-DOWNTOWN ALLEY, SAPPORO, HOKKAIDO, JAPAN-
-3:52 PM, NOVEMBER 1, 2017-
Snow drifted through the narrow alleyways of downtown Sapporo, catching in the uneven cobblestones and gathering like pale glass dust along the brick walls. The quiet was delicate, almost breakable—until footsteps broke through it.
Ichika Komori stood near the far end of the alley, waiting for her friends to arrive. Her gloved hands were folded neatly in front of her, long pink hair falling softly over her coat. She lifted her gaze when she heard movement from deeper inside the alley.
A figure emerged.
He stepped out of the shadows slowly, without a hint of hesitation, like someone accustomed to walking through darkness. A teenage boy, tall, with messy gray hair that fell over his forehead. His skin was pale, almost ghostlike in the winter light. But it was his eyes that caught her, held her still—a sharp, striking red that contrasted against the white breath leaving his lips.
Ichika froze.
There was something about him—something familiar, though she could not place how or why. A feeling, not a memory. Like a name on the edge of consciousness.
Her gaze shifted. Bruises marked his arms and jaw, faint but undeniable. Small cuts along his knuckles. He wore an oversized dark gray shirt beneath a coat not nearly warm enough for the weather. His scarf—gray, white, and black—rested unevenly across his neck, as if thrown on in a hurry.
He didn't notice her.
Not at first.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded set of bills—counting them casually, expression unreadable, as if pain were a normal part of living and not something to be treated with concern. The money exchanged hands recently. The bruises told the rest.
Ichika's breath caught, forming a cloud in the cold air.
For a moment, she forgot the snow, the city, even the reason she was standing there at all. She only saw the boy with red eyes and a bruise darkening just beneath his cheekbone.
She wondered—
Was he hurt?
Did someone do this to him?
Or had he done it to himself, through choices I could not imagine?
He closed his hand around the money, slipped it back into his pocket, and continued walking, each step measured and unbothered, as though the world did not have the power to touch him.
Only then did he glance slightly in her direction.
Not fully. Not enough for recognition. Just enough for Ichika to see the faint spark in those red eyes—like embers under snow.
Their eyes did not meet, yet something passed between the space they shared. A thread, fragile and invisible.
Then he walked past her, leaving faint traces of cold wind and distance in his wake.
Ichika turned her head slightly, watching him disappear into the mouth of the street beyond the alley. She didn't know his name. She didn't know his story. But the image stayed with her—
A boy emerging from winter shadows, bruised, breathless, and burning inside.
She exhaled slowly.
At that moment, she had no idea that this would not be the last time she would see him. Only that his presence lingered like heat beneath ice, refusing to fade.
And for the first time that day, the winter air felt different.