Page 241 of Mercy Written in Blood

Haruki looked up.

"Knew what?"

"My birthday."

"Yes."

Renji's chopsticks stilled.

"How?"

"You told me."

"I did not."

"You did."

"When?"

"At the café."

Renji frowned. Haruki remembered the conversation clearly. It had occurred before the warehouse, before the journal, before the hospital and the kiss. They had been discussing old seasonal traditions after Renji criticised the café's winter decorations for being culturally incoherent.

"You said your mother used to make chestnut cakes for the first snowfall," Haruki said. "Then you said your birthday sometimes fell near it."

"That is not a date."

"You also complained that modern calendar conversion placed it on the twenty-seventh."

Renji stared at him.

"You remember that."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Haruki looked down at his meal. The answer arrived too honestly.

"Because it was about you."

Renji went still. Haruki had not planned to say it. He did not take it back. The air shifted — less guarded, more dangerous.

Renji lowered his chopsticks.

"You remember everything I say?"

"No."

"Most things?"

"Only the important ones."

"My birthday is not important."

Haruki looked at him. Renji held the gaze for several seconds. Then looked away first. There it was — the truth beneath the forgotten date. Not carelessness. Renji genuinely believed the day held no value.

Haruki leaned back.