-RIKUU ARAKAWA POINT OF VIEW-
-DOWNTOWN ALLEY, SAPPORO, HOKKAIDO, JAPAN-
-3:01 PM, NOVEMBER 2, 2017-
I walked out of Aurora Academy without looking back.
My breath fogged in front of me as I shoved my hands into my pockets. The cold bit at my fingers, but I barely felt it anymore. I've felt worse.
Still… her voice kept replaying in my head.
"Arakawa…?"
Ichika Komori.
Pink hair. Soft eyes. Worried expression.
Why did she look at me like that?
Why did she bother talking to me?
I clicked my tongue and forced the thought out of my head.
I had somewhere else to be.
I cut through a side street and slipped behind a closed ramen shop. The alley smelled like smoke and wet asphalt.
Masayoshi was already there—leaning against a wall, hoodie half-zipped, chewing gum with no shame at all.
"You're late," he said. "Thought that rich-kid school finally locked you somewhere."
I shrugged. "Had to deal with something."
"Oh?" Masayoshi grinned. "What? Teacher caught you napping again?"
"…No."
"Then what? You look weird."
"I don't."
He rolled his eyes but didn't push. "Whatever. Come on. They're waiting."
-ABANDONED PARKING GARAGE, SAPPORO, HOKKAIDO, JAPAN-
-3:21 PM, NOVEMBER 2, 2017-
The place was dim, cold, and familiar. A few guys stood around the concrete floor, bills in hand, eyes sharp.
Masayoshi called out, "He's here!"
A tall guy stepped forward—tank build, taped knuckles.
"So this is the brat people won't shut up about," he said. "Thought you'd look tougher."
I rolled my shoulders. "You fighting or talking?"
The crowd laughed.
Masayoshi slapped my back. "Go get him, Rikuu."
The man cracked his neck. "Don't cry when I—"
I didn't wait.
The second the signal dropped, I moved.
A jab. A hook. A clean dodge.
He swung too wide. Too slow.
I ducked in and slammed my fist into his ribs.
Crack.
He choked on a breath.
One hit to the jaw—
Another—
And the last one sent him crumpling to the ground.
Silence.
Then cheers.
"He's down! The kid wins!"
Masayoshi let out a long whistle. "Bro, you're insane."
I wiped blood from my cheek. "Money."
Someone tossed me an envelope. I caught it one-handed.
Masayoshi leaned over my shoulder. "Oh yeah… medicine day?"
"Yeah."
"…Your grandma again?"
I didn't answer.
That was enough for him.
"Want me to walk with you?" he asked.
"No."
He clicked his tongue. "Fine. See you tomorrow, machine-boy."
I walked out.
-PHARMACY, DOWNTOWN SAPPORO-
-4:02 PM, NOVEMBER 2, 2017-
Warm air hit my face as I entered. The pharmacist looked up and sighed softly.
"Back again, Arakawa-kun?"
"…Yeah."
She packed the usual: pain relievers, cough syrup, fever patches.
"You should rest, too," she said kindly.
"I'm fine."
I paid with crumpled bills and left before she could say anything else.
-ARAKAWA RESIDENCE, SAPPORO, HOKKAIDO, JAPAN-
-4:38 PM, NOVEMBER 2, 2017-
The building's hallway was cold and dim, same as always. I climbed the stairs, unlocked the door, and kicked off my shoes quietly.
"I'm home."
A soft cough came from the bedroom.
I headed straight there.
My grandmother, Fumiko Arakawa, sat against her pillow, looking smaller than yesterday—but smiling anyway.
"You're late, Riku-chan," she said.
"…Sorry. School stuff."
She chuckled weakly. "Enjoy school while you can, dear."
Enjoy.
Right.
I sat down beside her and opened the medicine.
"You're cold," she murmured, touching my hand.
"I'm fine."
Her eyes said she didn't believe me.
"Riku-chan," she whispered.
"…Yeah?"
"You're doing your best, aren't you?"
My chest tightened.
I looked at the bottle in my hand so she wouldn't see whatever expression tried to surface.
"…Yeah."
She touched my cheek gently, like she always did.
"I'm proud of you."
I swallowed, hard.
"Here," I said quietly. "Take your medicine."
She nodded, holding my wrist lightly as I helped her drink. When she finally leaned back, her breathing steadied.
I sat there until she fell asleep.
Outside, snow kept falling—a quiet, cold world.
But for some reason…
"Arakawa…"
Her voice drifted back into my mind.
Ichika Komori.
Why was she still there?
Why did her eyes bother me more than the bruises on my ribs?
I looked at the sleeping form of my grandmother.
…Doesn't matter.
Tomorrow, I'd go to school again.
Fight again.
Earn again.
Repeat.
That's my life.
But somewhere—somewhere I didn't ask for—
a warm flicker stayed lit.
And I didn't know what to do with it.