In late autumn, Tachibana Taki met up with his high school friend, Okudera-senpai, and they talked about his trip to Itomori five years ago.
During the conversation, it was revealed that eight years ago, when the comet disaster struck Itomori, not a single person had died.
This confirmed that Miyamizu Mitsuha was definitely alive.
Seeing this, Zhong Qingxuan finally let out a long breath of relief.
Before the movie gave a definitive answer, everything had just been speculation. Now, it was confirmed.
Then came more subtle details in the story.
In winter, while Tachibana Taki sat in a Tokyo café drinking something, behind him were Teshigawara and Sayaka—now a couple—chatting and laughing together.
Seeing this, Zhong Qingxuan's heart tightened.
Tachibana Taki, turn around! If you just look back and meet them, reconnect with them, you might be able to meet Miyamizu Mitsuha again!
But how could Tachibana Taki—who no longer even remembered Mitsuha—turn around just because of their voices?
He stood up and left the café without looking back.
Zhong Qingxuan felt a surge of frustration.
A wave of resentment rose in her heart, turning into emotional energy aimed straight at Su Yan.
But soon, an even more explosive scene arrived.
Right outside the café was an overpass.
On one side stood Tachibana Taki, holding an umbrella against the snow.
On the other side, Miyamizu Mitsuha walked forward, also holding an umbrella.
Zhong Qingxuan's heart clenched again.
So this is how you arranged it, you devil of an author?
The two walked toward each other on the overpass, getting closer and closer.
But because they both held their umbrellas low, their faces were obscured—they didn't see each other.
Only after they passed did something feel off.
Tachibana Taki turned back, seeing only the silhouette of a woman with an umbrella.
Miyamizu Mitsuha also turned back, seeing only the silhouette of a man with an umbrella.
But neither of them stopped.
Tachibana Taki went home, while Miyamizu Mitsuha went into the café to meet Teshigawara and Sayaka.
Zhong Qingxuan was completely numb.
Another wave of resentful emotion shot toward Su Yan.
She had been a long-time fan of Su Yan and didn't want to act like those shallow netizens who started complaining at the slightest dissatisfaction.
But now—she really wanted to complain.
What are you even doing?!
What kind of writing is this? You call yourself a screenwriter? Give me the pen—I could write a reunion scene ten thousand times better than this garbage "just missing each other" plot!
Back at home, as Tachibana Taki continued looking through information about the meteor strike in Itomori eight years ago, a trace of confusion flashed in his eyes.
"Why does the scenery of a town that has already disappeared still tug at my heart so tightly?"
The ending song began to play.
Winter ended, and spring arrived.
Once again, it was the season of falling cherry blossoms.
Tachibana Taki had already found a job.
He walked across a railway crossing—the very same real-life crossing where the male and female leads passed each other in '5 Centimeters per Second'.
But this time, he was alone.
The scenes kept shifting.
Tokyo—Tachibana Taki, Teshigawara, Sayaka, Okudera, Miyamizu Mitsuha.
Everyone had gathered in this city, each living their own separate life.
The scene returned to the very beginning of the movie—Tachibana Taki waking up, tears in the corner of his eyes.
Only now did Zhong Qingxuan understand what those opening lines meant.
The two who had forgotten something important, who could no longer remember each other's names—aside from the lingering emptiness in their hearts that made them cry in their dreams—left no trace in each other's lives.
This was even more heartbreaking than '5 Centimeters per Second'.
In that story, the two leads let go—but they didn't forget.
Here, they had forgotten—but even after eight years, they still hadn't let go.
A gentle male voice sang in the background.
Miyamizu Mitsuha tied her hair with the braided cord she had once given to Tachibana Taki—and which he had returned to her.
The two stepped out of their apartments, looking at different views of the same Tokyo.
They each entered train stations near their homes, boarding different trains.
Tokyo was small—but also vast.
Even if they lived their whole lives in this city, the chance of crossing paths again might have only been that one time outside the café.
Because that had been pure coincidence. Once missed, they might never meet again.
But—
Zhong Qingxuan's eyes widened.
In the film, Tachibana Taki leaned against the train window, absentmindedly looking outside.
Miyamizu Mitsuha was doing the same.
When two trains on different lines ran side by side along parallel tracks, separated by rails and windows—
They saw each other.
At that moment, the tension that had been building in the theater for ten minutes finally broke.
Many people cheered and applauded.
Zhong Qingxuan wasn't that exaggerated—but her eyes reddened again.
The background music swelled.
The trains diverged, and the distance between them grew.
Their inner monologues overlapped.
"I've been searching for someone!"
"Someone!"
They got off at the next station, sprinting wildly toward the previous stop.
They turned anxiously through streets and alleys, searching.
Under the morning sun and falling cherry blossoms, they looked for each other.
Finally, they met on a long staircase.
Nervous. Uneasy. Hesitant.
Two strangers, pretending to be calm, passed each other at the midpoint of the stairs.
But in the end, Tachibana Taki called out.
Like the most ordinary way to start a conversation with a stranger—
Yet it made everyone in the theater hold their breath.
After just one exchange, both Tachibana Taki and Miyamizu Mitsuha urgently asked the next question—
"Your name is—"
"Your name is—"
The movie ended abruptly.
The credits began to roll.
The lights in the theater came on, but no one stood up.
Everyone stared blankly at the credits, feeling both moved and strangely empty.
Was that it?
Couldn't you add just two more minutes?!
Let them meet, get to know each other, fall in love, get married—
You devil of an author, is there really no post-credit scene?!
["So… does that mean I might have had some earth-shattering romantic adventure with a stranger somewhere in the past?"] Zhong Qingxuan wiped her tears with a tissue and blew her nose.
But waiting through the four-minute ending song wasn't in vain.
Although there was no continuation of the story, two pieces of information appeared:
The novel version of 'Your Name' would be released nationwide across the Xia Nation three weeks after the film's premiere.
And the second film of 'Rurouni Kenshin' was confirmed to release during next year's Spring Festival season.
The screen went black.
The movie ended.
Zhong Qingxuan left the theater along with the rest of the audience.
Everyone carried different emotions. A single film could touch people in very different ways.
At least, as she walked out, Zhong Qingxuan saw many people who had come alone already pulling out their phones, dialing numbers of someone buried deep in their memories.
It was only 9 PM when the premiere ended.
Among the four films released that day, the first batch of viewers had already begun posting their opinions online.
In fact, before today, most media in the Xia Nation had believed that 'Your Name' would have a huge advantage in this release window.
Not necessarily 100%, but at least an 80% chance—it would be the box office champion of the summer season.
But no one in the Xia Nation film industry expected this.
Just after the premiere, among all movie discussions, the popularity of 'Your Name' was overwhelmingly higher.
The buzz for this single film was more than double that of all the other films released that day combined.
Some people said they were already on their second viewing.
Others claimed this was the greatest work of Su Yan's entire career.
Su Yan's fans had always been passionate. The film industry thought they were used to it—but tonight's public reaction proved otherwise.
Tonight, it wasn't just Su Yan's fans who were excited—there was a massive wave of new fans as well.
His fans tried to keep their praise restrained to avoid backlash.
But casual viewers didn't care.
A flood of discussion posts, analysis threads, and praise posts appeared online.
Even before official ratings were released, theater owners and industry insiders already understood—
The film's initial 30% screening allocation… had been too low.
Tomorrow, it would have to increase.