-AURORA ACADEMY OF EXCELLENCE, THEATRE CLUB STAGE-
-3:35 PM, FEBRUARY 13, 2017-
The theatre stage looked different today.
The temporary set pieces had finally arrived.
Painted walls representing a small winter town stood near the back.
A wooden bench sat under an artificial "snow tree."
Soft stage lights tested different colors across the scene.
Students moved around adjusting props and marks on the floor.
The Winter Arts Exhibition was now less than ten days away.
Full stage rehearsals had begun.
Masayoshi stood in the audience seats holding a clipboard upside down.
"I'm assistant director now."
"No you're not," Takeda replied without looking up.
Ichika stepped onto the stage, adjusting the sleeve of her costume jacket.
The wardrobe team had begun testing outfits.
It wasn't the final costume yet—
But it already felt like the play was becoming real.
Then the theatre door opened quietly.
Most students didn't notice.
But one person stepped inside and sat in the very back row.
A tall man in a dark coat.
Calm posture.
Observant eyes.
Ichika's father.
He didn't announce himself.
He simply watched.
-THEATRE CLUB STAGE-
-3:48 PM-
"Places everyone," Hoshino-sensei called.
"Full run of Act Two."
Students moved quickly.
Rikuu stepped onto the stage.
Today he wore a rehearsal version of his character's coat.
Simple.
Dark.
But fitting.
He didn't notice the quiet figure watching from the back row.
The scene began.
Dialogue moved smoothly between actors.
Lighting cues shifted the mood of the stage.
Then the main scene arrived.
The emotional confrontation between Haru and Yuki.
Ichika stepped toward him.
"You always pretend you don't need anyone."
Rikuu answered calmly.
"…Because I don't."
"You're lying."
"Maybe."
Their pacing had become almost instinctive now.
Every pause felt natural.
Every line carried meaning.
From the back row—
Ichika's father leaned forward slightly.
Watching closely.
Not just as a parent.
But as someone carefully studying the young man beside his daughter.
On stage—
The final confrontation of the scene arrived.
"You think pushing people away protects them?" Ichika asked.
"Yes."
"That's not protection."
"It's reality."
Ichika stepped closer.
"No."
Her voice softened.
"It's fear."
The room fell quiet.
Rikuu held her gaze.
Then delivered the line slowly.
"…Maybe."
The emotion landed perfectly.
The stage lights warmed the scene.
And for a moment—
It felt less like rehearsal.
More like a real story unfolding.
When the scene ended—
Hoshino-sensei clapped softly.
"Very good."
Takeda nodded from the side.
"Pacing is solid."
Masayoshi leaned over to another student.
"They're going to make the audience cry."
But in the back row—
Ichika's father remained silent.
Watching.
Thinking.
-THEATRE CLUB ROOM-
-4:36 PM-
Rehearsal paused for a short break.
Students grabbed water bottles and scripts.
Rikuu stepped off the stage, wiping his hands with a small towel.
Masayoshi approached immediately.
"Dude."
"…What."
"You're terrifying when you act."
"That's not a compliment."
"It kind of is."
Ichika joined them.
"You were very good today."
"…Thanks."
Takeda walked over next.
"Your performance has improved a lot."
Rikuu blinked slightly.
"…Really?"
Takeda nodded.
"You've learned how to control the emotion without losing it."
Masayoshi whispered dramatically,
"He's evolving."
"Stop narrating," Rikuu muttered.
Across the room—
The back door opened quietly.
Ichika's father stood near the hallway now.
He hadn't interrupted rehearsal.
He hadn't introduced himself.
But he had seen enough.
As he stepped outside—
A faint smile crossed his face.
Because the boy he had been cautiously evaluating…
Was beginning to prove something important.
Not just about acting.
But about character.
-AURORA ACADEMY SCHOOL GATE-
-5:18 PM-
Students left campus under a pale winter sunset.
Rikuu and Ichika walked together toward the street.
"You seemed calmer today," she said.
"…Maybe."
"The stage suits you."
"I don't know about that."
Snow drifted slowly between them.
Then she asked quietly,
"Do you still want to become an actor someday?"
Rikuu looked ahead.
Thinking.
"…I think so."
She smiled gently.
"Good."
He glanced at her.
"Why?"
"Because you're good at it."
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"…You're biased."
"Probably."
They continued walking through the snow-covered street.
Neither noticing that earlier—
Someone important had been watching from the shadows of the theatre.
And that person had quietly begun to approve.