The snow was gone, but the memory of it lingered in the quiet corners of Sapporo. One year had passed since everything ended, and the city had slowly returned to the rhythm of ordinary life—laughter in the streets, footsteps in school hallways, the steady sound of a world that no longer needed to fight to stay standing. For most people, it felt like nothing had ever changed. But for Rikuu and Ichika, everything had.
Rikuu stood by the rooftop of their school, where the wind used to feel sharper, heavier, like it carried more than just air. Now, it was gentle. Almost warm. He looked out over the city, watching the buildings stretch toward the horizon, the same view he had seen countless times before—but somehow, it felt different. Not because the world had changed, but because he had.
Behind him, the door creaked softly before footsteps approached. Ichika stepped beside him without needing to say anything at first. She simply stood there, sharing the silence with him as if it belonged to both of them. After a moment, she spoke quietly, asking if he still came here often. Rikuu nodded, saying it helped him think. It wasn't a place he avoided anymore. It was a place he understood.
A calm silence followed, not empty, but full of something unspoken. Ichika's gaze drifted across the horizon, and then, softly, she asked if he still thought about everything that had happened. Rikuu didn't answer right away. Instead, he let the question settle, like a weight that had already been lifted long ago. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady. Not distant, but at peace. He said he still remembered, but it no longer controlled him. It had become something distant—something that belonged to the past, not the present.
Ichika smiled faintly, as if that was all she needed to hear. The wind passed through them gently, carrying with it a feeling of closure rather than loss. Rikuu glanced at her then, really looked at her, and said something simple—that she stayed. Ichika met his gaze without hesitation and reminded him that she always said she would. There was no grand declaration, no dramatic moment—just a quiet understanding between two people who had been through something they could never forget, yet had chosen to move forward from together.
The school bell rang in the distance, pulling them back to the present. Without another word, they turned and began to walk away from the rooftop, stepping back into the life they had fought to reclaim. The hallway was filled with voices again, the sound of students moving forward, just like them. And as they walked side by side, there was no need to rush, no need to run, no need to fight.
Because this time, they weren't surviving the world.
They were living in it.
And for the first time in a long time, that was enough.