Fuuko woke before her alarm.
A strange warmth pulsed through her body, gentle yet insistent. like tiny sparks moving beneath her skin.
At first, half-asleep, she thought it was one of the usual phantom sensations her nerves sometimes produced, the kind that faded if she ignored them.
But this…
This did not fade.
It grew.
A rising hum blooming up from the ends of her legs or what should have been her legs.
She blinked slowly at the ceiling of her room, letting the early-morning sunlight seep in through the curtains. She stretched her arms above her head and….
Her breath caught.
That sensation.
There.
Below her knees.
Not the polished, cold surface of her prosthetics.
But something… soft.
Her eyes flew open.
Fuuko jerked upright in bed so fast she nearly fell forward. Her blanket slipped off her lap and she froze, staring, unable to breathe.
Two legs.
Two pristine, pale, human legs.
Her legs.
Her heart slammed violently against her ribs. She reached out a trembling hand hesitant, terrified that touching them would make them vanish like a dream evaporating at dawn.
Her fingertips brushed her shin.
Fuuko slapped both hands over her mouth to stop the sound that clawed up her throat an unsteady sob shaking her entire body.
Her vision blurred as tears spilled down, one by one, onto her new skin.
"Wh… what…?" she whispered, voice cracking. "How…?"
Her mind scrambled, searching for logic, for some explanation grounded in science or medicine or prosthetic advancement anything remotely normal.
But then she saw it.
On her desk, where she had placed it before sleeping:
The pill bottle.
The simple wrapping.
And the neatly folded letter from Haru.
Her breath stuttered.
Her chest tightened.
She crawled forward, clumsy and shaking, as though she were learning to move for the first time. Her knees her new knees bent awkwardly under her, sending ripples of sensation up through her thighs. Each movement was raw, dizzying, a shock of nerves reconnecting to a world they had never known.
Fuuko grabbed the letter haru said to read in the morning with both hands, nearly crushing the paper in her panic and wonder.
She unfolded it.
Haru's handwriting this time was uneven, a bit messy, but unmistakably earnest.
"Kurasaki-san,
You're probably confused. Or shocked. Or maybe yelling at the letter.
Don't worry. I'm probably even more nervous writing this.
I can't tell you what the pill is or how it works not yet. Just… trust me.
I gave it to you because I wanted… I wanted to do something for you.
Something real.
I don't know how your life has been, or how much you've suffered, but I know one thing:
I want you to run with me in the future.
Even if it's a far, far future.
when you wake up… I hope it helps you. Even a little.
Thank you for being my friend.
- Arita Haruyuki"
The moment she reached the last line, Fuuko broke.
A raw, spiraling sob tore out of her. She pressed the letter to her chest as tears dripped onto her new knees.
"He… idiot…" she whispered through the trembling. "You absolute… idiot…"
But she was smiling.
A broken, beautiful smile that hurt her cheeks.
He wanted her to run.
To run with him.
Haru didn't give her the gift because he pitied her.
He gave it because he believed in a future where she wasn't trapped behind limitations.
Fuuko wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist.
She looked down at her legs again.
Her legs.
The legs she had never been born with.
The legs she believed she would never have.
The legs she had quietly resented her parents for not allowing her to escape from by ending the pregnancy early.
And now they were here.
Hers.
Fuuko placed both hands on her thighs, breathing shakily. Then, with nervous determination, she swung them slowly over the edge of the bed.
Her feet, touched the floor.
Her breath erupted into another broken laugh-sob. She covered her mouth, shoulders shaking.
"Get a grip, Fuuko… get a grip…" she muttered, failing completely to do so.
She steadied herself, palms gripping the edge of the mattress.
Then she stood.
Her legs wobbled violently. She nearly toppled sideways. Sensations overwhelmed her pressure, gravity, balance, blood circulation returning like a long-lost storm. Every nerve sparkled like static.
She took one step.
And immediately collapsed with a loud, undignified thump.
"Ow! Wh…haha!" she burst into laughter on the floor, tears leaking again. "Haru-kun… you gave me a gift too big for me to handle…"
She lay there, laughing breathlessly, hugging her knees.
A gift she could never repay.
After what felt like an eternity, she pulled herself up using the bedframe. This time she moved slower. One foot forward. Another. Small shuffling motions. Clumsy but real.
Fuuko practiced for over an hour, pacing her room in tiny steps, falling more than walking. Each time, she got back up, wiping her face with determination.
Her parents were still asleep thankfully.
The last thing she wanted was to explain this. She didn't even have the words yet.
When she finally regained enough control to walk without collapsing instantly, she changed into her usual clothes struggling to balance long enough to pull pants over her legs and slipped out of her room as quietly as possible.
She avoided the creaky board in the hallway.
Carefully stepped past her parents' room.
Held her breath as she put on her shoes without attaching prosthetics for the first time in her life.
Then she left the apartment.
Shibuya's morning air was still crisp and cool when Fuuko made her way to the park.
She stumbled several times on the stairs leading outside the building, gripping the railing like a lifeline.
But every misstep only made her grin harder.
Her first walk.
Her first stumble.
Her first morning with real legs.
When she reached the familiar park path, her heart squeezed. She instinctively lifted her chin, scanning for one person.
Arita Haruyuki.
Was he already here?
Would he come rushing up to ask if she slept well?
Would he smile with that awkward, shy grin of his?
Fuuko stepped toward their usual bench the one where he first talked to her like she wasn't broken.
The bench was empty.
She sat down slowly, careful not to lose balance. Her breathing steadied as she rested her hands on her lap.
She waited.
Minutes passed.
Then an hour.
She watched every jogger, every bicyclist, every passerby, searching for a flash of black hair, a familiar expression, a slightly hunched figure running too earnestly for his own good.
But he didn't come.
Her chest tightened.
"…Arita-kun…?"
She reached for her phone with trembling fingers.
No new messages.
The realization hit like cold rain.
He was gone.
He had returned to Suginami with his mother just like he had told her he would. She had known, yet part of her secretly hoped he might delay, just for a day, just for this morning.
Fuuko leaned back against the bench, tears welling up again, this time softer, heavier.
"Arita-kun… really left…"
Her voice cracked as she curled her fingers into her skirt.
"…and he took my heart with him."
The breeze brushed her hair as she cried quietly not from loss, but from overwhelming gratitude and longing.
Because Haru hadn't just healed something broken.
He had given her a future.
And in that future, she knew one thing with absolute certainty:
One day, she would stand beside him.
And she would run.