The revelation about Javier's condition left Aiko sitting in stunned silence, her untouched café con leche growing cold as she tried to process what Isabella had just revealed. The bustling energy of Café Central continued around them, but their small table had become an island of profound quietness.
"I know this isn't what you were expecting to hear," Isabella said gently, reaching across the table to touch Aiko's hand. "I'm sorry to be the one delivering such difficult news."
"Can you tell me about the accident? What exactly happened?" Aiko asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Isabella signaled the waiter for another espresso before settling back in her chair, clearly preparing to share details that were painful for her to recount.
"To understand the accident, you need to understand who Javier was," she began. "He wasn't just talented at cycling. He was extraordinary. From the time he was fourteen, coaches were saying he had the potential to compete in the Olympics."
"That young?"
"Cycling ran in his blood. Our father had been a professional cyclist. But Javier was special—not just athletically, but as a person. He had this incredible drive to help people, especially children in difficult situations."
Isabella paused, her expression growing both proud and pained. "When he was younger, he would travel with our father to different countries for humanitarian cycling programs. Places where children had been displaced by conflict or poverty. Javier would teach cycling, help set up sports programs, just... be present for kids who needed someone to care."
The image of the boy who had helped her in the park suddenly made perfect sense. His instinct to stop and care for a stranger wasn't random kindness—it was part of who he fundamentally was.
"The Japan trip was part of that same philosophy," Isabella continued. "The Varela Youth Development Program combined serious athletic training with cultural exchange and community service. He was there to train, but also to learn and help where he could."
"And that's why he stopped to help me?"
"Yes. When he called me that day from Japan, he was actually on his way to meet me for dinner. I had flown to Japan to see him compete and spend time together." Isabella's voice grew strained. "He called to say he was going to be late because he had stopped to help a girl whose hair was severely neglected, someone who looked like she needed care."
Aiko felt her heart racing. "He called you that day?"
"I told him to hurry because there was a storm coming. I could hear the urgency in his voice, but also his determination to help you properly. When he described what he was doing—sectioning your hair, the careful washing process—I knew he was applying techniques I had taught him."
"You taught him hairstyling?"
"Basic techniques, yes. I thought it would be useful for his humanitarian work—being able to help with basic grooming in places where professional services weren't available." Isabella's expression grew pained. "I told him to finish quickly and come to the restaurant. I was worried about the approaching storm."
"What happened after he helped me?"
Isabella was quiet for a long moment, clearly struggling with the memory. "He was rushing to meet me when the storm hit. The roads were already getting dangerous, but he was trying to make up time. According to witnesses, he was cycling at high speed when he lost control in the rain."
"The accident happened that same day?"
"Less than two hours after he helped you. He never made it to our dinner." Isabella's voice broke slightly. "The last conversation I had with my conscious brother was him telling me about this Japanese girl whose hair he had just washed, how beautiful her eyes were, how he hoped she would be okay."
The revelation hit Aiko like a physical blow. The day that had changed her life completely had been the day Javier lost consciousness forever.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "If he hadn't stopped to help me—"
"No," Isabella said firmly. "Don't think that way. The accident would have happened regardless. Javier was always pushing himself, always taking risks. If it hadn't been helping you, it would have been something else that made him late."
But Aiko could see in Isabella's eyes that part of her did blame the delay, did wonder if those crucial minutes spent caring for a stranger had contributed to her brother's tragedy.
"He's been unconscious since that day?" Aiko asked.
"Since that day. Two years, three months, and sixteen days. He was sixteen then. He recently turned eighteen now." Isabella's precision spoke to the weight of every moment she had been counting.
As they sat in the café, surrounded by the normal Saturday afternoon energy of Madrid, Aiko felt the profound weight of learning that her transformation had come at such a devastating cost to the person who had made it possible.