Fuuko walked slowly up the familiar steps of her apartment building, the evening air crisp against her cheeks.
In her hands rested a small package, wrapped neatly in plain paper and tied with a thin blue ribbon.
She had carried it all the way from the park, carefully cradling it like it was a fragile treasure.
"Why am I this nervous?" she muttered under her breath, glancing around the quiet street.
The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the city bathed in a soft amber glow.
The package didn't look threatening, yet her heart thumped as if it were trying to escape her chest.
Once inside, she set the gift carefully on her desk. Her fingers hovered above it for a moment, hesitant.
The simple packaging seemed almost too ordinary, yet somehow it felt… important.
"…It's from him," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Haru. Arita-kun. The boy who had jogged through Shibuya day after day, who had grown stronger, taller, and more confident, yet somehow still retained that quiet, awkward charm that made him endearing.
Taking a deep breath, Fuuko picked up the package.
Slowly, carefully, she untied the ribbon and peeled back the paper. Inside, she found… a small, unassuming pill and a neatly folded letter resting beside it.
She blinked, staring at the objects as if expecting them to do something magical on their own.
No glitter, no lights, no Container.
Just a tiny pill and a letter. Simple. Minimalist.
Yet there was a weight to it she couldn't explain.
Fuuko unfolded the letter, smoothing the crease as her fingers trembled slightly. She began reading:
Arita kun's handwriting, neat but slightly rushed, the strokes filled with earnestness and awkward charm:
"Kurasaki-san,
This pill… I wont tell you what it does. It'll be a surprise. All I ask is that you trust me and take it before you go to sleep tonight.
Don't worry, it's not poison. I wouldn't do that. I just… want you to have it.
I know it's weird. I know it's sudden. But I trust you to do this. And… thank you, for being someone I can trust.
If you then wake up tomorrow and experience the pill…
Please read the letter under the box.
- Arata-kun"
Fuuko blinked, holding the letter close to her chest.
Her cheeks warmed, not from embarrassment, but from the quiet sincerity of the words. She looked down at the tiny pill again, then back at the letter.
"…He really trusts me," she whispered softly. She could feel the weight of his words, the subtle care that had gone into choosing the gift, writing the letter, and trusting her to follow his instructions.
It wasn't about the pill itself; it was about the trust, the bond, the connection they had formed over these months.
A small, almost imperceptible smile crept onto her lips. She didn't know what the pill would do.
She didn't even know why he had chosen this method. But she did know one thing: she trusted him.
The funny, awkward boy who had jogged past her every day, who had laughed awkwardly, who had tripped over his own words and yet somehow made her feel… normal, accepted, and calm.
"Okay," she said quietly to herself, her voice steady despite the nervous flutter in her chest. "If he trusts me… then I can trust him."
Fuuko set the letter aside and examined the pill one more time. It was small, round, and entirely unremarkable.
She couldn't imagine anything dramatic happening, she had already lived with more challenges than most people her age.
Prosthetic legs. Adjusting to a world that wasn't designed for her. And yet, somehow, the thought of following Haru's instructions didn't scare her.
If anything, it made her feel connected to someone who truly cared.
Her mind drifted as she sat at her desk, holding the pill in her hand. She thought about the months she had spent seeing Haru in the park: the way he had jogged tirelessly, the awkward jokes he had made, the small but genuine smiles they had shared.
How he had grown, taller, stronger, more confident and yet still been the same Arita-kun she had come to admire.
She remembered their conversations, small and lighthearted at first, but gradually deeper, more personal.
He had asked about her life, her school, the books she liked.
He had never treated her prosthetics as something to be stared at or pitied.
He had accepted her without hesitation, without unnecessary concern. And now… now he had given her a piece of himself in this small, strange, meaningful gift.
Fuuko's eyes softened as she recalled the last time they had walked together.
Haru had been nervous, awkward, and fidgety but he had been earnest, his sincerity radiating in every word and gesture.
Even his insistence that she not open the gift until he left had made her laugh quietly. The moment had been bittersweet: a farewell yet unspoken, a trust yet to be fully realized.
Her fingers traced the edges of the pill, then the folds of the letter.
She had no idea what it would do, but she didn't care. It didn't matter.
It wasn't the effect of the pill that mattered, it was the trust it represented, the bond that had formed between them over these months.
She chuckled softly. "…Well… I'm already a cripple. What's the worst that can happen?"
The thought made her smile more genuinely. There was no fear in her smile, only quiet acceptance, trust, and a hint of amusement at Haru's awkward way of giving gifts.
Fuuko set the letter back down and carefully placed the pill on her nightstand.
She took a moment to look out the window, the city lights beginning to flicker on as evening approached.
The streets of Shibuya looked serene from her small apartment.
She thought about Haru, about his encouragement, his quiet confidence, and the way he had grown and she felt a quiet warmth in her chest.
"…He really is something, isn't he?" she whispered to herself, soft and reflective.
She thought about their conversations, the gentle teasing, the light-hearted moments, and the rare but genuine smiles he had shared.
Finally, she took a deep breath. "…Alright, Arata-kun. I'll trust you."
She picked up the pill, holding it carefully in her palm. Then, following his instructions, she swallowed it slowly, the taste neutral, unremarkable, and yet somehow symbolic.
Fuuko leaned back against her chair, closing her eyes for a moment.
The room was quiet except for the distant hum of the city.
"…Thank you, Arata-kun," she whispered, smiling faintly, a quiet, genuine smile that carried warmth, trust, and an unspoken promise of continued friendship.
She placed the letter and the almost-empty package (theres still the letter for the morning) neatly on her desk, taking a final glance at them before turning toward her bed.
The city lights glimmered softly outside the window, and she felt the weight of the day, of the gift, and of the bond they had strengthened together.
As she lay down to sleep, the pill safely taken, Fuuko's mind wandered to Haru: tall, awkward, funny, and kind.
She thought about the jogs, the conversations, and the moments they had shared.
Though they were separated by distance, the connection between them felt stronger.
As if they could heal some of the pain she experienced in the world of Brain Burst
(A/N: plot thickens)
The night enveloped her in quiet comfort, a feeling of trust and warmth settling in her chest.
She didn't know what the pill would do, and she didn't need to.
Haru had given her something far more important than a simple gift: he had given her his trust, and she had accepted it.
And as sleep claimed her, a small smile remained on her lips, soft and serene, carrying the quiet bond between them into dreams