VOLUME 3: WHEN ICE LEARNS TO BURN
-
-KOMORI RESIDENCE, UPTOWN SAPPORO, HOKKAIDO, JAPAN-
-6:12 PM, DECEMBER 1, 2016-
The Komori residence overlooked the city like a quiet guardian.
Floor-to-ceiling glass framed Sapporo in orderly lights, the streets below moving with calm precision. Snow rested gently on rooftops, untouched and pristine, reflecting the glow of evening like a carefully curated painting.
Ichika Komori stood barefoot on the polished floor, her reflection faint against the window. She held a porcelain teacup with both hands, the warmth seeping into her fingers as jasmine steam curled upward.
Behind her, the house was alive in hushed ways—soft footsteps of staff, distant murmurs from another room, the muted chime of a clock that never missed a second.
"Dinner will be ready shortly, Ichika-sama," a housekeeper said kindly.
"Thank you," Ichika replied, her voice gentle as ever.
She didn't turn away from the window.
Below, the city continued on—people heading home, headlights tracing familiar paths, warmth promised behind doors she would never need to knock on.
And yet—
Her thoughts weren't here.
They drifted instead to a quiet clubroom, dim lights, dust-scented curtains.
To a boy who stood a little too still, eyes always watchful.
Rikuu Arakawa.
She pressed the teacup closer to her chest.
It surprised her how easily his name settled in her mind now. How naturally it came, uninvited, unforced. The way his presence lingered even when he wasn't there—like heat after a flame had already gone out.
He looked tired today, she thought.
That was how it always began.
Not curiosity. Not fascination.
Concern.
She remembered the faint shadows beneath his eyes. The way his shoulders carried weight without complaint. The way he spoke—measured, guarded, but honest when it mattered.
Ichika exhaled slowly.
She had lived her whole life in warmth, in stability, in certainty. Problems were solved quietly. Pain was kept at a distance. Winters were beautiful—but never cruel.
And yet—
Her heart had begun to lean toward something colder.
Something harsher.
Something real.
The clock chimed again.
Ichika turned away from the glass at last, setting the teacup down untouched.
For the first time, the view behind her felt farther away than the city below.
-DOWNTOWN SAPPORO ALLEY, HOKKAIDO, JAPAN-
-6:29 PM, DECEMBER 1, 2016-
The alley was narrow, damp, and unforgiving.
Snow had been trampled into gray slush beneath worn boots, the air sharp with smoke and cold metal. Neon signs from the main street barely reached this far, leaving shadows to stretch long and unchallenged.
Rikuu Arakawa rolled his shoulders once, loosening the tension that never truly left him.
Across from him, a man scoffed. "You sure you're good to go again?"
Rikuu didn't answer. He slipped his jacket off, tossing it aside.
That was enough.
The fight was brief.
It always was.
Movement. Impact. Breath knocked loose.
A clean hit to the ribs. A sharp crack to the jaw.
Rikuu stepped back as the other man crumpled, snow spraying under his boots.
Silence followed.
Money exchanged hands quickly—no words, no ceremony.
Rikuu counted the bills once. Folded them. Slid them into his pocket.
"Same time tomorrow?" someone muttered.
"Maybe," Rikuu replied flatly.
He turned away before anyone could say more.
As he walked, the cold finally caught up to him—seeping through fabric, biting into skin already bruised. He welcomed it. Cold was honest. It didn't pretend to be kind.
At the corner pharmacy, the bell chimed softly as he entered.
The clerk glanced up and sighed. "You again."
"…Yeah."
He bought the same things as always. Pain relievers. Fever patches. Cough syrup.
Routine.
Necessary.
Outside, he leaned briefly against the wall, breath fogging as he steadied himself.
That was when it happened.
Unwanted. Unnecessary.
He thought of her.
Komori.
Her calm voice. The way she watched him—like she was trying to understand something he hadn't explained. The warmth in her eyes that didn't ask for permission.
Rikuu clicked his tongue and pushed off the wall.
Don't mix things, he told himself.
School was one thing. Club was another.
This world didn't belong to her.
He walked faster.
-ARAKAWA RESIDENCE — OLD APARTMENT, SAPPORO-
-7:08 PM, DECEMBER 1, 2016-
The apartment was dim but warm.
Rikuu entered quietly, slipping his shoes off by the door.
"I'm home," he said.
From the bedroom came a familiar cough—soft, persistent.
"I'm here," Fumiko Arakawa replied, voice thin but bright. "You're late, Riku-chan."
"Sorry," he said, already setting the medicine on the table. "Club."
She smiled at that. "You like that club."
He didn't answer.
He helped her with the medicine, adjusted her blanket, sat until her breathing evened out.
Outside the small window, snow fell steadily—unnoticed, uncaring.
Rikuu leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.
For reasons he didn't understand, his chest felt tight.
Not from pain. Not from exhaustion.
From something warmer.
Something dangerous.
-SAPPORO CITYSCAPE (PARALLEL SCENES), HOKKAIDO, JAPAN-
-8:02 PM, DECEMBER 1, 2016-
In a glass-walled dining room, Ichika sat across from her parents, posture perfect, smile practiced. Conversation flowed easily—business, schedules, plans for the weekend.
She answered when spoken to.
She listened.
But her thoughts wandered—to an alley she had never seen, to bruises she pretended not to notice, to a boy who existed far outside her world.
In a quiet apartment miles away, Rikuu rinsed blood from his knuckles, careful not to wake the person sleeping in the next room. He stared at his reflection—tired eyes, hardened lines—and thought of someone who looked at him like he was still human.
They did not speak.
They did not meet.
Yet the same city held them both—snow falling evenly on luxury and hardship alike.
Winter did not choose sides.
And somewhere between warmth and cold, something inside Ichika Komori began to burn.
Slowly.
Silently.
Unstoppable.