Saturday morning carried a different kind of quiet. The school grounds were empty, leaving the city's usual hum more noticeable, distant traffic, the chatter of families heading to the market.
Urano walked a familiar route, one he'd taken nearly every weekend for years. The neighborhood shifted gradually from crowded apartments to quieter, older streets lined with modest houses and small shops. He stopped in front of a bakery, the smell of fresh bread wrapping around him as he entered.
"Kenzo!" the elderly baker called out from behind the counter.
"Right on time."
Urano gave a small nod, the hint of a smile touching his lips. He pointed to the usual box waiting on the counter, a dozen melon pan, still warm.
"You're a creature of habit, I'll give you that," the baker said as he rang up the purchase.
"But good habits, I suppose. Still visiting?"
"Yeah," Urano said, handing over the money.
"Good, good. Tell Mrs. Aike I said hello."
With the box tucked under his arm, Urano continued his walk. Ten minutes later, he stood before the familiar gate. The building wasn't large, a two story structure with a faded but cheerful blue exterior, a small playground off to the side with a swing set and a slide. A wooden sign by the entrance read.
"Suzuran Home" in gentle, curling letters.
As he pushed open the gate, a chorus of high pitched voices erupted.
"Urano brother!"
Three younger children, probably no older than six, came running across the small courtyard, their sneakers slapping against the pavement. Urano knelt down, setting the bakery box aside just in time for them to crash into him with the force of small excited meteors.
"Did you bring it?" one boy asked, his eyes wide.
"Melon pan?" a girl added, practically vibrating.
Urano opened the box. The smell of sweet bread filled the air, and the children's cheers were immediate. He handed them out carefully one to each small, reaching hand.
"Share with the others inside, okay?" he said, his voice small and soft.
They nodded vigorously before scrambling back toward the building, bread clutched.
"They've been waiting by the window since breakfast."
Urano looked up. Mrs. Aike stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on a floral apron. She was a woman in her late fifties, with kind eyes and hair streaked with silver, pulled back in a loose bun. Her smile was warm and knowing.
"You spoil them, Kenzo."
"It's just bread," he said, standing up and brushing dust from his knees.
"It's not the bread," she said simply, stepping aside to let him in.
"It's the consistency."
Inside, the home was clean and bright, filled with the sound of children's laughter and the faint smell of disinfectant and laundry soap. A few older kids lounged in the common room, watching television or reading. They waved when they saw him, casual and comfortable greetings.
Mrs. Aike led him to the small office, where a bookshelf leaned precariously against the wall.
"It started wobbling last week," she said, shaking her head.
"I'm afraid if one of the boys climbs it, the whole thing will come down."
Urano nodded, already rolling up his sleeves. He'd brought a small toolkit, something he'd started keeping in his bag after his first few visits revealed how many little things needed fixing around the home. He knelt, examining the joints, testing the stability.
"I can renovate this whole place into brand new but you just won't accept it..." He said in a small voice.
Mrs. Aike gave a small smile and replied.
"Did you forgot what you learned here."
He paused and replied.
"Yeah yeah keep it until it lasts..."
As he worked, a little girl maybe four years old wandered in and stood beside him, watching silently. She held a ragged stuffed rabbit by one ear.
He kept working, occasionally handing her a screw or a washer to hold. She took them with solemn seriousness, her tiny fingers curling around the metal.
"Her name is Hana," Mrs. Aike said quietly from the doorway.
"She's new here and doesn't speak much. Not yet, anyway."
Urano glanced at the girl. She stared back, her dark eyes large and curious. He didn't smile, he knew sometimes adults smiling too much could scare kids like her. He just nodded once. and went back to tightening a bolt.
Hana sat down cross legged beside him, her rabbit in her lap, and watched him work in contented silence.
Inside Satoru high school, in the student council room.
Sugato sat at the large brown desk, his head buried in his arms. Papers were strewn everywhere, budget sheets, vendor quotes, lists of supplies that grew shorter with each red slash of his pen.
"We can cut the outdoor lighting," he mumbled into his sleeve, his voice muffled and exhausted.
"And maybe… cancel the live band. We can just use speakers."
Kehea stood by the window, her arms crossed, watching the empty courtyard below. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm but carried an edge of fatigue.
"If we cut the band, the upperclassmen will riot. They've been waiting for that performance all year."
"Then what do you suggest?" Sugato's head snapped up.
"Ask for more money from the teachers? They already said no. Ask the students to pay more? We'll be the most hated council in Satoru High history."
Kehea turned from the window. Her dark eyes were tired.
"We're trying to solve this like it's a math problem," she said quietly.
"But it's not. It's a people problem. We messed up, now we have to fix it without making everyone else pay for our mistake."
Sugato's shoulders slumped. He ran a hand through his hair, making it messier than usual.
"My dad's going to ask how the festival went," he said, his voice dropping.
"He's going to ask what I learned about leadership. And I'm going to have to tell him I learned that if you screw up the budget, everything falls apart." He let out a short, bitter laugh.
"Some leader I am."
Kehea walked over and sat on the edge of the desk, facing him.
"You're not a bad leader," she said.
"You're a passionate one who made a mistake. There's a difference."
"Doesn't feel like it," he muttered.
"It doesn't have to feel like it," she replied.
"It just has to be true and we're not done yet."
Back at Suzuran Home, Urano finished securing the bookshelf. He gave it a firm shake, it held steady. Hana, still sitting beside him, patted the wood with her small hand.
"All done," he said.
She looked up at him, then slowly, deliberately, held out her stuffed rabbit toward him.
Urano paused. Then, with equal solemnity, he reached out and gently straightened the rabbit's crooked ear. Hana watched, then pulled the toy back to her chest, hugging it tightly.
Mrs. Aike appeared with two cups of tea. She handed one to Urano and kept the other for herself, sitting in the worn armchair across from him.
"You seem… lighter lately," she said, her eyes sharp in that gentle way of hers.
Urano took a sip of tea. "Do I?"
"Mhm yes it's like you do some good exercise daily."
He didn't answer. He just stared into his tea, watching the steam rise.
"Is it that girl?" Mrs. Aike asked, her tone knowing.
"The one you've been practicing with? Renka, was it?"
Urano's head jerked up. "How did you—"
"You mentioned her last time, only once. But you never mention anyone from school." She smiled.
"It stuck out."
He looked back into his cup
"She's… persistent."
"Good," Mrs. Aike said simply.
"You need persistent."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while.
Urano's phone buzzed in his pocket, a single message. He pulled it out.
It was from Renka.
"Forgot to give this back yesterday can I drop it by? I'm nearby."
Attached was a photo of the library book he'd lent her, a thick volume on advanced calculus.
Urano stared at the message.
'Nearby? How did she know where i was?'
Then he replied.
"Sure. I'm at the orphanage."
"I know." With a smile emoji came the immediate reply.
He put his phone away. Mrs. Aike was watching him, her smile deepening.
"That her?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"Invite her in for tea," she said, standing up.
"I'd like to meet the girl who managed to make you look less lonely."
Urano didn't replied. He just sat there, holding his warm cup.
Outside, the sun climbed higher, washing the faded blue walls in light.
And someone was about to walk through the door.