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 Woman Named Nanjou — The Mud-Covered Returnee
That's wrong, she thought.
She understood it in her head. Punpun had someone who would look after him properly now. That should be a wonderful thing. And yet — why did her chest ache like this?
Midori stood at the shop's counter and looked out over the quiet interior after closing.
Green Note was a small two-story wooden café. The interior was done in shades of green, with potted plants crowding every available space. The twelve seats on the first floor sat in a silence that made the daytime bustle seem like a lie. Outside the windows, the evening light dyed the residential backstreets orange.
Eight minutes on foot from the nearest station, just off the clamor of the Hinamachi shopping street — in this quiet place, Midori traced the grain of the counter with her fingertip, alone.
(No one else is coming today.)
The moment she thought it, the doorbell chimed — *clang, clang*.
Midori lifted her head.
"Welcome."
The greeting left her mouth, and then her breath stopped.
It was Punpun.
A fluffy yellow head like a child's doodle of a chick. Eyes like black dots. A beak-like pointed mouth. Exactly the same as that rainy night when he'd stood soaking wet at her front door.
But something was different.
Beside Punpun stood a woman.
(So this is her...)
Midori couldn't take her eyes off the woman.
She looked about Midori's own age, maybe a little older. Black hair cut in a neat bob at the shoulders. Behind thin silver-rimmed glasses, long, narrow eyes shone quietly. A single small mole at the corner of her mouth. A slim body, elegantly wrapped in a deep navy dress.
Most striking of all was the way she carried herself.
Her back was perfectly straight. Her chin lifted just slightly. The air in the shop seemed to tighten the instant she stepped inside.
(What a beautiful person.)
Midori thought it honestly.
But at the same time, something stirred, a ripple at the bottom of her chest.
"Hello. You're Ookuma Midori, if I'm not mistaken?"
The woman spoke in a calm voice.
"Yes. I'm Ookuma, but..."
Midori stepped out from behind the counter.
"My name is Nanjou. Punpun has told me how much you've done for him, and I felt I had to come and thank you in person at least once."
Nanjou.
The moment she heard the name, something in Midori's mind took clear shape.
(Ah. So this is her.)
(The one who came to take Punpun away.)
(The one who showed up at the shop that day and led him off.)
Midori put on a smile.
"Thank you for being so kind. If anything, Punpun's the one who's been helping me."
She lifted the corners of her mouth. A dimple appeared on her right cheek.
(It's fine.)
(I'm fine.)
She repeated it in her mind like a spell.
But her gaze kept getting pulled back to Punpun, no matter what.
Punpun stood half a step behind Nanjou.
His dot-like black eyes were looking at Midori.
No — she couldn't even tell if he was really looking. He was simply facing her. That was all.
And yet, to Midori, those eyes seemed to be trying to say something.
(Punpun.)
(How have you been this past week?)
(Are you eating properly?)
(Do you still remember that night?)
Everything she wanted to ask welled up to the back of her throat.
But she couldn't ask.
She wasn't in a position to ask. She was nothing to this child. Just the wife of his uncle — an adult who'd shared a house with him for a little while. That was all.
"Punpun, this is Ookuma Midori. She's the one who took care of you."
Nanjou spoke gently to Punpun.
The softness of that voice made Midori's chest tighten with a small, audible ache.
(The one who took care of him.)
(...Right. To this child, I'm already just "the one who took care of him.")
Punpun gave a small nod at Nanjou's words.
"...Yeah."
A tiny voice, like a soliloquy.
Just hearing it made Midori want to cry.
(Why?)
(Why does it hurt this much?)
(He's with someone who'll look after him properly. Isn't that a good thing?)
(Isn't it a good thing?)
Midori clenched her fingers inside her apron pocket.
Her nails dug into her palm.
It stung a little.
But that pain blotted out the churning in her heart, just a little.
"Please, have a seat. Would you like some coffee? And Punpun — the usual cocoa, if that's all right?"
Midori managed to say it.
"Thank you. I'll have the house blend, then."
Nanjou gracefully lowered herself into a two-seat table by the window.
Punpun sat across from her.
Midori returned behind the counter and lit the siphon.
Inside the glass globe, the water slowly rose. The sound of grinding beans, the sound of boiling water, the scent of coffee filling the shop.
(Calm down.)
(I'm just a café owner.)
(I serve my customers good coffee.)
(That's all.)
Midori told herself this as she worked.
But her ears followed the two of them.
"How's school? Are you getting used to it a little?"
"...Yeah. Sort of."
"You don't have to push yourself. On days you don't want to go, you can rest."
"...Thanks."
"So what do you want for dinner tonight? Should I make that hamburger steak again? You ate it so happily last time."
"...Yeah. I want it."
Nanjou gave a soft laugh.
The mole at the corner of her mouth shifted slightly.
"Good. I'll put my whole heart into it."
That smile wasn't directed at Midori.
But she saw it anyway.
The gentle smile Nanjou showed only to Punpun.
The way Punpun looked, in front of Nanjou, just a little like an ordinary boy.
(Ah.)
(So he can smile properly in front of this person.)
(He never once made a face like that in front of me.)
Midori's fingertips trembled faintly.
She took a cup down from the shelf.
The ceramic felt colder than usual.
(No.)
(That's not right, is it, me?)
(He washed dishes for me. He held my hand. Wasn't that enough?)
(What am I jealous of?)
Midori scolded herself inwardly.
But the churning in her chest wouldn't settle at all.
When the coffee was ready, she came out from behind the counter and carried it to their table.
"Sorry to keep you waiting. The house blend. And Punpun's cocoa — I floated some marshmallows in it today."
Midori set the cups down with a smile.
"Oh, how cute. Punpun, isn't that nice."
Nanjou smiled at Punpun.
Punpun stared fixedly at the marshmallows in his cup.
"...Yeah."
Another tiny voice.
But that voice wasn't directed at Midori.
Midori quietly returned to the counter.
She felt the two of them at her back.
(It's fine.)
(It's fine.)
(I'm an adult.)
Beneath the counter, Midori gripped her left wrist tightly with her right hand.
On her left wrist was a small burn scar from her days as a nurse.
She traced it with her thumb, over and over and over.
An old wound.
A wound that shouldn't hurt anymore.
And yet, right now, it throbbed as if it did.
After a while, Nanjou rose from her seat.
"Thank you for the meal. That was wonderful coffee."
Nanjou walked to the counter to pay.
Punpun followed behind her.
"Thank you. I'm glad it suited your taste."
Midori rang up the bill, showing the best smile she could manage.
"And Ookuma — truly, thank you. For looking after Punpun so warmly."
Nanjou bowed deeply.
"No... I didn't do anything. I just ate meals with him, that's all."
Midori said it hurriedly.
"That alone means more than you know. Punpun, you say thank you properly too."
Urged on by Nanjou, Punpun turned toward Midori.
His dot-like black eyes looked straight at her face.
"...Thank you."
Just one word.
But that voice was the same quiet, warm voice from that night in the living room, when he'd held her hand.
(Ah.)
(I can't.)
(I'm going to cry.)
Midori bit down hard on her back teeth.
"...Yeah. Take care, Punpun."
A smile.
A dimple on her right cheek.
(This is right.)
(This way, I can say goodbye properly.)
Nanjou took Punpun's hand.
Punpun didn't resist.
The two of them walked toward the shop door.
The doorbell chimed — *clang, clang*.
Nanjou turned back and gave one more light bow.
Punpun didn't turn back.
Their retreating figures disappeared into the twilight alley.
Two slender shadows, side by side, slowly receding.
Midori stood frozen behind the counter.
(He's gone.)
(This time, he's really gone.)
The strength drained from her legs.
She braced herself against the counter, desperately holding herself up.
Her hands were shaking.
Her fingertips were cold.
(Why?)
(Why am I trembling this much?)
(This child isn't mine.)
(I knew that from the start.)
(I knew it, and yet—)
Beneath the counter, Midori clenched both hands tight.
Her nails dug into her palms.
Harder than before. Much harder.
Hard enough that she thought the skin might break and bleed.
(I don't want to let go.)
The voice rose clear from the depths of her heart.
(I don't want to let go of Punpun.)
(I don't want to hand him over to that woman.)
(I want him to stay by my side.)
(My, my—)
She caught herself there, and Midori came back to her senses with a start.
(What am I thinking?)
(He's a fifteen-year-old child.)
(And that night — we agreed to pretend it never happened.)
(I was the one who said so.)
(I was the one who pushed him away.)
Guilt welled up thick and slow from the bottom of her chest.
Black and heavy, a guilt that made it hard to breathe.
Midori pressed her forehead against the counter.
The cool feel of the wood.
She closed her eyes.
No tears came.
Instead, deep in her chest, something creaked and groaned.
"Oh, Midori. You're still open?"
At the voice, Midori hurriedly lifted her head.
Saeki Toki, a regular, stood in the entrance. An elderly woman past seventy, her graying hair pinned back neatly. She'd been coming to Green Note since before the previous owner's time.
"Saeki. Good evening. I was just about to close up..."
Midori put on a smile.
(Please.)
(I don't want to talk to anyone right now.)
(Just go home.)
She was screaming it inside.
But Saeki walked up close to the counter and tilted her head.
"Just now, outside the shop, I saw a young woman walking with that little chick. Who might she be? The chick's mother, I wonder?"
Little chick.
That was what Saeki called Punpun.
"That child hardly says a word, but he's adorable, isn't he. I'd love to have him play with my grandchild sometime."
Saeki went on, beaming.
"So who is that woman to the little chick, I wonder. She didn't seem like a sister, and surely she's not young enough to be a sweetheart? And yet — they were holding hands."
Holding hands.
The words sank into Midori's chest like a small thorn.
(She saw it.)
(This woman saw the two of them holding hands.)
(Yes. Those two are the kind of people who hold hands.)
(Punpun and I held hands just once, that night.)
(That's all.)
(That's all it was, and yet—)
Midori kept her smile and answered Saeki.
"I'm not sure myself. I believe she's an acquaintance of Punpun's."
"Oh, is that so. Well, I'm glad. I'd heard that child ran away from home all alone, so I was worried. It's good he has someone to look after him properly."
Saeki spoke with relief.
"...Yes. It really is good."
That was all Midori could manage.
(Good.)
(It's good.)
(I have to believe that too.)
After Saeki left, Midori pulled down the shop's shutter.
It rattled down with a clatter, shutting out the light from outside.
The shop went dark all at once.
Midori stood alone in the dim interior.
The leaves of the potted plants swayed quietly in the half-dark.
(I don't want to let go.)
Her own voice from moments ago echoed in the back of her ears.
(I don't want to let go of that child.)
(Even though I was the one who decided that night never happened.)
(Even though I'm the adult.)
(I'm the worst.)
Midori slowly climbed the stairs to the second floor.
The wooden steps creaked, *gishi, gishi*.
The sound echoed through the quiet house, strangely loud.
When she sank onto the living room sofa, all the strength drained out of her body.
(I don't want to do anything else today.)
(I just want to fall asleep like this.)
Midori closed her eyes.
In the darkness, Nanjou's profile and Punpun's retreating ba
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