Rain slicked the streets, turning the city into a blur of lights and reflections.
Satoru Kojima pedaled slowly, one hand gripping the handlebar, the other held stiffly in a sling beneath his raincoat. His jacket was zipped to the neck, hood up, eyes focused on the road ahead. Every bump sent a dull ache up his spine, but he didn't stop.
He never stopped.
People passed him on foot, under umbrellas. Cars honked lazily through intersections. Neon signs shimmered in puddles like melting paint. The world kept spinning, indifferent and fast.
And he just kept pedaling.
His phone buzzed. A message from Minato Base.
> [We submitted your youth field form. Results should be back in two weeks. You did good.]
He didn't reply.
Did good? He didn't feel like it. His arm throbbed. His ribs still pulled tight every time he laughed—or breathed too deeply. He'd thrown up twice that morning from the painkillers. He'd missed school again.
But none of that mattered.
He'd stopped that mugging. The couple had gone home safe.
That had to be enough.
Didn't it?
---
In a car a few blocks behind, Kana Fujimura sat slouched in the passenger seat of her mother's Prius, arms folded, head turned toward the window.
"Is that him again?" her mother asked casually, eyes flicking to the boy in the hoodie and sling, slowly biking up the hill.
Kana didn't answer.
Rain blurred the glass. But she saw him clearly.
She always did.
Even when she pretended not to.
Same stupid raincoat. Same hunched posture. Same idiot helmet strapped to the back of his bike.
He looked like someone who belonged to another era—someone out of sync with the world, too stubborn to fall behind and too foolish to give up.
Kana hated how it made her feel.
Not guilty.
Worse.
Curious.
Frustrated.
Moved.
"…He's so stupid," she muttered, eyes never leaving him.
Her mother glanced at her. "Then why are you still watching?"
Kana turned sharply. "I'm not—!"
The car rolled on.
She looked back once more. Just a glance.
The boy kept pedaling, uphill now. Rain in his face. Sling at his side. Wobbly but never stopping.
No one cheered.
No one clapped.
But he didn't seem to care.
---
Satoru reached the top of the hill and slowed.
He looked up. The clouds were starting to break—just slightly. A little light, filtering through.
He closed his eyes. Let it touch his face.
Then he pushed forward again, wheels splashing through the water, disappearing into the gray.
> He kept pedaling. Even in the dark. Even when no one cheered.