-AURORA ACADEMY FRONT GATE, SAPPORO, HOKKAIDO-
-7:06 PM, DECEMBER 19, 2016-
The bus disappeared into the snowy street.
Its taillights faded.
Rikuu Arakawa stood still, breath visible in the freezing air.
Ichika Komori stood three steps away from him.
Neither of them moved.
"You missed it," she said quietly.
"I know."
Snow gathered on his dark hair, melting slowly against his skin. He didn't brush it away.
"You shouldn't be here," he repeated.
"And you shouldn't be bleeding," she replied just as softly.
His jaw tightened.
"I said I'm fine."
"You're not."
Silence pressed between them.
Students were long gone. The academy lights glowed faintly behind them, distant and proper and untouched by whatever this was.
"…Why did you stay?" Rikuu asked.
Ichika answered without hesitation.
"Because you did."
That wasn't what he expected.
He looked away first.
"You don't understand," he said, voice lower now. "It's not something you just step into."
"Then stop stepping into it alone."
Her words were calm.
Not dramatic.
Not reckless.
Just honest.
Rikuu let out a slow breath. "You think this is about pride?"
"I think," she said carefully, "you carry things like you don't have a choice."
He didn't respond.
Snow fell heavier.
Finally, he muttered, "…Walk."
She blinked. "What?"
"If you're going to stand there," he said, already turning away, "then at least don't freeze."
Ichika followed him.
-QUIET RESIDENTIAL STREET, SAPPORO-
-7:18 PM-
They walked side by side under dim streetlights.
No one else around.
Only the sound of their footsteps against snow.
After a few minutes, Ichika spoke.
"You're in pain."
"…It'll pass."
"That's not the same as being okay."
He stopped walking.
She almost walked into him.
"You don't get to decide what's okay for me," Rikuu said quietly.
His voice wasn't angry.
Just tired.
Ichika met his gaze.
"You're right," she said. "I don't."
The answer caught him off guard.
"But I can decide whether I care."
That made something shift.
Rikuu looked at her for a long moment, snow collecting on their shoulders.
"…You're stubborn."
"So are you."
A faint, breathless sound escaped him—almost a laugh.
He turned away again, but slower this time.
"My grandmother's sick," he said suddenly.
Ichika stilled.
"I need money," he continued, eyes fixed forward. "That's it. There's no grand reason. No tragic story. Just that."
Her chest tightened.
"You fight," she whispered.
He didn't confirm it.
He didn't deny it.
"Don't look at me like that," he added.
"I'm not pitying you."
"…Then what?"
"I'm trying to understand."
He studied her expression carefully.
No disgust.
No fear.
Just quiet concern.
"…You really are going to get burned," he murmured.
Ichika stepped closer this time.
"If it means you don't have to freeze," she said, "I don't mind."
The words hung between them.
Too honest.
Too close.
Rikuu felt something in his chest tighten—not from injury.
From something else.
He reached up instinctively—then stopped himself before his hand could brush the snow from her hair.
"…Komori."
"Yes?"
"Don't follow me there."
She understood what he meant.
That other world.
The alley.
The fights.
She nodded slowly.
"I won't," she said.
"But don't shut me out either."
His breath caught.
The line had been thin before.
Now—
It cracked.
Rikuu stepped back slightly, creating distance he wasn't sure he needed.
"…You're different," he said quietly.
Ichika smiled faintly. "So are you."
Snow continued falling around them.
Winter still ruled the night.
But for the first time—
Rikuu didn't feel alone inside it.
And Ichika didn't feel like she was standing outside his world anymore.
The line hadn't disappeared.
But it had broken.
And neither of them could pretend it hadn't.