The first time Yamato rode the train to his mother's apartment, he'd gotten off at the Shibuya train station because he didn't feel like seeing anyone, either driven by resentment for having to travel to spend time with his own brother or by pure absentmindedness after thinking such angry thoughts. He had decided to spend hours at the arcade and then head home to kill time before his mother phoned his father and the truth poured out.

But then he had seen the statue of Hachiko upon leaving the train, the akita dog who waited for his owner to return from work at that very same station, loyally waiting to walk home with him. Even after Hachiko's friend had died at the university where he worked as a professor, the akita dog returned to the station everyday for ten years after, hoping to hear his friend's familiar footsteps, until death took him as well.

Yamato boarded the next train, determined to visit the other half of his family and cold with shame at seeing Hachiko still waiting for someone who would never return even after death. Hachiko's bronze statue had convinced the resentment smothering him to lessen. He had imagined that the dog might have sensed that his friend had crossed some bridge that couldn't be retraced when he didn't return, but that the akita dog had faith, anyway, and that it wouldn't hurt Yamato to have some too, especially when others – like his mother, whose hugs still felt the same as he had remembered them – were waiting for him faithfully.