The sky above Seika Academy was the particular shade of blue that only appears after a heavy rain—clean and boundless. Cherry blossoms, in their final week of glory, drifted on a gentle breeze, scattering pale pink petals across the rooftop like confetti.
Hiro slid the heavy door shut behind him, the familiar squeak of its hinges a comforting sound. The rooftop was their sanctuary, a place where the normal rules of the school day softened at the edges. Today, the usual group had assembled in their corner by the chain-link fence, where the sun pooled warm and bright.
He approached, taking in the tableau. Luna was carefully unfolding a pale blue cloth, her movements precise. Kaede had already torn into her bento with her characteristic enthusiasm. Lolo was attempting to balance a chopstick on her nose, while Yuki giggled and Takeshi rolled his eyes affectionately.
"Took you long enough," Kaede said around a mouthful of rice.
"Detention?" Takeshi asked, one eyebrow raised.
Hiro shook his head, settling cross-legged on the concrete. "Just helping Mr. Tanaka move some equipment in the chem lab. He's still convinced I have 'unusually robust musculature for a teenager.'"
The others exchanged glances. After the events on the football field—the blood, the transformations, the raw violence—the idea of Hiro having unusual strength felt like a secret they all kept from the world. A secret that sat between them during moments like these, quiet but present.
Hiro opened his bento—neat compartments of rice, grilled salmon with crispy skin, steamed broccoli, and a perfectly rolled tamagoyaki. The familiar, comforting scents of home cooking rose to meet him. He picked up his chopsticks, the simple motion feeling like a small victory. His hands no longer shook. The deep ache in his bones had receded to a background hum.
As he ate, he watched Luna. She was unfolding her own meal with delicate care. But when she revealed the contents, Hiro's chopsticks stilled.
There was no rice. No protein. Just carefully arranged carrot sticks, cucumber slices, apple wedges, and a small cluster of grapes. A meal for someone recovering, for someone still fragile.
"Luna," he said, his voice softer than he intended. "Why are you only eating vegetables and fruits?"
She looked up, her silver hair catching the sunlight. Her hand rose almost unconsciously to her throat, where a faint scar—pale pink against her fair skin—was just visible above her collar. When she spoke, her voice still carried a trace of hoarseness, like a singer who had strained her vocal cords.
"The doctor said I still have to be careful," she explained, picking up a carrot stick. "My throat injury is healing, but slowly. No oily foods, nothing spicy, nothing that might irritate it." She offered a small smile. "Just light things for now."
Hiro set his chopsticks down. "Does it still hurt?"
"Not much," she said, though her fingers remained at her throat. "Just sensitive. Sometimes it feels tight when I talk too much."
The conversation lulled as the others began eating. Hiro glanced around, realizing for the first time that the recovery was more widespread than he'd acknowledged. Lolo was picking at steamed fish and soft vegetables—no rice for her either, on doctor's orders after her abdominal injury. Kaede had a similarly bland assortment of tofu and soup, her usual fiery appetite tempered by her own healing stomach.
"I miss real food," Lolo groaned, poking at her fish. "I'd kill for some takoyaki right now. Or curry. Or literally anything with flavor."
"Right?" Kaede agreed, stirring her soup with a tragic expression. "This tastes like... health. Pure, unadulterated health. It's offensive."
Yuki, happily munching on a katsu sandwich, looked between them with sympathetic eyes. "But you're all healing! That's what matters!"
Takeshi swallowed a bite of his own lunch—perfectly ordinary, Hiro noted with a pang of something like jealousy. "So," he said, changing the subject, "what's everyone doing tomorrow? It's Saturday."
The answers came in a chorus of recovery:
"Physiotherapy. Afternoon appointment," Hiro said.
"Morning session for me," Lolo added.
"Me too," Luna said softly. "Second session this week."
"I've got one in the afternoon," Kaede finished. "For my stomach muscles. Apparently getting stabbed messes with your core strength. Who knew?"
Yuki blinked, looking around the circle. "Wow. You all really went through it, huh?"
An understatement so vast it hung in the air for a moment, palpable and heavy. Then Takeshi, ever the peacemaker, turned to Yuki. "What about you? Anything fun?"
Her face brightened instantly. "Oh! I'm getting the new volume of Santo's manga! Volume twelve just released! There's supposed to be a huge reveal about the knight's past, and—"
As she launched into an excited explanation, Hiro let the words wash over him. He watched a cherry blossom petal land in Luna's bento, resting on a slice of apple like decoration. She didn't brush it away.
This was their ordinary now: scars beneath uniforms, therapy appointments instead of weekend plans, conversations that danced around the memories of blood on grass. It was fragile, this peace, but for this moment, under a blue sky, with friends around him, it felt real.
The walk home from school had become a ritual of observation. Hiro moved through the familiar streets of his neighborhood with a new attentiveness, as if seeing it for the first time after a long absence. The baker where the old woman always set out day-old bread at four PM. The bookstore with the cat that slept in the window. The café where students gathered after school, their laughter spilling onto the sidewalk.
Today, he paused at a small candy store tucked between a laundromat and a shoe repair shop. He'd passed it a hundred times, but now the colorful display in the window caught his eye—jars of rainbow drops, boxes of chocolate, traditional wagashi arranged like edible art.
The bell above the door chimed a clear, bright note as he entered.
"Welcome!" called an elderly shopkeeper from behind the counter. She had kind eyes and hair the color of smoke. "Looking for anything special?"
"Just browsing," Hiro said, though that wasn't quite true.
He moved through the narrow aisles, his fingers trailing along glass jars filled with konpeito—tiny star-shaped candies that sparkled like gemstones. There were ramune candies that fizzed on the tongue, chocolate-covered almonds, gummy bears in riotous colors. And there, in a corner, the traditional wagashi: delicate pink and green mochi, bean paste sweets shaped like autumn leaves.
He selected a small assortment: a packet of the star candies, a few chocolate almonds, a single piece of sakura mochi wrapped in a cherry leaf. Childhood favorites, though he hadn't eaten candy in years. Not since his mother would sneak pieces into his lunchbox with a wink.
"Treating yourself after a long week?" the shopkeeper asked as she bagged his selections.
Hiro smiled, a real one that felt unfamiliar on his face. "Something like that."
Back in his apartment, the silence felt different. Not empty, but full of possibility. He changed into soft sweatpants and an old t-shirt, the fabric worn thin and comforting. At his desk, he booted up his gaming console—the familiar startup chime a Pavlovian trigger for relaxation.
He tore open the candy packet, popping a konpeito into his mouth. The sugar dissolved on his tongue, sweet and simple. On screen, a fantasy world bloomed into being: towering spires, mythical beasts, quests that could be solved with sword strikes and magic spells. No moral ambiguity. No fear of hurting someone you loved. No beast lurking beneath the surface.
For three hours, he lost himself. The candy dwindled. His character leveled up. The sun outside his window dipped toward the horizon, painting his room in golden hour light.
Just before nine, he saved his game and stretched, his spine popping in a satisfying series of cracks. The bath he ran was steaming hot, scented with the pine bath salts his grandmother had given him. He sank into the water with a sigh that came from his very bones.
Heat seeped into muscles that still remembered how to tense for a fight, how to brace for impact. He watched the steam curl toward the ceiling, his mind blissfully blank. This was another kind of healing, he realized—not just of body, but of spirit. The reclamation of small pleasures: the sweetness of candy, the thrill of a game, the enveloping warmth of water.
Later, in pajamas with damp hair, he checked his phone. A single notification glowed on the screen.
Luna: Goodnight, Hiro. See you tomorrow at therapy?
He typed back, his thumbs moving with a certainty that felt new.
Hiro: Yeah. Goodnight, Luna. Sleep well.
He set the phone on his nightstand, the screen fading to dark. Lying in bed, he stared at the ceiling where streetlights cast shifting patterns through the blinds. The ordinary day settled around him like a blanket.
"Tomorrow," he whispered to the quiet room. "Just another normal day."
And for the first time in weeks, he believed it.
The physical therapy clinic smelled of antiseptic and effort—the sharp clean of rubbing alcohol layered over the musk of sweat. It was a modern space, all clean lines and glass partitions, with equipment that gleamed under fluorescent lights.
Lolo was already there when Hiro arrived for his afternoon appointment, finishing her session with a series of careful planks. Her face was flushed with strain, but her eyes held a determined glint Hiro recognized.
"Don't overdo it, Lolo," her therapist, a woman with a clipboard and a no-nonsense demeanor, cautioned. "Your abdominal muscles are rebuilding, not ready for battle."
"Yes, ma'am," Lolo grunted, lowering herself to the mat with a groan.
In the waiting area, Hiro saw Luna through a glass door, her therapist gently guiding her through neck rotations. Her silver hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, and her face was a study in concentration as she turned her head slowly to the left, then right.
"How's your voice today?" the therapist asked, her voice carrying through the slightly open door.
"A little hoarse still," Luna answered, and Hiro could hear the slight rasp in it. "But better than last week."
"Good. Keep up with the vocal exercises. Gentle humming. The siren sounds I showed you."
Hiro took a seat, flipping through a magazine without seeing the pages. He watched as Kaede arrived, bursting into the clinic with energy that seemed to brighten the entire space.
"Let's DO this!" she announced, earning a chuckle from the receptionist.
"Easy, Kaede," her therapist said, guiding her toward the mats. "We're rebuilding, not competing."
At two PM exactly, Hiro's name was called. His therapist, a man named Kenji with shoulders that suggested he'd been an athlete in a previous life, greeted him with a nod.
"Your file says remarkable recovery," Kenji said, leading him to a set of light weights. "Bone density back to normal. Ligaments healed. But the muscle memory..." He tapped Hiro's shoulder. "That's what we're here for."
Hiro picked up the five-kilogram dumbbells. They felt absurdly light, and yet as he began his curls, he felt the strain in his biceps almost immediately. A dull ache, a memory of weakness.
"I used to lift twice this," he said, the admission leaving a bitter taste.
Kenji watched his form critically. "Your body went through trauma. Not just physical. The body keeps score, Hiro. It remembers the shock, the adrenaline surges, the fight-or-flight." He adjusted Hiro's elbow slightly. "You'll get back there. But you have to let it take the time it needs."
The session progressed through a series of exercises that felt both elementary and exhausting. Step-ups. Resistance band pulls. Balance exercises on a wobbly board. Each movement was a conversation between his mind, which remembered strength, and his body, which remembered breaking.
After an hour, sweat-drenched and breathing heavily, Hiro finished his cool-down stretches just as the others were gathering their things in the waiting area.
"Yo, cous!" Kaede called, waving him over. Her face was shiny with sweat, but she was grinning. "You look like you got put through the wringer."
"You don't look much better," Hiro returned, managing a smile.
Lolo groaned as she stood from her chair. "My abs are officially dead. Murdered by a therapist named Anzu. I'm filing a complaint."
Luna joined them, a towel around her neck. "My neck is so sore," she said, but she was smiling too. There was color in her cheeks that hadn't been there a week ago.
They stood together in a loose circle, four survivors comparing battle scars of a different kind. Hiro looked at them—Kaede with her hand resting lightly on her stomach, Lolo rotating her shoulders experimentally, Luna's fingers brushing her throat—and felt a surge of something fierce and protective.
"How long until you're all fully cleared?" he asked.
Kaede shrugged. "Doc said maybe two more weeks for me. Assuming I don't do anything stupid."
"One more week if I'm lucky," Lolo said. "Though at this rate, I might stay in therapy forever just for the attention."
A small laugh bubbled from Luna. "My throat should be fully healed in another week. Then I can eat real food again." Her eyes sparkled. "I'm going to order the spiciest ramen in the city. Extra chili oil."
The shared laughter felt like medicine.
They left the clinic together, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the sidewalk. The conversation flowed easily, a stream of ordinary concerns that felt like a balm.
"So what'd you do last night, Hiro?" Kaede asked, swinging her gym bag.
"Played video games. Ate candy. Took a bath. Slept."
Lolo snorted. "Living the dream!"
"It sounds relaxing," Luna said, her voice still soft but clearer than before.
"What about you guys?"
Kaede launched into an animated description of an anime she'd binged, complete with dramatic reenactments of key scenes that made Yuki—who had joined them outside the clinic—clap with delight. Lolo admitted to attempting and abandoning homework. Luna spoke of a novel she was reading, her descriptions so vivid Hiro could almost see the characters.
At a crossroads, they began to peel away. Kaede first, with a salute and a promise to text about homework. Then Lolo, claiming she needed to "nap for approximately twelve hours." Yuki and Takeshi branched off together, debating the merits of different manga series.
And then it was just Hiro and Luna, walking side by side as the streetlights began to flicker on.
"Thank you," Luna said after a comfortable silence. "For walking with me."
"Always," Hiro answered, and he meant it with every fiber of his being.
The evening had cooled, and a breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers from someone's garden. Luna's shoulder brushed his as they walked, a faint, steady pressure.
"Things feel peaceful now," she murmured. "After everything."
Hiro nodded, looking up at the first stars appearing in the dusky sky. "Yeah. It's nice."
"I'm glad we all made it through."
"Me too."
They reached her street, the familiar row of houses with tidy gardens. At her gate, they both stopped, neither moving to open it.
Luna turned to him, her face pale in the gathering twilight. The scar on her throat was just visible, a faint silver line. "This is me," she said. "See you on Monday?"
"See you on Monday."
They stood there for a moment longer, the space between them charged with everything unsaid. Then Luna smiled, a real one that reached her eyes and made them crinkle at the corners.
"Goodnight, Hiro."
"Goodnight, Luna."
He waited until she was inside, the porch light flicking on, before turning for home. His own street was quiet, the evening settling like a blanket. In his room, he scrolled through his phone, seeing the evidence of their ordinary lives: Yuki's manga photos, Takeshi's homework complaints, Kaede's cat selfies.
He set the phone down, the screen darkening to reflect his own face back at him. The boy in the reflection looked tired, but whole. The eyes that met his own were calm.
"Just normal days," he whispered to the quiet room.
Across town, Luna sat at her desk, practicing the vocal exercises her therapist had prescribed. "Ah... Eh... Ee... Oh... Ooh." Her voice grew stronger with each repetition. On her wrist, the bracelet Hiro had given her on Valentine's Day—a simple silver chain with a single blue stone—caught the light.
She touched it, the metal warm from her skin. "Thank you, Hiro," she whispered to the night. "For everything."
Sunday unfolded in a montage of quiet moments:
Hiro jogging at dawn, his breath puffing in the cool air, his body remembering how to move with efficiency if not yet with power.
Luna reading on her balcony, a blanket around her shoulders, her voice growing stronger as she read passages aloud to the morning birds.
Kaede playing with her cat, laughing as it batted at a feather toy, her movements careful but unhindered.
Lolo doing gentle yoga stretches in her living room, her face a mask of concentration.
In the afternoon, Hiro visited his grandparents, bringing flowers that made his grandmother clap her hands with delight. They drank tea and ate anmitsu, and for two hours, no one asked about scars or fights or beasts. He was just their grandson, home for a visit.
The group chat buzzed with mundane updates:
Takeshi: Does anyone actually understand calculus or are we all pretending?
Yuki: I'm pretending SO HARD.
Kaede: I can help! Wait no I can't I failed that quiz.
Lolo: We're all doomed.
Hiro: I'll look at it tonight.
Luna: Thank you, Hiro
Evening found them each doing homework, the ordinary burden of schoolwork feeling like a gift. Normal problems for normal teenagers. No life-or-death stakes. Just equations and essays and the looming threat of Monday.
The school gates were a torrent of students, a sea of uniforms and laughter and the frantic energy of a new week. Hiro spotted them immediately—Kaede waving dramatically, Lolo complaining about morning people, Takeshi looking sleep-rumpled, Yuki bouncing on her toes.
They converged, a knot of familiarity in the streaming crowd.
"Another week," Takeshi said with a dramatic sigh. "Here we go."
Yuki grinned, adjusting her bag. "At least it's not boring with you guys around!"
Kaede slung an arm around Hiro's shoulders, her grip careful but sure. "What could possibly happen?"
They all laughed, the sound blending with the hundreds of other laughs around them. For a moment, Hiro let himself believe it—that they were just students, just friends, with nothing more dangerous ahead of them than pop quizzes and cafeteria food.
Together, they walked through the gates, into the stream of their ordinary lives. The cherry blossoms had mostly fallen now, carpeting the ground in pink. New leaves, tender and green, were unfurling on the branches.
The camera of Hiro's attention lingered on them—on Luna's smile, on Kaede's laugh, on Lolo's eyeroll, on Takeshi's steady presence, on Yuki's boundless enthusiasm. They were healing. They were together.
And for now, in the ordinary light of a Monday morning, that was enough.
Peace, however fragile, was still peace. And after everything, they would take it—one ordinary day at a time.