-HOKKAIDO UNIVERSITY HOSPITAL, PRIVATE ROOM 314-
-8:26 AM, JANUARY 11, 2017-
Morning light filtered weakly through half-drawn curtains.
Snow fell steadily outside the window.
Rikuu stood near the vending machines down the hall, arguing quietly with a nurse about payment extensions.
Inside Room 314—
Ichika sat beside the hospital bed.
Rikuu's grandmother looked smaller against white sheets.
Thinner.
The oxygen line resting beneath her nose made everything feel more fragile.
"You didn't have to come this early," the older woman murmured.
Ichika folded her hands politely in her lap.
"I wanted to."
A faint smile.
"You always say that."
Silence lingered between them, soft but heavy.
The steady beep of the monitor filled the room.
"Rikuu didn't sleep," the grandmother said quietly.
"I know."
"He thinks I don't notice."
Ichika's eyes lowered slightly.
"He stayed awake most of the night."
"Yes."
The older woman coughed faintly, then steadied her breath.
"He's been fighting more."
Ichika didn't lie.
"Yes."
"And it's because of me."
"No," Ichika said gently.
"It's because he loves you."
The grandmother's eyes softened.
"That boy has carried weight since he was small."
Snow tapped against the window again.
"Komori-chan," she continued quietly, "tell me honestly."
Ichika lifted her gaze.
"If I become… heavier to carry," the older woman said slowly, "will you still stay with him?"
The question wasn't about romance.
It wasn't about school gossip.
It was about survival.
Ichika answered without hesitation.
"Yes."
The grandmother studied her carefully.
"You are from a world that does not struggle the way he does."
"Yes."
"You have warmth without fighting for it."
Ichika shook her head softly.
"Warmth is something you choose to give."
A faint smile appeared on the older woman's face.
"…You speak like someone older than you are."
Ichika allowed a small smile in return.
"I'm learning."
The grandmother's eyes drifted toward the door.
"He is thinking of quitting."
Ichika blinked slightly.
"…Quitting?"
"The fights."
Her chest tightened.
"He won't tell you yet," the grandmother continued. "He doesn't want you thinking he's weak."
Ichika's expression softened.
"I would never think that."
"He believes strength is endurance," the older woman said quietly. "But strength can also be stopping."
The monitor beeped steadily.
"I don't want him losing himself trying to save me."
Ichika felt something shift inside her.
A quiet understanding.
Outside the door, footsteps approached.
Rikuu.
The grandmother's fingers tightened faintly around Ichika's hand.
"If something happens to me," she whispered gently, "do not let him burn alone."
Ichika's throat tightened.
"I won't."
The door opened.
Rikuu stepped inside, holding two warm canned drinks.
He paused slightly when he noticed their hands clasped together.
"…What are you two plotting?"
The grandmother smiled faintly.
"Talking about how stubborn you are."
He exhaled lightly.
"That again."
But something in the room felt different.
Quieter.
More aware.
-HOSPITAL ROOFTOP ACCESS HALLWAY-
-12:14 PM-
Rikuu leaned against the wall, staring at the floor tiles.
Ichika approached quietly.
"You're thinking too loudly," she said softly.
"…Is that a thing?"
"With you, yes."
He didn't smile.
"I'm going to stop."
She paused.
"The fights."
The words came out controlled.
Measured.
"I can't keep coming home late like that," he continued. "If something happens again…"
His jaw tightened.
"I don't want to be somewhere else."
Ichika stepped closer.
"Are you sure?"
"No."
The honesty surprised even him.
"But I know I can't keep going like this."
Snow light reflected faintly through the hallway window.
"It'll be harder," he admitted. "Money will be tighter."
"We'll figure it out."
He looked at her.
"We?"
"Yes."
He studied her face carefully.
Searching for pity.
For doubt.
Found neither.
"…You shouldn't have to carry this."
"I'm not carrying it," she said softly. "I'm standing with you."
His shoulders loosened slightly.
For the first time in weeks—
The tension in him shifted.
Not gone.
But lighter.
Then—
His phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
He frowned and answered.
"…Yeah."
Silence.
His expression darkened.
"Who is this?"
A pause.
Then—
"…I said I'm done."
Ichika watched his jaw tighten.
"No. Find someone else."
He ended the call.
"Who was it?" she asked.
"One of the organizers."
Snow fell harder outside.
"They're increasing stakes," he muttered. "More money. Bigger crowds."
Ichika's stomach tightened slightly.
"Are you tempted?"
He looked at her.
For a long second.
"…Yes."
The honesty was sharp.
"But I won't."
Another pause.
"They said if I walk away suddenly, it makes things inconvenient."
"Inconvenient how?" she asked quietly.
He didn't answer immediately.
"…They don't like losing reliable fighters."
The air felt colder.
"Is that a threat?" she pressed gently.
"Not yet."
Not yet.
The words hung heavy between them.
Below, hospital life continued.
Nurses moving.
Families waiting.
Life balancing between fragile lines.
Rikuu slipped his phone back into his pocket.
"I'll handle it."
Ichika reached for his hand.
"Don't handle it alone."
He didn't pull away.
This time—
He squeezed back.
Firm.
Certain.
"I won't."
But as snow blanketed Sapporo in quiet white—
Somewhere beyond hospital walls—
Fire was being prepared.
Slowly.
Patiently.
Waiting.