The flight back is long in a way that doesn't get easier with experience. Even having done it before, Ryoma never quite adjusts to the rhythm of it.
They land at Narita under a pale morning sky. The cabin empties slowly. Everyone moves with the same dull patience, carrying fatigue like an extra layer of clothing.
As they step off the jet bridge, Aramaki exhales. "You know," he says, voice flat, "people say overseas fights are a good experience."
Kenta doesn't look at him. "This wasn't overseas. This was work. With turbulence."
"Zero sightseeing," Aramaki adds.
"I saw a hospital ceiling," Kenta says, turning to him, and grins. "The beautiful western nurses too. That counts."
Ryoma walks between them, shoulders tight, head heavy, already aware of the distance still left between this airport and Tokyo.
The humor barely registers, but it anchors the moment, proof that nothing about this trip ever tried to pretend it was a vacation.
