Accumulating Starlight, with You Once More — A3! Another Spring
When I came to, I was standing at an unfamiliar train station. An impossibly vivid stream of memories flooded my mind. Brilliant stages. The smiles of my friends. And the cruel vision of a future where the person most precious to me loses his life to illness.
This is the world just before the theater troupe MANKAI Company takes its very first step. Knowing what the future holds, I made a single, desperate resolution above all else: This time, I absolutely won't lose him.
My name is Sakuya Saku
Accumulating Starlight, with You Once More — A3! Another Spring - A Mother's Admonition and a Reversal Move
The rain had stopped.
Behind his eyelids, the downpour's afterimage still burned. The cold iron door. Itaru's hollow eyes. Arata's mocking voice. All of it, yesterday.
—No. Not yesterday.
Sakuya opened his eyes a crack. An unfamiliar ceiling. Old wooden beams. A faint scent of tatami. Beneath him, the feel of dry futon. Someone had changed his wet clothes. He was in a tracksuit now.
Where was he?
He tried to sit up. His arms wouldn't take his weight. Every joint ached. His temples throbbed. Throb. Throb.
"Don't move."
A hoarse voice came from the corner of the room.
He turned.
A small old woman sat before a low table. Short hair streaked with gray, pinned behind her ears. Deep wrinkles. But her eyes were narrow and kind. The face of someone who laughed often. A brown sweater. A worn-out apron.
In her hands, a steaming teacup.
"This is my room. In the MANKAI House. You collapsed in the garden this morning. You had a fever, so I changed your clothes. Don't hold it against me."
—MANKAI House.
Sakuya finally understood. This was the dorm. The one from his future memories. But now, it should still be empty.
"Um… who are you?"
"Ai Matsukawa. I'm the caretaker of this theater, more or less. A neighbor told me you'd been collapsed in front of that warehouse since yesterday."
Ai stood up.
A small frame. Her back slightly bent. She walked slowly to the low table and picked up a plate.
Rice balls.
Still faintly warm.
"Eat."
She set the plate down before Sakuya with a thud.
Then a teacup. Filled with a black liquid.
"My special herbal medicine. Tastes awful. But it works. Works on colds."
The herbal medicine had a sharp, bitter smell that stung his nose.
Sakuya stared at the rice balls.
Shaped into triangles. Wrapped in nori. The filling was probably pickled plum.
That ordinary shape. It pierced his chest. He didn't know why.
"…Thank you for the food."
His hands trembled.
He lifted a rice ball. Took a bite.
The sweetness of rice. The sourness of pickled plum.
A perfectly ordinary taste.
And yet, tears came.
One drop. Falling.
Another.
—I couldn't do anything.
—Arata took Itaru-san from me.
—I'm just a kid. Dead weight.
The hand holding the rice ball trembled. Fine, rapid tremors.
He clenched his teeth. Tried to kill the sound.
But he couldn't.
"Ugh…"
A sob escaped.
Once it started, it wouldn't stop.
"I… I couldn't change anything…"
His voice shook. Tears spilled down his cheeks. They fell onto the rice ball. Salty.
"In the future, Itaru-san dies. Overwork. His body gives out. I knew that. So I swore I'd save him. I swore it."
Ai said nothing.
She just sat beside him.
Quietly.
Then, with her wrinkled hand, she began to rub his back. Slowly. Slowly.
Pat. Pat.
A mother's rhythm. Soothing a child.
That warmth. That unconditional kindness. It broke the last wall around Sakuya's heart.
"Aaaahhh…!"
Sakuya wailed like a child.
Voice raised.
Tears and snot. A complete mess.
Ai asked nothing.
She just kept rubbing his back.
"You carry too much on your own."
How long did they stay like that?
When Sakuya finally stopped crying, the window showed midday brightness.
His voice was gone. His eyes were swollen red. But somehow, his heart felt just a little lighter.
* * *
"So. You came from the future?"
Ai's voice was calm.
The rice balls on the table had gone cold. The teacup of herbal medicine was empty.
Sakuya kept his head down. He gave a small nod.
A ridiculous story. He wouldn't blame anyone for thinking he was insane.
But now, no denial scared him anymore.
"Hoh."
Ai wasn't surprised.
She just narrowed her already narrow eyes and looked at him.
"And this Itaru boy is being broken by that young director from Weltbühne. That boy always wanted to know his limits. He'd get pulled in fast. He's been that way since he was young."
"You know him…?"
Sakuya looked up.
"Of course I do. Itaru Chigasaki. About eight years ago, when he was still a student, he joined the MANKAI Company as a kenkyuusei."
Ai's eyes looked into the distance.
"That boy had incredible talent. But he never learned to take care of himself. He'd push too hard. Get injured. Still try to stand on stage. If no one stopped him, he'd do it until he died. That's how dangerous he was."
Sakuya's chest tightened.
Eight years ago. Now. Itaru hadn't changed at all.
"And you want to save him. Because in the future, that Itaru boy saved you. You owe him."
"…Yes."
Sakuya clenched his fists.
"In the future, when I was a rookie, Itaru-san supported my acting perfectly from the wings. With lighting. With sound. When I was about to fail, he'd drop the lights at the perfect moment. Switch the scene. Fill the pause with sound. He watched me more closely than anyone. From behind the scenes. That's why I could stand on stage."
Ai listened in silence.
"But one day, Itaru-san collapsed. Overwork. In the hospital… he smiled. Said, 'I'll be fine.' And then he died."
His voice trembled.
No more tears came.
"So this time, I want to save him. I won't let him die. But… I couldn't do anything. Arata mocked me. Said, 'What are you to Itaru? Just a useless kid.' And he was right. I know that. More than anyone…"
Sakuya clenched his fists tighter.
His nails bit into his palms.
It hurt.
But that pain kept him together.
Ai let out a quiet sigh.
Then—
She placed her hand on Sakuya's head.
Pat.
"You're an idiot. A real idiot."
Sakuya looked up.
Ai was smiling gently.
"If you really want to save Itaru, don't try to persuade Arata with words. Beat him on stage."
—Beat him. On stage.
Sakuya blinked.
"Actors don't use words. They can only save people on stage. No matter how much you shout 'I want to save him,' you can't match an actor who shines on stage. That Arata man was an actor once, wasn't he? Then it's even more true. The only language that man understands is the language of the stage."
Ai's voice held certainty.
The weight of someone who had watched stages rise and fall for decades.
Something clicked inside Sakuya.
—Not words.
—On stage.
—On stage. Save Itaru-san.
Then—
A flashback.
His vision burst white.
* * *
A future memory.
The wings of the MANKAI Company stage.
The lighting booth.
Itaru stood there.
Headset on. Cue sheet in hand. Eyes serious. Watching Sakuya on stage.
"Lighting C-5, in on three-count. Sound, SE-12, volume 70."
Itaru's voice.
Calm. Precise. But burning.
On stage, Sakuya was about to stumble on a line.
That moment—
Flash.
The lights dropped. Softly.
Perfect timing.
A pause in the lighting. Time for Sakuya to catch his breath.
In that pause, Sakuya remembered the line.
Time Itaru made for him.
A stage Itaru gave him.
* * *
"…!"
Sakuya's head snapped up.
"I… Even if I can't stand on stage, I can fight. I can support Itaru-san from the wings!"
The future memory.
When Sakuya was a rookie, Itaru supported him perfectly with lighting and sound.
This time—
I'll do the same for him.
Ai grinned.
"Looks like you figured it out. Then there's no time. That boy's lead role in Karma opens tomorrow. I'll drill you on the basics. Lighting and sound cue calls."
* * *
Afternoon.
The cramped studio in the MANKAI House.
Old equipment. A lighting console from ten years ago. A tape-based sound mixer.
Ai taught Sakuya how to write a cue sheet.
"Q-numbers mark the timing for lighting and sound changes. They're your lifeline. Do you have the script for Karma?"
Sakuya pulled out the torn Karma flyer. The one he'd picked up outside the warehouse theater yesterday. Not a script. But it had fragments of information.
"That's all…? Fine. We'll make it work. Transcribe Itaru's performance from your memory onto a cue sheet. How he moves. What emotions he acts with. Remember everything."
Sakuya desperately traced his future memories.
Itaru's acting.
His tone of voice. His use of pauses. His emotional peaks.
And matching those—what lighting would he use? What sounds would he bring in?
He scribbled it all down.
The pencil lead snapped. Again and again.
The paper grew damp with sweat.
"…Q2, spotlight, warm color, center. Q3, overheads, blue, slow in. Sound, Q4, rain SE, soft."
Beside him, Ai checked with sharp eyes.
"Timing's too fast. Hold the pause two more seconds. Match the actor's breath."
"Yes!"
"Sound volume's too high. You'll bury the lead's voice. Don't interfere with the performance. You're support. Nothing more."
"Yes!"
Ai's teaching was brutal.
But everything she did held love.
For the stage.
For the actors.
And for Sakuya.
How many hours passed?
Outside the window, darkness had fallen without him noticing.
"…Alright. That'll do. The rest is on-site. Ad-lib."
Ai let out a breath.
"You've got good instincts. Maybe your talent isn't acting. Maybe it's backstage."
Sakuya gave a wry smile.
He looked at his hands.
Black with pencil marks. Nails split. Fingertips trembling.
But—with this, he could fight.
"…Thank you, Matsukawa-san."
Sakuya bowed deeply.
"Call me Ai. And here. Take this."
Ai held out an old navy staff jacket.
On the back: MANKAI Company.
"Your armor. For backstage."
Sakuya took it.
The fabric was thin. Worn out.
But somehow, strength welled up inside him.
"No matter what happens—I will save Itaru-san."
Sakuya clutched the jacket tight.
* * *
That night.
Kagari Warehouse Theater.
In the darkness of the port district, the building alone floated. Vaguely white.
Sakuya wore the staff jacket. Cap pulled low. Mask on.
In his hand, a rolled-up cue sheet.
In his pocket, a piece of candy.
(Go.)
The iron door that had thrown him out yesterday.
Tonight, he approached from the back.
…But.
"—Too many."
Black-suited guards patrolled the warehouse perimeter.
They hadn't been there yesterday.
Arata had predicted Sakuya's intrusion. Reinforced security.
Sakuya hid in the shadows.
His heart pounded.
What now? The front was impossible. Too many guards.
Then—
A clatter.
The back emergency stairs.
A young man stepped out. Black hoodie. Tool bag. Weltbühne staff.
He leaned against the wall. Pulled out his phone. Started a game.
(Break time.)
Sakuya held his breath.
The man's feet. His tool bag zipper was open. A neck-strap pass had fallen to the ground.
The man didn't notice.
Lost in his game. Not a single glance at the pass at his feet.
—A chance.
Sakuya's hand trembled.
Pick it up?
No.
But.
—This is the only way to save Itaru-san.
Sakuya bit his lip.
He squeezed the candy in his pocket.
—I'm sorry.
He whispered it in his heart.
Then he killed his breath. Approached quietly.
The man was absorbed in his phone screen. Didn't even sense Sakuya's presence.
With trembling fingers, Sakuya slowly picked up the pass from the floor.
Light.
Just a single plastic card.
But the weight of this sin was heavier than iron.
(I stole it.)
Sakuya gripped the pass.
His hand shook.
—But now, I can get in.
—To the wings of Itaru-san's stage.
* * *
Inside Kagari Warehouse Theater.
A dim corridor.
Pretending to be staff, Sakuya scanned the pass.
Beep.
A cold electronic tone.
The lock released.
(I'm in.)
He descended the stairs to the basement.
The rehearsal room. Where Arata had cornered Itaru yesterday.
Today was the day before opening night. No one should be here.
—But.
He heard a voice.
Hoarse. Pained.
Itaru's voice.
Sakuya hid in the shadows.
He peered in.
The basement rehearsal room.
A single bare bulb lit the space.
On stage, Itaru was rehearsing. Alone.
He had one hand on the wall. Standing was all he could manage.
Pale face. The shadows under his eyes darker than yesterday. Lips dry. A scab torn open. Blood seeping through. Hair disheveled. White shirt drenched in sweat.
"…One more time…"
Itaru muttered it like a soliloquy.
Script in hand, he slowly stood at center stage.
His knees trembled. Buckled.
He fought off collapse.
"…I… have seen… Karma…"
His voice wasn't there.
A scraping sound. Like clawing at the air.
Still, Itaru kept stand
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