One night had passed since the rooftop chaos. That time yesterday, standing with five people under the autumn sky, felt like a dream. But it was real. Ichigo knew it clearly——the moment he entered the classroom. Before morning homeroom. The time when Rukia usually wiped down her desk. Rukia was sitting on the opposite side of the classroom, by the window. Diagonal from Ichigo, the farthest place possible. Her silver hair caught the morning light. But she wasn't looking at him. She was looking out the window. "[serious]Rukia" No answer. He took another step closer. "[gentle]Hey, about yesterday……" "[cold]I have nothing to say to you" She didn't turn around. Just four words. That was all. Ichigo stopped. He didn't know how to respond. He put his hand in his pocket, pulled it out. Put it back in again. In the end, he said nothing and returned to his seat. Then Orihime came in. Salmon-pink hair. Her usual smile. But no bento box in her hands. The moment she passed in front of Ichigo's desk, she glanced over——their eyes met. "[sad]……Oh, Kurosaki-kun" "[gentle]Yeah. Your bento, today……" "[sad]Sorry, I couldn't make it today" She spoke quickly. Her smile was strained. Orihime headed not to her usual diagonal seat in front of Ichigo, but to an empty seat in a different row. Ichigo watched her back. (Couldn't make it today, huh……) She'd brought one every morning until yesterday. Uryuu wasn't in the classroom——he had morning practice. Byakuya was sitting in the next seat, but the paperback novel he never let go of was closed on his desk. Unopened. He was just staring out the window. "[gentle]Byakuya, is something——" "Nothing" He didn't take his eyes off the window. Ichigo looked down at his own desk. No one had wiped it today. A single speck of dust floated in the sunlight. So this is what isolation feels like. It was almost funny. All four directions were blocked off. --- Lunch break. Ichigo headed to the school store. He pushed through the crowded hallway and stood in front of the small window of the store. Products lined up behind the glass. Melon bread, one hundred fifty yen. "[excited]Here, melon bread for you" Satsuki from the school store——a sixty-two-year-old veteran lady with her short white hair neatly tied back——handed the bag to Ichigo while looking startled. "[surprised]You haven't been alone lately, have you? What happened?" "[cold]Nothing" "You don't look like nothing, kid. Here's your change" He took the coins and turned away. Satsuki's voice——"Did you get rejected or something?"——stabbed into his back, but he pretended not to hear. He went up to the rooftop. He pushed the iron door. Autumn wind blew in. He sat by the railing. The place where he and Rukia always sat together. Today, only Ichigo was sitting there. He opened the melon bread bag and took a bite. It was sweet. The schoolyard was visible in the distance. The whistle from PE class. The sound of the JR train far away. The sky was high and pale blue. (Who do I like?) The melon bread was sweet in his mouth. But he wasn't happy at all. When he was a Soul Reaper——that memory floated back, faint like a dream. If there was an enemy, he could move. If he could see something to protect, he could run. But now it was different. No enemies. No sword. Instead, there was only a feeling he didn't know what to do with. He wanted to eat Rukia's burnt rice balls. That thought suddenly surfaced. The outside was pitch black, the inside soft, with pickled plum inside. Those were good. When Orihime's smile disappears, he can't settle down. He wanted to laugh again at Uryuu's nonsensical declaration——"I need you, Ichigo." Byakuya's page-turning sound wasn't there today. That sound, he'd thought it was annoying, but…… Halfway through the melon bread, Ichigo realized something. When they're gone, everything feels off. That much was clear. But whether that was "like" or something else——he still didn't know. He crumpled the bag. The wind blew. --- After school. Ichigo was alone at the Karakura River embankment. He didn't have any particular reason. He wasn't in the mood to go straight home. As he walked along the riverside path, a white heron stood on the riverbank. He vaguely remembered reading that Orihime passed through here in the morning, but thinking about that didn't matter. Then he saw a bench. An old bench by the river. There, salmon-pink hair was swaying. Orihime was sitting there. Head down. Her shoulders trembling slightly. She was crying. Ichigo stopped. He thought for a second about what to do, then walked forward. "[gentle]Hey, Orihime" Orihime's head snapped up like she'd been struck. She wiped at her eyes roughly with her hand. One second. Two seconds. Then she plastered on a bright smile. "[sad]Oh, Kurosaki-kun! Um——I'm fine!" "[serious]You were crying" "[sad]I wasn't crying! I just got something in my eye……" "Something in both eyes?" Orihime closed her mouth. Then she laughed quietly. This time it wasn't a forced smile. It was a real smile, just a little pathetic. "[sad]……I just lost my confidence, but I'm totally fine" "[surprised]Confidence about……what?" "[sad]Um, I like you, Kurosaki-kun. But yesterday on the rooftop, I realized everyone was there. Because I forced it……I'm sorry, you don't have to apologize, Kurosaki-kun" "[serious]It wasn't forced……" "[sad]I'm going home!" She stood up. Ichigo opened his mouth. He tried to say something. He searched for words to stop her. ——Nothing came out. Orihime's back grew distant. She walked along the riverside path. The white heron flew away. The river surface in the twilight glowed orange. Ichigo was left alone on the embankment. (I'm really hopeless) Uryuu might have been able to say something logical. Byakuya might have been able to convey it just by sitting silently beside her. But all Ichigo could come up with was "don't cry." He couldn't even say that. The river flowed. The sunset melted away. Ichigo sat on the bench and watched the twilight. --- Night fell. Second floor of the Kurosaki Clinic. Ichigo's room. He was sitting on his desk chair with a textbook open. But not a single word was going into his head. He looked out the window for no particular reason. There was a figure under a streetlight. Silver hair. It was Rukia. Rukia was standing on the street in front of the Kurosaki Clinic. Facing toward him. Staring at Ichigo's window. "[surprised]Rukia!" The words came out. The moment he tried to shout through the window——Rukia turned on her heel. She started walking. Toward the dark residential streets, at a quick pace. "[serious]Wait!" He flew out of his room. He ran down the stairs. At the entrance, he shoved his feet into his shoes——his right heel still outside——and burst through the door. He came out onto the slope. He ran. He turned the corner into the residential area. He ran again. His shoe with the heel stepped on kept slipping. Halfway down the slope, his foot caught. Thud. He fell forward. His palms hit the ground. His knees scraped. He got up. He ran. But it was already dark. The streetlights were far away. The silver hair was nowhere to be seen beyond the alley. He didn't know which corner she'd turned. He couldn't catch up. Ichigo stopped in the middle of the dark slope. His breath was ragged. His knees hurt. Sand clung to his palms. "[cold]……Damn" The words came out. In the empty residential street, only those words remained. --- He returned to his room. He didn't turn on the light. He collapsed onto his futon. He stared at the ceiling. A dark ceiling. Fragmented memories from when he was a Soul Reaper floated up. The weight of spiritual pressure. The feel of gripping his zanpakutou. Shouting someone's name. But what he'd shouted, who he'd shouted to——it was hazy like a dream, unclear. Even back then, he was bad at conveying things. The fighting started before he could speak. After it ended, he was too embarrassed to say anything. Time passed. Without saying anything. Nothing had changed. Heat blurred Ichigo's eyes. He tried to hold it back. He couldn't. He cried. He cried from anger at himself for wanting to be beside someone but being unable to do anything. He cried from the helplessness of Orihime's smile disappearing. He cried from the despair of not being able to catch up to Rukia's back. In the dark room, facing the ceiling, Ichigo cried properly for the first time. After a while, the tears stopped. He stared at the ceiling. His breathing became quiet. And one thing remained in Ichigo, certain and clear. I can't function without them. He still didn't understand what "like" meant. But that much was true. --- Before closing his eyes, exhausted from crying——he took out a folded white piece of paper from his desk drawer. I like you. No signature. At first it was a mystery. He'd wanted to know who wrote it. But now a different question was floating in his mind. How did someone who had the word "like" figure out what it meant? There was no answer. But Ichigo gently put the paper back in the drawer and closed his eyes. The next morning. The day before the cultural festival. On the slope where Ichigo was walking to school——the gentle uphill slope leading to the Harukaze shopping arcade——he saw the back of an old man pushing a hand truck. Minazuki Genzoou——the seventy-one-year-old white-haired owner of Minazuki-dou, a traditional sweets shop that had been in business for eighty-seven years, and chairman of the shopping arcade association——was slowly pushing a hand truck stacked with cardboard boxes. Probably daifuku for the cultural festival. "[serious]Hey, kid. You look pale" The moment Ichigo approached, the old man said it right away. "[sarcastic]I just couldn't sleep much" "There's a reason you couldn't sleep. Here, eat this" He opened the cardboard box on the hand truck and took out a daifuku. He placed it in Ichigo's hand with a soft pat. "[surprised]Is it really free?" "It's the day before the festival. Consider it a service. Go on, eat" The old man pushed the hand truck up the slope and left. Ichigo took a bite of the daifuku. It was soft, sweet, and tasted like red bean paste. The same taste as when he and Rukia ate it together here. Something small moved in his chest. Today, he had to talk properly. Even if he messed it up——it was better than not saying anything. Orange High School came into view at the top of the slope. On the morning before the cultural festival, handmade posters were visible on the school building windows even from a distance. But no one was waiting for Ichigo yet. He took another bite of the daifuku and started climbing the slope.