In the quiet commuter town of Aoba, Midori leads a double life—a dedicated nurse on weekdays, and the gentle owner of the café "Green Note" on weekends. To her regulars, she is the warm smile behind the counter, the woman whose chiffon cake is as light as air and whose dimple appears whenever she laughs.
But behind the counter, Midori carries a loneliness she has never spoken aloud. Her husband, Yuuichi, has vanished again—no calls, no messages, just silence stretching into days. It is a patter
Goodnight Punpun Side Story: Midori's Secret - The postcard and the hand I held—the night she murmured she was lonely
That's wrong, she thought.
She understood it in her head. And yet — why did her chest ache like this?
Midori stood at the shop counter, staring at a single postcard in her hand. On the thin paper, in that familiar rounded handwriting, were just two lines.
"I won't be able to come home for a while. I'm sorry."
That was all.
On an afternoon after the rainy season had ended, the postcard arrived at Green Note, a café in a residential neighborhood on the outskirts of Tokyo. An eight-minute walk from the nearest station, a small two-story wooden building tucked quietly in a back alley. Soft midday light filtered into the twelve seats on the first floor. Outside the window, from the shopping street on Himawari-dori, the languid drone of cicadas had begun to fill the air.
(Summer's coming.)
Midori flipped the postcard over.
The postmark read: Kagoshima Chuo.
Her fingertips trembled, just slightly.
(Kagoshima...)
(That far away...)
(Why won't you tell me anything?)
Something cold tightened around her heart. Yuuichi was always like this. The more important something was, the vaguer he became — informing her unilaterally from a distance. As if he'd known from the start that he would be the one doing the hurting.
Midori crushed the postcard in her fist.
The paper crinkled, collapsing into a small ball in her hand. Its corners dug into her palm — a small, sharp pain.
(This thing.)
(You didn't have to send this. You didn't have to deliver this to me.)
A cold voice echoed inside her.
But she knew, too, that somewhere deeper, another version of herself was crying.
"Midori-san, could I get a refill on the blend?"
One of the regulars, Toki Saeki, called out from across the counter. An elegant woman past seventy, her salt-and-pepper hair pulled back neatly. She'd been coming to Green Note since before the previous owner's time.
Midori shoved the crumpled postcard into her apron pocket.
"Of course, right away."
She made herself smile. Lifted the corners of her mouth, let the dimple appear on her right cheek. Years of habit. The harder things got, the more properly she smiled. That way, she could look away — just a little — from the mess inside her heart.
Behind the counter, Midori lit the siphon. Inside the glass globe, the water slowly rose. The sound of grinding beans, the burble of boiling water, the scent of coffee filling the shop.
(I'm fine.)
(I'm fine.)
Midori repeated it like a mantra in her heart.
But the moment she retreated behind the register, she bit down hard on her lip. The taste of blood spread faintly across her lower lip.
(Again.)
(Left behind again.)
(Did I do something wrong?)
The unanswerable question churned in circles inside her chest.
Midori gripped the postcard in her pocket once more, harder.
Evening came, and she closed the shop.
Midori climbed the stairs to the second-floor apartment. The wooden steps creaked, one after another. Walking down the hallway, she caught the faint smell of dinner from the kitchen.
(Ah, right.)
(Punpun's here.)
Midori felt herself relax, just a little.
The boy who'd appeared suddenly that rainy night — with his chick-scratch drawing of a face. Yuuichi's older sister's son, a runaway, he was as silent as ever, impossible to read. But he was here, in this house.
Just that was enough to make her feel she wasn't alone.
"I'm home."
When Midori called out, Punpun — sitting on the living room sofa — glanced over. His dot-like black eyes blinked slowly.
"...Welcome back."
A small voice, like a soliloquy.
Midori's face broke into a smile. This time, not a made one — a natural one.
"You know, we had lots of regulars today. Saeki-san's doing well as always. She said it again — 'I can't live without Midori-san's chiffon cake.'"
Punpun said nothing, just gave a small nod.
That alone was enough.
Midori stood in the kitchen and began preparing dinner. Opening the fridge, she found leftover nikujaga from two days ago, eggs, and some slightly wilted komatsuna.
(Maybe oyakodon tonight.)
Midori cracked the eggs and stirred them with chopsticks. In the bowl, yolks and whites blended together.
(Did Punpun like eggs?)
(He ate all the tamagoyaki last time, didn't leave a bite.)
(Good.)
Midori oiled the frying pan and sautéed the onions. A sweet aroma spread through the kitchen.
Wrapped in that scent, Midori desperately tried not to think about the postcard in her pocket.
After dinner.
Punpun came out of the bath. His yellow head-feathers were damp and plastered flat. He smelled of soap.
Midori sat at the dining table, drinking cold barley tea.
(Ask him.)
(I have to ask.)
She set down her glass and opened her mouth.
"Hey, Punpun."
Punpun looked at her.
"Do you know anything about Yuuichi-san?"
Her voice trembled slightly.
"Where he went, what he's doing — anything's fine. Has he told you anything?"
Punpun was silent.
His dot-like eyes stared steadily at Midori's face.
Then, slowly, he shook his head.
(I see.)
(So he doesn't know anything either.)
Midori no longer knew what she'd been hoping for.
(Asking this child won't help.)
(Yuuichi-san didn't tell this child anything either.)
(It's always like this.)
(Everyone leaves.)
Her vision blurred.
(No.)
(Don't cry.)
(Don't cry in front of this child.)
Midori forced a smile.
"Sorry. That was a strange thing to ask."
The corners of her mouth twitched.
"Forget it. It's fine — it's nothing."
Her smile was trembling.
Punpun just watched her.
His mouth moved faintly, as if he wanted to say something.
But he said nothing.
He simply returned quietly to his room.
Midori was left alone at the dining table.
(I'm fine.)
(I'm fine.)
She took the crumpled postcard from her pocket.
And gently placed it on the table.
The crumpled paper lay there, exposed in its wretched state.
Midori let out a deep sigh.
That night.
Midori dreamed.
She was in some city.
An unfamiliar city. Unfamiliar streets.
But the air felt somehow nostalgic.
(Where is this?)
Midori walked.
Then, ahead of her, she saw a familiar back.
(Yuuichi-san...?)
No mistake.
Silver-rimmed glasses, carelessly short hair, a slightly hunched way of walking.
Midori broke into a run.
"Wait!"
She called out.
But Yuuichi didn't turn around.
Beside him was a woman.
A woman she didn't know.
Long black hair swaying, her arm linked through Yuuichi's.
The two were talking happily about something.
Yuuichi was smiling.
A smile different from the one he gave Midori.
(No.)
(Don't look.)
(Look at me.)
Midori tried to scream.
But no sound came out.
Her throat felt blocked by something — only air escaped.
Yuuichi and the woman receded further and further.
Midori reached out desperately.
But she couldn't reach them.
Her fingertips grasped at empty air.
"...!"
Midori woke.
Her heart was pounding violently.
(A dream...)
(It was just a dream.)
Midori exhaled deeply.
A cold sensation on her cheek.
She touched it — wet.
(I'm crying...)
Her pillow was soaked through.
Midori wiped her tears.
"How stupid."
She murmured softly.
From the next room, she could hear Punpun's breathing in sleep.
A soft, steady, rhythmic sound.
That sound alone was something truly alive in this dark room.
Midori felt just a little saved by it.
Late at night.
Midori woke from thirst.
The clock read past three in the morning.
She slipped out of bed and headed for the living room.
The hallway was dark.
She walked slowly, one hand on the wall.
She didn't turn on the living room lights — relying only on the small kitchen light, she took a bottle of water from the fridge.
Poured it into a glass and took a sip.
The cold water slid down her dry throat.
(Haah...)
Midori leaned against the counter.
(Can't sleep.)
(Because of that dream.)
(Yuuichi-san's smile.)
(He's never shown me a face like that.)
A dull ache throbbed deep in her chest.
Then — a faint sound behind her.
Midori turned.
Punpun stood in the living room doorway.
In the darkness, his yellow head floated dimly into view.
"Punpun... you're awake?"
Punpun said nothing, just approached her.
His bare feet made small pattering sounds.
Standing before Midori, he looked up at her with those dot-like eyes.
The dark room.
The two faced each other.
Midori could no longer make herself smile.
She didn't have the strength.
"...I'm lonely."
Before she knew it, the words had spilled out.
"I'm lonely."
She said it again.
Her voice was shaking.
"Yuuichi-san isn't coming back. One postcard, and that's it. I start thinking — maybe I don't matter to him at all."
Tears overflowed.
"I've always been scared of eating alone. Ever since I was little. So when I married Yuuichi-san, I thought — I'm not alone anymore. But in the end, I'm alone again. It's always like this. Everyone leaves me behind."
She couldn't stop.
Once the words began, they poured out like a broken dam, one after another.
"What did I do wrong? Why does everyone disappear? Am I really that worthless?"
Midori covered her face with her hands.
Tears dripped through her fingers.
(How pathetic.)
(A grown woman.)
(What am I saying, in front of this child?)
But she couldn't stop.
Everything she'd pushed down, down, down to the bottom of her heart — it was all flooding out now.
Then.
Something warm touched her hand.
Midori looked up.
Punpun was holding her hand in both of his.
Small hands.
Delicate, thin fingers, like a chick-scratch drawing.
But those hands were unmistakably warm.
Punpun said nothing.
He just held her hand, silently.
His dot-like eyes gazed straight at her through the darkness.
(Ah...)
(This child's hands are so warm.)
Deep in Midori's chest, something that had been stretched taut began to loosen.
The frozen ice around her heart melted, just a little.
"...Thank you."
Midori smiled through her tear-streaked face.
"Thank you, Punpun."
Punpun said nothing, and didn't let go of her hand.
Midori cried like that for a while.
Quietly, stifling her voice, she kept crying.
In the dark living room, only Midori's sobbing and their two quiet breaths echoed — for a long, long time.
The next morning.
Midori was preparing to open the shop, as usual.
Last night felt like something from a distant past.
But the warmth still lingered in her palm.
(Punpun didn't say anything.)
(But he understood.)
(He accepted my feelings.)
Midori smiled softly as she wiped down the counter.
Jingle-jingle.
The doorbell rang.
Midori looked up.
"Welcome—"
Standing there was a woman.
Long black hair tied back in a single bundle.
Thin silver-rimmed glasses, a small mole at the corner of her mouth.
Slender, with a cool, beautiful air about her.
About Midori's age, perhaps.
(Huh...)
(This person, somewhere...)
Midori felt a sense of déjà vu.
"You're Ookuma Midori-san, I believe?"
The woman spoke in a quiet voice.
"Y-yes. That's right..."
"Nice to meet you. My name is Nanjou."
Nanjou.
The moment she heard the name, something stirred uneasily in Midori's chest.
(Nanjou-san...)
(Could this be the person Punpun was talking to on the phone before...?)
Nanjou, whether or not she noticed Midori's agitation, continued calmly.
"I heard you've been looking after Punpun. Thank you so much, truly."
She bowed deeply.
"No... it was nothing, really. If anything, I feel I wasn't able to do enough."
Midori answered with a smile.
But inside, she was restless.
"The thing is, I've come today to pick up Punpun. I think it's about time I took him in."
Midori's heart gave a great lurch.
(Pick him up...)
(Take him in...)
(She's taking Punpun away?)
Midori couldn't believe her ears.
"Punpun came here intending that as well."
Nanjou said it in a quiet tone.
Midori looked around the shop.
Punpun was already standing beside the counter.
Silently, at Nanjou's side.
His dot-like eyes were fixed on Midori.
But those eyes said nothing.
(Punpun, you're going with this person?)
(You're leaving this place?)
Midori's mind went blank.
"
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