Prologue

She has a lot of regrets.

Some of them are simple things, like regretting not buying something to impress her friends or regretting haircuts in her youth. Some of them are bigger things, things that probably would've made her a different person entirely today. She was a brat when she was younger, she won't lie. Her parents knew it, she knew it—even the forgiving priest down the street knew it, regardless of his kind exterior. She just never accepted it till now, and it feels almost too late to rectify.

It's probably a tad dramatic to think about, she notes as her bed is wheeled out of the room. It's just surgery; there's no need to feel so melodramatic. Over in what'll feel like seconds for her, and the recovery time is just a matter of months.

At least she can say with some certainty that she's not being as dramatic as her mother right now. The woman's in tears, clutching her daughter's pink beanie tightly as she tries to keep hold of her hand. She's never seen her mother like this before—well, except maybe once. The day of the diagnosis, where she'd been a blubbering mess and rambling that "this was supposed to be a small checkup, a step into adulthood". Surprise, Mother, she thinks. We've skipped half of the steps and careened straight into mid-life worries.

Really, it's not that big a deal.

Out of the ward and into the hall. Halfway to their destination. The nurse carting her around tries to make small talk—which, to her defense, is quite boring on his part—while Homura struggles to keep up and cut in every few seconds with reassuring words. If anything, they just serve to blow the situation way out of proportion. But she still can't bring herself to say out loud, "It's just an operation."

Homura is being pulled away from her daughter by another nurse—it's time for her to calm down and speak with the priest waiting in the next room. Her ears burn at the sentence, her gaze flickering to her mother for just a second before she regains her composure. Of course Homura would call in a priest. The woman is probably worried God won't be kind to her brat of a daughter the one time she needs help the most.

The double doors open upon impact with the foot of her bed, and she almost does a double-take at the man waiting beside the doctor within. If she remembers correctly, this is the room where you'd be put under before surgery—which means the doctor in front of her must be her surgeon, and the man beside him must be the priest. It takes her a moment to recognise him—it's been years since she's even walked into any of the churches in this town—but when she does she feels guilt well up in her chest.

Yomi was a brat when she was younger. She was a brat to this priest's foster children in particular. Called them all sorts of names, broke the younger twin's glasses for no reason whatsoever, and on one occasion she even had her arm broken in a fight with the older twin. The priest knew she was a brat, yet here he stands today—probably at her mother's request—with an easygoing smile on his face and a cross adorned around his neck.

The priest doesn't pay much greeting to Yomi when she enters, instead turning for her surgeon and giving the man a pleading smile. "Hate to be a bother, but may I speak with her in private?" he asks, and it's that same tone he'd talk to Yomi's mother with. The tone of a man who knew Homura's daughter was at fault, yet also knew his own children had done just as much damage after.

The surgeon nods and has the nurse walk with him back through the doors. Yomi wants to call out for them to stay, though she's not sure why. Maybe she's worried she'll be told she deserves this. Maybe she's worried he'll try give her to abridged version of the "you should've come to church more" speech. Maybe she's just worried he'll pity her.

The doors swing shut, and then he's sitting at the very end of her bed with that same easygoing smile.

"I was a little surprised when your mother called me," he starts. His tone is light—no animosity so far. "It's been about six years since you and your mother last visited the Monastery, after all. My boys even thought you'd moved away."

He chuckles, but she doesn't see the humour in it. His "boys" probably thought it was a relief she got pulled out their school and put into a private school closer to her own home.

"Um—" Yomi clears her throat. She really doesn't know what to say without sounding rude. The man's a priest, after all. "Why did— I mean… Were you called here to…?"

The priest waves a hand at her. "Ms. Akiba just wanted me to pray for you before you went in," he explains. There's a playful look in his eye, like he knows that's the opposite of what Yomi wants. "Something tells me that won't put you at ease, though."

She huffs and glares at him. "I am at ease. Everyone else is just overreacting."

"Perhaps." Silence settles between them. She's not sure how long the surgeon will leave them in private, though she assumes it may be for a good few more minutes. They probably think he's actually praying for her, like Homura requested. The priest removes his glasses and begins to clean them with his robe, but he's quick to pause and look back at Yomi again.

"Oh, by the way," he says. "Do you remember who I am?"

A sensible question. One she can't lie her way out of. The moment Yomi left those damn twins and started attending her new school, everything about that monastery was pushed out of her mind and dubbed irrelevant. "I, um… No…" Yomi can feel herself turning red with shame as she finishes with a mumbled, "Sorry…"

He chuckles. "No problem," he tells her. "I almost forgot who your mother was, honestly. People get more forgetful when they get older."

"I'm only fourteen." She glares at him again.

The priest shrugs. His glasses are pushed back onto his face, perched low on his nose. "It can start any time, I'm afraid. I do hope you remember the name Fujimoto, though—I'd like to keep in contact during your recovery."

Yomi blinks at him. He sounds so sure that she won't have complications during surgery, so different from her mother's wailing and the nurses' uncertain looks.

"What makes you so sure I'm gonna recover?" she argues. "You were called in by a hysterical middle-aged woman, and you met with my surgeon. Why are you so confident?"

Fujimoto raises his brows at her. That playful look is back in his eye—and it translates into his tone as he throws back, "Didn't you say everyone was overreacting? If that's the case, then I'm sure this is going to be a walk in the park for you."

Touché, old man. She frowns at him, but nods in agreement nonetheless. This is no longer the man who knew she was a brat. Instead, this is the man who sympathises with Homura and wishes no ill will towards this family.

The doors behind her swing open, and in walks the surgeon and nurse. The nurse has a mask on now, as does the surgeon, and they look more than ready to get started on the operation. Fujimoto exhales with a satisfied tone, like he's proud of himself for coming today.

As the doors open again to let him out, Yomi calls out, "Can you keep Mom company while she waits?"

Fujimoto replies with an easygoing, "Can do," as he lets the door swing shut behind him.

The anaesthetist raises a mask to her face, tells her to count to ten as loudly as she can, and then she's inhaling the anaesthetic by the time she reaches three. Yomi's out like a light by the time she reaches seven. She hardly makes it to eight, even in her mind, as darkness washes over her.

She has a lot of regrets. Especially concerning Fujimoto's sons.

Here's hoping this comes out decent. I haven't been able to catch up with the manga for a while (good grief I fell behind after the Kyoto arc) so for reference sake, after the next chapter the fic will take place after the Kyoto Impure King arc. If anything feels out of place or doesn't look right, let me know and I'll fix it as best I can! I'm hoping to do a fortnightly updating schedule, but we'll see how I go from here.