Yukio’s surroundings began to flow past him. Time began to move from the past to the future.

...If the alarm hadn’t rung at that moment and I had waited until the coffee went cold, I would have broken Mum’s heart at the very end...

His dream was to become a potter with his own studio. He had endured many long years without recognition, held captive by the dream of success. Then he’d been cheated and fallen into a deep despair, unable to see why only his life was so unhappy. But he had been about to cause his mother even greater suffering than he had experienced...

Okay, I’ll live...no matter what happens...

I’ll live for my mother who never stopped wishing for my happiness, right until the very end...

Yukio’s consciousness gradually faded as he was transported through time.

When he came to, Kazu was the only other person in the café. He had returned to the present. A few seconds later, the woman in the dress returned from the toilet. Silently, she slid up close to him, and looked down at him with a scowl.

“Move!”

Still sniffling, he slowly relinquished the seat to the woman in the dress. She sat down without a word, pushed away the cup that Yukio had used and then proceeded to read her novel as if nothing had happened.

The entire café appears to be glowing.

Yukio was beset by a mysterious feeling. The lighting hadn’t gotten any brighter. Yet everything now looked fresh to his eyes. His despair at life had metamorphosed into hope. His outlook had changed unrecognizably.

The world hasn’t changed, I have...

Staring at the woman in the dress, he mused over what he had just experienced. Kazu cleaned away his cup and served a new coffee to the woman in the dress.

“Kazu,” he called out toward Kazu’s back, “Mum said to say thanks.”

“Oh, did she?”

“Yeah, and I should thank you too...”

Upon saying this, he bowed his head very deeply. Kazu walked off into the kitchen to wash up the cup that he had used. When she was out of sight, he slowly took out his handkerchief to wipe his tear-soaked face and blow his nose.

“How much is it?” he called to Kazu. She promptly came out and started reading the bill out loud at the cash register.

“One coffee plus the after-hours surcharge. That comes to four hundred and twenty yen, please,” she replied, pressing the heavy keys of the cash register, her deadpan expression not faltering. The woman in the dress continued reading her novel as if nothing had happened.

“All right then...here you are.”

He passed her a thousand-yen note.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the alarm?” he asked.

Kazu took his money, and once again pressed the clunky keys.