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Months passed. Kaito visited the old cybercafé less. Mr. Sato grinned and didn't ask where the money had come from. Hana’s presence online grew into a community of fan illustrators, storytellers, and a handful of people who claimed the character reminded them of someone they'd lost. Each message felt like a correspondence sliding under a door.

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They met in a cafe close to his old cybercafé. The woman’s name was Aya. She carried the same freckle near her left eye and had her aunt’s laugh. They talked for hours—about family, about lost letters, about how memory becomes story. Yui had not vanished; she had chosen a life that kept distance. Her choices had left Kaito untethered for a time, but they hadn’t erased the connection.

Kaito confessed. He told them about Yui, the late-night rigging, the small voice that had slipped into Hana’s mouth. He expected outrage or dismissal. Instead, the lead counsel, Ms. Harada, tapped a pen and said, “We can manage this if you want to be transparent. The company prefers to avoid litigation. But there will be reputational risk. We need your cooperation.”

He began to stream quietly—no flashy overlays, just a cracked camera and a virtual woman sitting at a paper-strewn desk, reading stories he’d written between shifts. Viewers found him slowly: a handful at first, then dozens. They left simple, earnest comments: “This is beautiful,” “Who did the art?” Kaito answered in the chat with a half-truth: “Made in my spare time.” He used the alias “k2t0,” a mix of his name and the couple of digits of his birth year.