My Twin Stepsisters Are Way Too Yandere!

Chapter 197: Chapter 196 - Neverending Story

Years went by quietly.

Not with battles and miracles.

But with regular mornings.

Morning coffees.

Laughter around the dinner table.

And countless stories written one page at a time.

---

The sign outside the counseling clinic of Kuro Kurogane had long since been taken down.

Having helped people find hope through their darkest hours for decades, he had finally retired.

He still received letters from some of his former patients.

Wedding invitations.

Photographs of their kids.

Sometimes two words.

Thank you.

Kuro kept every letter in the wooden box standing next to his bookshelf.

Whenever asked about his greatest achievement, he always smiled his gentle smile.

"It wasn’t changing people’s lives."

"It was listening to them."

---

Across the country, the name of Rika Saionji became legendary.

Her stories reached generations.

Those who grew up reading manga written by her were now telling those stories to their own kids.

Museum exhibition dedicated to her whole life and career was taking place.

Original pages of her manuscripts.

Character sketches.

Editorial notes.

Coffee-stained storyboards.

Everything put behind the glass.

People were admiring the protagonist of her manga called just "K".

Sometimes calling him one of the kindest heroes of manga.

Only Rika knew the truth.

He had never been fictional.

---

On one rainy afternoon, Rika was sorting things out in the attic when she found an old cardboard box.

It was covered with dust.

Opening it, she immediately smiled.

"My university sketchbooks..."

Untying the ribbon on top of it carefully, she saw that the paper had turned yellow with age.

There were clumsy drawings in the first part of the sketchbook.

Awkward lines.

Awkward proportions.

Dreams struggling to materialize.

And then...

Going halfway through the sketchbook...

There it was.

The image of a young university student sitting in a café.

His textbook of psychology lay next to the cup of coffee.

Gentle.

Patient.

Kuro’s face.

The drawing which would one day be the foundation for her character called "K".

Running her fingertips along the page, Rika chuckled.

"I really started everything with you..."

---

That evening, Rika brought the sketchbook out to the porch.

Kuro was already sitting there enjoying the sunset.

His hair turned silver.

Faint lines appeared around his eyes.

But the smile stayed exactly the same.

"What did you find?"

Without replying, Rika gave him the sketchbook.

He turned the pages slowly.

Stopping on one of them, he said:

"...This drawing."

"In the café."

"Our second year."

She nodded.

"I thought I’ve lost it."

Kuro smiled.

"I remember that day."

"You spent an hour pretending to study."

"I was studying."

"You were watching me draw."

"I was observing."

She chuckled.

"Psychologists always have excuses."

---

They turned the pages together.

Every drawing contained a memory.

The café they were meeting in each week.

Summer festival lit with fireworks.

A proposal hidden in the middle of the pile of sketchbooks.

Their little apartment crammed with manuscripts and psychology textbooks.

Proud Sora holding the crayon almost as big as her.

Saturday afternoons filled with drawings and stories for the bedtime.

Every page was imperfect.

Every page was dear.

---

The front gate opened.

Voices of happy kids were heard in the garden.

"Grandpa!"

"Grandma!"

And they ran into the yard.

Followed by Sora and her family, carrying far too many sweets and other things for the visit.

Soon enough, the quiet house was filled with laughter.

Steps racing down the hallway.

Again and again colored pencils found themselves on the table.

Watching the chaos with a smile, Rika whispered:

"Some things never change."

Looking at the living room, where one of the grandkids proudly announced his invention of the dragon story, Kuro smiled.

"I hope they never do."

---

As the night grew silent, the grandchildren fell asleep asking "just one more story".

Kuro smiled.

"They used to say that all the time."

"They still do."

Rika rested her head on his shoulder.

The sketchbook was still lying open at the page with the first sketch of Kuro.

She looked at it for a long while before speaking.

"Every story I ever wrote was inspired by you."

Turning towards her, he said with his warm smile:

"And every Chapter of my life became better because of you."

Neither of them spoke anymore.

The sunset gradually turned into twilight.

Cool wind was coming through the garden.

Holding his hand, Rika quietly closed her eyes.

Within minutes...

She fell asleep on his shoulder.

Smiling, he closed the old sketchbook.

Carefully pulling the blanket from the chair, he put it on her shoulders.

His hand did not let hers.

For a long while, he sat there and felt grateful.

Grateful for the café.

For the rejected manuscripts.

For the deadlines.

For the fireworks.

For every ordinary day which became extraordinary with time.

He looked at the horizon once again.

It turned dark blue.

Stars quietly appeared above the quiet neighborhood.

His smile did not fade.

"Some stories end with the final page. Our simply turned into the quiet days we always dreamt about, and that was the happiest ending both of us could ever write."

Several days after the museum exhibition was over, the Kurogane household got back to its usual life.

The front door opened every weekend.

Sora would sometimes visit alone.

Sometimes she would visit together with her husband.

But mostly the grandchildren would run into the house yelling "Grandpa!" "Grandma!" "We’re here!"

Rika smiled seeing the children storm into the living room.

"I just cleaned..."

...she realized only seconds later when noticing the cushions on the floor.

"...Never mind."

Kuro chuckled.

"I guess this place was meant to be a bit messy."

"Well, you taught it right."

---

In the afternoon, the children entered Kuro’s old study room.

All the shelves were crowded with books on psychology he collected during his whole life.

One little girl tilted her head.

"Grandpa?"

"Yes?"

"Did you read all of them?"

"Yes."

"But how’s that possible?"

Kuro laughed.

"For many years."

The child thought about something and asked another question.

"Were they your treasures?"

He looked at the shelves and then to the living room where Rika helped another grandchild to draw a rabbit with huge ears.

"They’re precious..."

He answered.

"...but not my greatest treasures."

The little girl followed his glance.

Understandment gradually appeared in her eyes.

"Oh."

"You mean Grandma."

"And everyone else."

Kuro smiled.

"Exactly."

---

In the other room across the hall, Rika gathered all the children around the dining table.

All the sheets of the paper were spread there.

Open boxes of colored pencils were in front of each child.

"Today’s lesson," she announced dramatically, "is very important."

The children immediately straightened in their chairs.

"There’s only one rule."

"What is it?"

Rika took the pencil.

"Never be afraid of the first line."

The children blinked.

"It doesn’t have to be perfect."

"It just has to begin."

Slowly but surely they started to draw.

Crooked houses.

Round birds.

Dragons with six legs.

Cats with crowns.

Each drawing was unique.

Each drawing made Rika smile.

Quietly, she said to herself...

This is how every story begins.

---

That evening, after dinner, Sora went to the old bookshelf.

She carefully put her new children’s book next to the oldest manga volumes Rika owned.

Then she smiled.

"Our family’s stories are all together now."

Rika silently walked behind her.

She laid her hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

"And someday..."

She glanced at the grandchildren playing in the garden.

"...they’ll add their own."

Outside the sky started getting orange as the sun was setting.

Kuro carried the cups with warm tea out to the porch.

He offered her a cup of tea not having to say anything.

She thanked him and gladly accepted.

"Thank you."

They remained silent.

There were no deadlines.

There were no manuscripts waiting.

There were no patients to visit.

Just the gentle sound of their family spending yet another ordinary day together.

After a while, Rika intertwinned her fingers with Kuro’s.

"You know..."

"Hm?"

"I used to think that the happiest ending was the last page of a story."

"And what do you think now?"

She glanced at their grandchildren playing in the garden.

"I think that the happiest ending..."

"...is watching the people you love start their own stories."

Kuro nodded.

"I couldn’t agree more."

The evening wind gently blew among the trees.

From the inside of the house sounded cheerful voices of three generations laughing and telling jokes and stories to each other.

The world was moving forward.

There would be new stories written.

There would be new dreams to chase.

And in one cozy house full of books, sketchbooks and family photos...

The heritage of kindness, imagination and silent love will continue for many years to come.

As the night began to take its hold on the town, the grandchildren spent one last moment with their Grandpa Kuro.

"Will you tell us one more story next Saturday?" asked the littlest one.

Kuro replied with a kind grin, "Only if you promise to show me some new drawings."

"We promise!" they all chimed together.

Rika chuckled at the situation, looking incredibly happy.

She took hold of Kuro’s hand.

They both understood what was meant.

The porch, the garden, and the home were filled with echoes of love and laughter.

The best story was not written down.

It was lived.