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Bobo scraped at his pan again. There was nothing left to do, he had already washed pans, bowls, and utensils, organized the spice bottles, and wiped down every table. He had already prepared everything he could but the time wasn't passing.
It was almost 8pm and he could hear the voices coming from the bar. The presentation was over, but most people lingered at the bar, grabbing quick bites while playing at the game booths.
He wasn't annoyed, after all the summer festival had brought plenty of visitors to Mushroom Village. Business had been so good that he'd even set up a takoyaki stand to earn a little extra during this rare busy season.
But most of the visitors come from Friday to Sunday. On weekdays, it was mostly just the village residents, already familiar with his cousine. They were still coming to grab lunch but at night, they were flocking around the bar while something different was happening in the village.
Bobo sat inside his cart waiting.
“Are you still open?” a voice called.
Bobo straightened up to attend to the new customer.
“Yes, I'm open until ni… Kimbo?” Bobo asked, confused as he looked at the face of the newcomer.
It was a big panda, taller than Bobo and with a broad figure and large shoulders using a black hoodie. He was older, but Bobo would recognize him anytime. After all, it was his older brother.
“What are you doing here?”
“I'm here to taste the best ramen in the world. Or at least, that's what I heard.” Kimbo answered laughing.
“You came all the way here… just to eat my ramen?”
“What? A man can't support his brother these days?”
“Sure.” Bobo hadn't expected to see him tonight from all the nights, but at least it meant a customer.
“Indeed, the best ramen I’ve ever tasted in my life.” Kimbo said with a very pleased voice, after finishing his big bowl of the summer special and a portion of the takoyakis.
“It will be 150 carrots for the ramen and 50 carrots for the takoyakis.”
“Wow, are you going to charge your own brother after not seeing him for so long?” Bobo didn't answer. He didn't even knew what to say.
“Okay, okay, I was just kidding. I didn't remember you being so serious, guess you really have grown up in the meantime.“ Kimbo said, putting the carrots on the counter. “Now, I want to grab some dessert. I bet the bar will have sweets. Care to accompany me?”
“I can't, I'm working.”
“Well, it doesn't seem like you have many customers. Come one for the sake of the old times.”
Bobo was really having a slow night, and something inside him didn't want Kimbo going so fast.
“Remember when we were younger and competed on these” Kimbo said when they passed the gaming boots on their way to the bar. “I used to beat you on the ones that needed strength but you kicked my ass on the ones that required speed. Guess this checked out.”
“Hey man,” said Ken, as they approached the bar "Didn't know you got back to town.”
“Not really, I just wanted to see this little one.”
That phrase stirred something inside Bobo he hadn't realized was there. He stopped listening to the other two talk. A sense of urgency took him, and he decided to leave.
He walked until he found himself at the mermaid pier, under the lanterns lights and sat with his paws near the water.
He heard footsteps in the grass behind him, then the wooden creak as a larger figure lowered himself onto the
“Why are you here?” Bobo asked, though they both knew he wasn’t talking about the pier.
“To see you,” Kimbo said.
“Right.” Bobo scoffed, his eyes fixed on the water.
“Why don’t you believe me?"
“Because it’s been ten years.” Bobo’s voice cracked. “Ten years since you left. So why now? Did it take you a decade to miss me?”
Kimbo looked down, silent for a moment. “No. Not at all. I should’ve come earlier. I’m sorry. It’s just…” He paused, searching for words. “I thought I had to bring something back first. A trophy. Something to make you proud. But the years passed, and I still hadn’t conquered anything worth showing. Then I thought… Maybe too much time had gone by.”
They sat in silence, the night air heavy around them.
“Did you ever care what it was like after you left?” Bobo asked.
Kimbo said nothing.
“It got unbearable with Father,” Bobo whispered. “He wanted me to take your place at the dojo. We fought constantly. It got so bad that… I left.” His voice dropped. “And I had nowhere to go. If it weren’t for Yori and Mori, I might’ve been homeless. I slept on their couches until I saved enough for the cart.”
His hands shook in his lap. “Every night I stared at the door, waiting for you. Even knowing you wouldn’t come back, I waited. For more than a year.” His throat closed, but he forced the words out. “Every place felt empty. Every moment, like something was missing. Like someone was missing.”
Tears were formed, blurring his eyes. “And the worst part? You never gave me the chance to say goodbye. One day you were just… gone. And then, I found out you said goodbye to Ken. Ken! But not me. I’m your brother. Was I not even worth a goodbye?” Bobo looked directly at Kimbo for the first time.
“No. That’s not it.”
“Then why?”
“Because I couldn’t,” Kimbo said softly. He looked away, staring out at the horizon. “If I’d told you, you would’ve asked me to stay. And I wouldn’t have been able to say no. It was my time to go. There was nothing left for me here."
“There was me,” Bobo said. His tears spilled freely now. “I needed you.”
Kimbo looked back at Bobo, with tears in his own eyes. “You never needed me. Look at what you’ve built on your own. The life you made… you wouldn’t have any of it if I’d stayed.”
“Maybe not. But I would have had you.”
Kimbo extended an army, half hugging his brother who accepted the hug and leaned in.
“I can’t give you those years back.” Kimbo said “And I can’t tell you I regret leaving, because I don’t. I had to go. If I hadn’t, I would’ve suffocated here.”
Bobo cleared the tears running across his face.
“But,” Kimbo continued, “not a single day went by that I didn’t think of you. Not one.” He glanced at Bobo then, finally meeting his eyes. “You were the hardest part of leaving. You always were.”
Bobo swallowed, his throat raw. “Then why didn’t you tell me that?”
“Because I was a coward,” Kimbo admitted. “I thought sparing you would be kinder. I didn’t realize silence was worse.”
The pier creaked beneath them as the night settled deeper. Bobo’s tears had slowed, but his chest still heaved with every breath.
“I can’t stay,” Kimbo said softly. “My place isn’t here anymore. But… I can visit. I can write. And when I do, I’ll make sure you know you matter. Because you do, Bobo. More than anyone.”
For a moment, neither spoke. Then Bobo gave a small, broken laugh.
“I have always forgave you way to easily.”
Kimbo chuckled, his shoulders easing. “What can you do? You love me, I know it.”
Bobo didn't answered that, he loves Kimbo and Kimbo felt the same, but they weren't used to say it freely. Maybe one day.
The brothers sat side by side, the lanterns swaying above them, casting warm reflections across the water. The ache between them hadn’t vanished but something new had taken its place. A bridge.
Kimbo gave a long sigh, then a small smile tugged at his mouth.
“So… what about that dessert now? My treat.”
Bobo sniffed, wiping at his face. “You always had a sweet tooth.”
Kimbo laughed, the sound deep and warm. “Some things never change.”
“Some things do,” Bobo muttered, but there was no bitterness in his voice.
They stood, side by side, and walked back toward the bar. The lanterns swayed gently above them.
At the bar, they shared sweets while talking. Nothing big, nothing dramatic, just two brothers spending some time together. They talked about the games, the festival, childhood memories that made them both laugh and new stories that the other one hadn't had the chance to hear yet. The conversation felt fragile, but real, like the first steps of something new.
When the time came, they walked together to the train station. The night air was cool, the village quiet now with most of the people back to their homes.
The train’s whistle echoed, and Kimbo adjusted his hoodie for the night wind.
“Well, I guess this is a goodbye.”
Bobo felt his chest tighten, it was hard having Kimbo leaving again but it was different this time. He knew his brother would be back.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Not a goodbye, just a farewell.”
Kimbo smiled, and for a brief moment, his eyes shone with something unspoken: affection, pride, maybe even relief. He boarded the train, and as it pulled away, he lifted a hand in farewell.
Bobo stayed at the platform, watching until the lights disappeared into the night. Then he turned back toward the village, lanterns glowing warmly in the distance.
For the first time in years, he didn’t feel alone.
This wasn’t an ending.
It was the beginning of a new kind of bond, less like the kids they were, and more like the men they had become.