-AURORA ACADEMY OF EXCELLENCE, SAPPORO-
-7:41 AM, DECEMBER 5, 2016-
Morning snow dusted the academy grounds lightly, as if the city itself had decided not to rush.
Students arrived in clusters—laughing, yawning, complaining about the cold. The gates of Aurora Academy of Excellence stood tall and immaculate, just as they always had.
Rikuu Arakawa entered alone.
His scarf was wrapped loosely, his bag slung over one shoulder. A faint bruise bloomed beneath his collarbone, hidden by his uniform—but the soreness lingered.
He ignored it.
Class 1-A waited upstairs. Another day of lectures, notes, quiet endurance.
Yet as he climbed the steps, something unfamiliar tugged at his attention.
A voice.
Clear. Soft. Calm.
"Good morning."
Rikuu turned his head before he realized what he was doing.
Ichika Komori stood near the shoe lockers for Class 1-B, hands folded neatly in front of her. Her pink hair caught the morning light, almost glowing against the winter gray.
Their eyes met.
Just for a second.
She blinked first.
"Good morning, Arakawa-kun."
"…Morning."
That was all.
They passed each other like strangers—yet the air between them lingered longer than it should have.
Rikuu walked away with a faint crease between his brows.
Why does it feel heavier today?
-CLASSROOM 1-A-
-9:16 AM-
Rikuu sat by the window, elbow propped against the desk.
The teacher's voice blurred into background noise.
His gaze drifted outside, watching snow fall in slow, lazy patterns.
Focus.
He clenched his fist once and forced his attention back to the board.
But instead of numbers or words, his mind replayed a different scene—
Ichika on stage.
Ichika watching him.
Ichika asking questions she didn't have to ask.
"…Arakawa-kun."
Rikuu stiffened.
"Yes?"
"You haven't written anything."
"…Sorry."
A few classmates glanced his way. Rikuu picked up his pen and lowered his head.
He wasn't used to being distracted.
And he didn't like it.
-THEATRE ARTS CLUB ROOM-
-3:42 PM-
The club room buzzed with low chatter as members gathered.
Scripts shuffled. Chairs scraped softly across the floor.
Ichika arrived quietly, slipping into her usual spot near the side. She bowed politely to everyone, her posture perfect.
Rikuu noticed her immediately.
He always did.
"Alright," the club president said, clapping once. "We'll run partner exercises today. Emotional projection."
Groans followed.
Ichika straightened.
Rikuu exhaled slowly.
"Pair up."
There was a brief moment of hesitation—then movement.
Ichika turned slightly.
Rikuu stepped forward at the same time.
They stopped.
Both noticed.
"…If you want," Ichika said carefully, "we can—"
"Sure."
The word left Rikuu's mouth before he could stop it.
Her eyes widened slightly.
"…Okay."
They stood facing each other.
The exercise was simple: convey emotion without dialogue.
Silence fell.
Ichika inhaled, steadying herself. Her expression softened—uncertain, restrained, yet quietly intense.
Rikuu watched.
Then responded.
His posture shifted subtly. His eyes hardened—not cruel, but guarded. A wall.
Ichika felt it immediately.
Her chest tightened.
So this is how he protects himself.
The room disappeared.
They were no longer students.
They were two people standing on opposite sides of something fragile.
The silence stretched.
"Cut."
The club president stared between them. "…That was good."
Too good.
Rikuu looked away first.
Ichika lowered her gaze, heart racing.
-HALLWAY OUTSIDE THE CLUB ROOM-
-5:06 PM-
Members filtered out slowly, chatting among themselves.
Rikuu lingered, packing his bag.
Ichika hesitated by the doorway.
"Arakawa-kun."
He paused.
"Yes?"
"…Are you busy after this?"
He glanced at the clock.
"…Why?"
She clasped her hands together slightly tighter. "I wanted to talk. Just for a bit."
Rikuu studied her.
Her expression was calm—but there was something underneath it. Curiosity. Concern. Maybe something more.
"…Ten minutes," he said.
Her lips curved faintly. "That's enough."
They walked side by side down the hallway.
Snow tapped gently against the windows.
Neither spoke.
But neither felt the silence was empty.
-AURORA ACADEMY COURTYARD-
-5:18 PM-
They stopped beneath a bare tree.
Ichika turned to face him.
"…You don't have to answer this," she said. "But you always look like you're carrying something heavy."
Rikuu stiffened.
"That's just your imagination."
"…Is it?"
Her voice wasn't accusing. Just honest.
He looked away.
"You should stop thinking about other people so much," he said quietly. "It's unnecessary."
Ichika didn't flinch.
"Maybe," she said. "But acting taught me to notice things."
He scoffed lightly. "Then you should know when to stop."
She stepped closer—just a little.
"And what if I don't want to?"
Rikuu's breath caught.
For the first time, he met her eyes directly.
Snow fell between them.
Something unspoken hovered in the cold air.
"…You're strange, Komori."
She smiled—not brightly, not shyly.
"I've been told."
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Rikuu stepped back.
"I have to go."
"I know."
He walked away.
Ichika stayed.
Her heart beat too fast.
I'm getting closer, she realized.
And for the first time—
she wasn't afraid of the warmth spreading through her winter-cold chest.