SCARS & PETALS

Over the following weeks, the hum of machines and the soft clink of glassware filled the lab, a steady rhythm to Tsukiko's determined pace.

"Data looks inconsistent again," muttered Reika, frustration evident in her voice as she leaned over a computer monitor.

Tsukiko joined her, her sharp eyes scanning the screen. "Run the analysis again with a 10% variance buffer," she instructed. "And double-check the extraction temperature—it might be causing instability."

She nodded, quickly jotting down her instructions.

Most nights, the lab remained alive with activity long after the sun had set. The faint scratch of pens against paper mixed with the soft hiss of air vents. Tsukiko stayed at her desk, the soft glow of her computer screen illuminating her face.

"Dr. Takamura," Souta called out, holding a set of test results. "We've narrowed down the issue, but it'll take another round of testing to confirm."

"Good," Tsukiko replied, standing and walking briskly to the workbench. "Let's refine the next batch and rerun the trials immediately."

The team moved in sync, their focus as sharp as Tsukiko's. Yet, the work was grueling.

During a rare lull, Natalie approached her with a tired smile. "You ever take a break?"

Tsukiko chuckled softly, the sound almost foreign. "Not until this serum is where it needs to be." She glanced at the clock. 

Despite the setbacks, the faint sound of quiet conversations and the occasional cheer when an experiment showed promise kept morale steady.

"We're closer," Tsukiko announced one evening, holding up the latest results. The faint flicker of hope in her voice drew the team around her. "But we're not there yet. Keep refining."

The determination in her words reignited the room, and the work continued, the sound of clinking glass and rustling papers blending into the night.

"Dr. Takamura, you're going home, right?" Souta asked as the team packed up to leave. His tone laced with concern.

Without looking up, Tsukiko replied, "I've still got some things to finish. You all go ahead."

Souta sighed, unsurprised by her response. He had worked with Tsukiko long enough to know her relentless dedication, but lately, her intensity felt heavier, as though she was carrying more than the project's burden.

"You've been staying late every night," he said quietly, stepping closer. "The team's noticed. You should take a break. We're all feeling the pressure, but… you don't have to carry it alone."

Tsukiko finally looked up, her gaze sharp and unwavering. "This project is my responsibility. We're on the brink of something groundbreaking, Souta. I can't afford to slow down."

Souta ran a hand through his hair, searching for the right approach. "I get it, I really do. But you're human, Dr. Takamura. Even the best leaders need rest. You're not—"

"A machine?" she interrupted, her voice firm. "I don't need rest. I need results. The market is ruthless, and I'm not going to risk falling behind because I decided to take a 'break.'"

Her words were resolute, but Souta could sense the strain beneath them. For a moment, he hesitated, then ventured cautiously, "You're committed to the project. I respect that. But sometimes… it feels like you're using work to avoid something else."

Her expression froze, her eyes narrowing into an icy glare. "I'm not avoiding anything," she said, her tone cutting. "This project is my priority. That's all there is to it."

Souta held her gaze, unsure whether to press on or retreat. "Avoiding distractions, then?" he asked gently, trying to tread lightly. "You mean… like relationships?"

The tension in the room thickened, the silence heavy and cold.

"Yes," Tsukiko said firmly, her tone final. "Exactly that."

Souta's shoulders sagged, realizing he had overstepped. The rigidity in her posture and the tight line of her jaw were clear signs he had hit a nerve.

"I didn't mean—" he started, but Tsukiko cut him off with a look that silenced any further apology.

"Don't," she said flatly, turning back to her work. "Just leave it alone."

As Souta quietly exited the room, the team who were lingering around before leaving heard the conversation and couldn't shake the feeling that Tsukiko wasn't just running toward a breakthrough—she was running from something far more personal.