-AURORA ACADEMY OF EXCELLENCE, SAPPORO, HOKKAIDO, JAPAN-
-2:00 PM, NOVEMBER 9, 2017-
The final bell echoed through Aurora Academy of Excellence, signaling the end of another school day.
Classrooms emptied gradually, voices overlapping as students poured into the hallways. Ichika Komori packed her things carefully, slipping her notebook into her bag before standing up.
"Are you heading home?" Misuzu Kanzaki asked as she adjusted her coat.
Kiyomi leaned over Ichika's desk dramatically. "Or are we getting snacks again?"
Ichika smiled softly. "I think I'll stay a little longer today."
Kiyomi gasped. "A little longer? That's suspicious."
Misuzu observed her closely but said nothing.
"I'll see you both tomorrow," Ichika added gently.
As they left, Ichika stepped into the hallway alone. The school felt different after classes ended—quieter, calmer. The echoes of footsteps lingered longer. Conversations softened into murmurs.
She hadn't planned to go anywhere in particular.
But her feet carried her forward anyway.
Down the east corridor.
Past the stairwell.
Toward the wing where club rooms were located.
She slowed when she saw him.
Rikuu Arakawa stood at the end of the hallway, his uniform jacket loosened, bag slung over one shoulder. He paused briefly before a door marked:
THEATRE ARTS CLUB
Ichika stopped a few steps away, instinctively pulling back behind a pillar.
She didn't know why she hid.
Maybe because she didn't want to interrupt.
Maybe because she didn't want to be seen watching.
Rikuu pushed the door open and stepped inside without hesitation.
The door closed quietly behind him.
Ichika remained still.
Her heart beat just a little faster.
She had seen him enter before—once, briefly. But this time, she stayed. This time, curiosity rooted her in place.
A muffled voice carried through the door.
"…From the top. Again."
Another voice replied.
"Yes."
Ichika took a careful step closer.
The door wasn't fully soundproof.
She heard movement. Footsteps. A change in tone.
Then—
Rikuu's voice.
Clear. Focused. Different from how he spoke in hallways or quiet conversations.
"I didn't choose this life," he said, voice low but steady.
"But I'll decide how I stand in it."
Ichika's breath caught.
The words weren't loud. They weren't dramatic.
But they carried.
She imagined him inside—standing straight, eyes sharp, expression serious. Not guarded. Not distant.
Alive.
"…Again," the instructor said.
Rikuu repeated the line.
This time, there was more weight to it.
Ichika pressed a hand lightly against her chest.
So this is where you go.
She remembered his tired eyes. His bruises. The way he walked through school as if he expected nothing from it.
And yet—
Here, he sounded like someone reaching for something.
Something he refused to let go of.
The door opened suddenly.
Ichika startled and stepped back just in time as another student exited, laughing and stretching.
"Man, Arakawa's scary when he's serious," the student muttered before walking off.
Ichika froze.
Scary?
No.
That wasn't what she felt.
She looked at the clubroom door again.
Her reflection stared back at her faintly on the polished surface—pink hair, soft eyes, a heart beating faster than it should.
Why does this matter to me?
She didn't have an answer.
Only a feeling.
A pull.
The same quiet flicker she'd felt since the alley. Since the mall. Since he looked at her and said her name like it mattered.
Ichika turned away slowly and walked down the hallway.
But her steps were lighter.
Her thoughts clearer.
By the time she reached the stairwell, she had already decided.
-AURORA ACADEMY OF EXCELLENCE — CLUB REGISTRATION BOARD-
-3:28 PM, NOVEMBER 9, 2017-
The board stood near the faculty office, filled with neatly pinned forms.
Ichika stood before it, hands clasped together.
She scanned the list.
Sports clubs.
Academic societies.
Music.
Arts.
Her eyes stopped.
THEATRE ARTS CLUB
She hesitated.
Then reached for a pen.
Her handwriting was careful, deliberate.
Name: Ichika Komori
Class: 1-B
She paused for a second longer.
Then signed.
As she pinned the form to the board, a strange warmth spread through her chest—not excitement, not fear.
Resolve.
She didn't know what would happen next.
She didn't know if she belonged there.
But for the first time, she wasn't just catching from a distance.
Snow fell softly outside the window.
And somewhere in the school—
Rikuu Arakawa was standing on a stage.
Unaware that, step by step,
someone had decided to walk toward the same light.