"Sure. But they're at my house. We'd have to go get them. Is that okay?"

He stared at her in surprise.

There was no hesitation in her tone.

Yukima Azuma smiled faintly. It was a complicated expression—part amused, part resigned. He couldn't shake the odd image of Akane continuing to care for him at her place like some strange, pseudo-wife or devoted single mother.

"Alright," he said simply.

And so, after days spent as recluses, the two of them finally stepped beyond the door.

The world outside carried the scent of damp earth, raw and vivid after the storm. It wasn't pleasant or foul—just a reminder that nature had swept through and left its mark.

Tokyo's infrastructure had handled the downpour well. Puddles dotted the sidewalks, but there was no sign of flooding. Akane held Yukima Azuma's hand as they walked, staying close to the inner edge of the path.

He glanced down and noticed her footwear—sandals with thin ankle straps, worn over short white socks. The day she'd fled the set, she hadn't even been wearing shoes. These sandals were ones Yukima Azuma had picked for her online, and now, for the first time, she was wearing them.

They fit perfectly. The straps moved with each step, snug and gentle. Akane noticed his gaze lingering on her feet and tightened her grip on his hand.

Did he find her feet strange? Beautiful? Was he overthinking again?

She didn't know, but she didn't want him drifting into another spiral of guilt.

Eventually, they arrived at the Kurokawa residence.

Mrs. Kurokawa opened the door and gasped upon seeing them. Her arms flew around Akane in a tight embrace, her face a mix of relief and tears. She then turned to Yukima Azuma, eyes full of gratitude. But before she could speak, Akane stepped in front of him like a shield.

Mrs. Kurokawa hesitated but didn't protest. Instead, she smiled and asked if they'd like to have dinner at home. Akane looked to Yukima Azuma for confirmation.

He nodded.

Only then did she agree.

It was subtle, but something about the exchange made Mrs. Kurokawa pause. She could sense that something had shifted—but said nothing, simply guiding them inside and preparing slippers for her guests.

Akane led Yukima Azuma to her room.

Kurokawa Akane's bedroom was nothing like one might expect from a teenage girl. It was utilitarian, sharp, and devoid of softness.

Bookshelves lined one wall, packed with entertainment industry literature and character psychology references. No posters adorned the walls—only color-coded sticky notes covered in handwritten notes: training plans, script breakdowns, character study ideas.

A yoga mat lay beside a full-length mirror, while the desk was cluttered with paper, pens, and highlighters. The only spot available for sitting or resting was a plain single bed with a white sheet.

"Sit," she said quietly, motioning to the bed as she knelt down and pulled open a drawer beneath her desk.

Yukima Azuma sat, glancing around the room. It felt more like a study than a sanctuary. And yet, it spoke volumes about her—focused, tireless, relentless.

She wasn't hard on herself out of cruelty. It was commitment.

People called her a genius actress. But from what he saw, she had nothing but acting. No teenage frivolity. No backup plan.

She had once told him she had trained in flexibility, and he now knew just how far she'd pushed her body. Her limbs were like silk and steel—graceful and strong. He'd seen firsthand how effortlessly she could stretch beyond what most dancers could achieve.

Pain. Years of effort. Unseen hours behind every polished moment.

A box was placed before him.

Inside were dozens of notebooks—some with childish designs, others sleek and mature. Yukima Azuma picked one from the top-left corner and looked up.

Akane gave no reaction. Silent permission.

He opened the notebook.

The first few pages were scrawled in shaky handwriting. They weren't polished, but they radiated raw, earnest emotion. A little girl writing about the actress she admired. How she wanted to be like her. Her excitement after tiny auditions. Her joy from memorizing a full script.

That innocence had led her into the industry.

The entries shifted—more complex, more thoughtful. She started booking minor roles. A manager appeared. She grew steadily, praised as a child prodigy. The title "genius" followed her everywhere.

But then, the entries darkened.

The praise wasn't enough.

She didn't generate revenue. Her agency pressured her to diversify. Sing. Dance. Do reality TV.

But she couldn't.

The pressure became unbearable.

Then—the entries stopped.

Yukima Azuma gently closed the notebook.

Akane sat before him. The girl from those pages—the bright child full of dreams—was here. But there were shadows now.

Her face was calm, but her eyes...

That beautiful, hollow expression—he'd seen it before. On the edge of the rooftop. Moments before it might've all ended.

Yukima Azuma had come seeking inspiration.

Instead, he found something sacred. Fragile. Painful.

Psychologists are warned never to fall for their patients. Boundaries exist for a reason.

He now understood why.

But knowing and obeying are two very different things.

He placed the notebook back in the box, stood, and met her gaze.

Her eyes were deep. Quiet. Waiting.

He smiled faintly.

"Guardian," she said softly, "shall we go eat?"