-AURORA ACADEMY OF EXCELLENCE, THEATRE CLUB STAGE-
-5:52 PM, FEBRUARY 1, 2017-
The theatre room had gone unusually quiet.
Students sat forward in their seats.
Scripts forgotten in their laps.
Takeda stood at the center of the stage now, facing Ichika.
Rikuu stepped aside, arms folded loosely.
Hoshino-sensei watched carefully from the front row.
"Alright," she said calmly. "Takeda will demonstrate the pacing he's suggesting."
Takeda nodded once.
He handed his script to another student.
Then looked at Ichika.
"Let's begin from Haru's line."
Ichika hesitated briefly.
But she stepped into position anyway.
Even if the scene wasn't meant for Takeda—
She was still acting.
"Whenever you're ready," Hoshino-sensei said.
Takeda inhaled slowly.
Then—
His posture changed.
His shoulders slumped slightly.
His gaze lowered.
A quieter version of the character emerged.
"You shouldn't be here," he said softly.
"You belong somewhere better than this."
Ichika followed the scene.
"But you never tell me why."
Takeda stepped away slowly.
"I don't want you seeing what I am."
His acting was controlled.
Technically excellent.
Each pause placed carefully.
Each line delivered with trained precision.
Several club members nodded in appreciation.
"That's good," someone whispered.
Masayoshi crossed his arms.
"…Yeah. He's skilled."
The scene ended.
Takeda turned toward Rikuu.
"That's what emotional pacing looks like."
The challenge was clear.
Hoshino-sensei glanced toward Rikuu.
"Arakawa."
Rikuu sighed quietly.
"…Fine."
He stepped onto the stage again.
The atmosphere shifted immediately.
It always did when he stood under the lights.
Ichika returned to her mark.
She studied him carefully.
Because she knew something others were only beginning to notice.
Rikuu didn't "perform" emotions.
He remembered them.
Hoshino-sensei gave a small nod.
"Begin."
Rikuu didn't move right away.
Then—
His voice came out low.
"You shouldn't be here."
The same line.
But it sounded different.
He wasn't speaking like someone practicing a role.
He sounded like someone protecting someone.
Ichika answered softly.
"But you never tell me why."
Rikuu looked at her.
And for a moment—
It felt like the theatre disappeared.
"I don't want you seeing what I am," he said quietly.
The room grew silent again.
Because there was no theatrical exaggeration.
No dramatic flourish.
Just quiet honesty.
Ichika continued the scene.
"You think I'm afraid of you?"
Rikuu's jaw tightened slightly.
"You should be."
The words landed heavier this time.
Ichika stepped closer.
"But I'm not."
Another pause.
Longer than before.
Rikuu's voice dropped.
"…You don't understand the kind of person I am."
Ichika shook her head gently.
"Then explain it."
And then came the moment.
The line that had ended the rehearsal yesterday.
"You deserve someone better than me."
But this time—
Rikuu didn't sound distant.
He sounded tired.
Like someone who had truly believed those words before.
The room stayed completely silent.
Even Takeda stopped shifting his weight.
Ichika delivered the final line.
"I choose you."
The scene ended.
No one spoke.
Not for several seconds.
Masayoshi finally whispered,
"…Well."
Hoshino-sensei slowly lowered her clipboard.
"Good."
Takeda looked away first.
Not angry.
But thoughtful.
Because the difference between the two performances was clear.
Takeda acted the role.
Rikuu lived it.
-THEATRE CLUB ROOM-
-6:18 PM-
Rehearsal resumed after a short break.
But the atmosphere had changed.
Students whispered quietly.
"Arakawa's version felt more real."
"Takeda's technique is better though."
"I don't know… Rikuu's felt honest."
Takeda gathered his things without speaking much.
Masayoshi leaned over to Rikuu.
"You just destroyed him."
"I acted."
"Same thing."
Ichika approached them.
She looked at Rikuu thoughtfully.
"You didn't change the script," she said.
"No."
"But the scene felt different."
Rikuu shrugged.
"…Maybe the character makes sense to me."
Ichika smiled faintly.
"Yes."
A small pause.
"Maybe that's why."
Across the room—
Takeda watched them quietly.
Not with jealousy now.
But something more complicated.
Respect.
Mixed with frustration.
Because talent built from experience was hard to compete with.
-HOKKAIDO UNIVERSITY HOSPITAL-
-8:02 PM-
Later that evening—
Rikuu stepped into his grandmother's hospital room.
The lights were dim.
Machines beeped steadily.
Fumiko looked up when he entered.
"Riku-chan."
"…Hey."
He sat beside the bed.
"How was rehearsal?" she asked.
"…Fine."
She smiled knowingly.
"You always say that."
He looked down slightly.
"…The play is about someone pushing people away to protect them."
Fumiko chuckled softly.
"That sounds familiar."
Rikuu didn't answer.
Outside the hospital window—
Snow fell quietly across Sapporo.
Winter continuing.
But somewhere beneath the cold surface—
Something warm was growing.
Something neither of them could fully stop anymore.