The morning of January was quiet. When Miyano Arisu opened the sliding door to Hinata, the lingering scent from last night still hung low in the air. Soy sauce, dashi, and a faint trace of tobacco mixed together. Air she had breathed for seven years. Arisu tied on her apron and stood in front of the counter. Her week of paid leave had ended. To be precise, seven days and a little more, counting from last night. In the early days of the new year, Kagerou Slope had few people, and the shopping street had its shutters half-closed until just before noon. During that week, Arisu had spent almost all her time in her room. She watered the pothos. She read two paperback books. She walked along the river once. That was all. Whether that had been enough, she still didn't know. But this morning, she had left Corpo Misogi thirty minutes earlier than usual, passed in front of Komugi Doki, walked down Hikari Street, and come here. Earlier than Yoshiaki. Whether that came from her own will or from seven years of habit, she still didn't know. But she had come to think that she didn't need to confirm which one it was. Just a little. Arisu began wiping the counter with a cloth. The wood had texture. An old wall clock pointed to seven twenty. There was a small scratch on the counter seat at the far right. It hadn't changed in seven years. That something hadn't changed felt a little nostalgic this morning. Things that had been so ordinary she felt nothing about them before now seemed to return with a slight outline after a week's absence. Footsteps came down from the second floor. Majima Yoshiaki appeared in his apron. A look of slight surprise crossed the face of the fifty-eight-year-old man. He hadn't expected Arisu to be here first. "[surprised]Oh, you're already here?" "[gentle]Good morning." Yoshiaki paused for a moment, then started to say "Welcome back." But he changed his words. "[serious]...Were you able to rest well?" "[gentle]Yes, a little." Nothing more came after that. Yoshiaki went into the kitchen, and Arisu continued wiping the counter. It was a short conversation. That was fine, Arisu thought. Before, when Yoshiaki asked if she could rest well, she would have felt apologetic first. But this morning, there was something a little different. This person didn't understand it well either, she thought. He wasn't trying to exploit her, nor was he trying to impose his goodwill on her. Probably neither. He was just here, incomplete. This morning, she could accept that not as anger or gratitude, but simply as a cold fact. —— Past noon, the sliding door opened. It was Kawase Takuma. Dark brown hair cut short. His coat was buttoned properly. His eyes met Arisu's for a moment as he entered the counter area, and Kawase gave his usual quiet bow. "[gentle]Could I have just one hot coffee?" "[gentle]Of course, please." Kawase sat down at the end seat. He didn't take off his coat. Arisu thought that meant he didn't plan to stay long. As she brewed the coffee, Arisu watched Kawase's back from the corner of her eye. He hadn't mentioned the message she'd received at the end of the year at all. He didn't press her. He didn't confirm anything. He just sat with both hands on his coat-covered knees, quietly looking beyond the counter. That sincerity made the air feel a little heavy. Knowing that it was heavy, Kawase sat here. Arisu understood that. She placed the cup on the counter. Kawase cupped it in both hands. Arisu stood for a moment and looked at her apron pocket. Her smartphone was there. She took it out. She opened the SNS app. Kawase's message was still unread. ——I felt a little relieved hearing about today. It's not that I have something I want to say. I just wanted to tell you. Arisu looked at the screen. Then she marked it as read. Kawase's shoulders moved, just slightly. "[gentle]...Thank you very much." She said it aloud. Whether it was gratitude or a report that she had received it, she hadn't sorted it out herself. But these were the only words she could return right now. Kawase held the cup in both hands and paused for a moment. "[gentle]...I see." That was all. He didn't deny it. He didn't say he wanted to talk more. In that single word, Arisu could sense what Kawase was feeling right now. It came through to her. But she still didn't have the words to receive anything more than that. Today, she could feel that "still don't have" a little more honestly. Kawase drank his coffee quietly. Then he took out his wallet and placed the payment on the counter. As he stood up, he looked at Arisu once. "[gentle]I'll come again." The sliding door closed. Arisu listened to that sound as she cleared the cup. The words "I'll come again" sounded a little different today than before. Not like a promise, but like a report of fact. Whether that's what he meant, only Kawase himself would know, but that's how it sounded. —— When the time came to start the evening prep work, Arisu was chopping daikon. Her smartphone lit up on the table. An SNS DM notification. It was from Kinoshita Seiji. She stopped. She set down the knife. She opened the screen. ——I won't write a sequel. I won't make you a subject of my reporting going forward. Just two sentences. No apology. No explanation. No justification. It was typical of Seiji. Rather than writing to prevent misunderstanding, it felt like he had written only what needed to be written. A delivery of facts. Nothing more, nothing less. Arisu read it three times. The anger hadn't disappeared. She didn't feel nothing about that article anymore. But she didn't have the materials right now to decide how to receive this notification. Whether it was a resolution as a reporter or something personal, she had the feeling that even Seiji himself hadn't sorted it out. She told herself she didn't need to judge it. She closed the screen without marking it as read. As she began chopping the daikon again, a thought occurred to her. Her feelings toward Seiji were like grated daikon. Before you grate it, it has a shape, but once you grate it, you can't tell what's what anymore. ...What was she thinking about? Arisu gave a wry smile. She didn't stop chopping. —— After the evening service ended and the regulars had left. Listening to Yoshiaki's footsteps going up to the second floor, Arisu was wiping down the shop after closing. A voice came from outside the glass. "[serious]...Arisu, are you there?" The thin streetlight of Hikari Street cast Ryou's silhouette on the glass of the sliding door. Arisu set down her cloth and opened the door. Cold January air came in. Ryou was standing outside the shopping street. His ash brown hair was slightly tousled by the wind. His bright, upturned eyes looked straight at Arisu. Behind those eyes, there was something other than the usual anger or impatience. "[serious]I'm going back to Osaka tomorrow." "[gentle]...I see." "[serious]I watched from a distance for a week. You coming back to the shop alone, walking alone... Honestly, I'm worried. Still." Ryou's voice was a little different from any voice Arisu had heard before. He wasn't shouting. He wasn't pressing her. He was just saying it. As Arisu listened to Ryou's words, she was looking at their shape. The worry was real. It had never been a lie since middle school. But the shape of that worry was always the shape of standing in front of Arisu. The shape of protecting her. Sometimes that made her feel like she couldn't see ahead. Tonight, Ryou seemed to be standing a little differently. "[gentle]Thank you, Ryou." She called him by his name. Not his full name. The moment those words came out, Arisu was a little surprised. She thought it might have been since middle school. Ryou stopped. His upturned eyes blinked slowly. He tried to say something and opened his mouth. Then he closed it. "[sad]...Understood." He turned on his heel. His coat's back receded from the streetlight's glow. He entered the darkness of Hikari Street, turned the corner, and disappeared from view. Arisu stood in front of the sliding door and watched until his back was gone. There was a night when she had locked the door and left Ryou behind. There was a night when she had brushed his hand away. Tonight, she had seen him off to the end. It might have been just that, but for Arisu, it was a "just that" with a little weight to it. —— She closed the sliding door and turned the key. The metal sound echoed through the shopping street at night. Arisu put on her jacket and put her smartphone in her pocket. As she stepped outside, her smartphone vibrated in her pocket. She took out the screen as she walked. It was an unknown number. A text message. In the sender name field, there was text. ——Miyano Chieko. Her feet stopped. It was her mother's name. Standing under a streetlight at the edge of Hikari Street, Arisu looked at the screen. The message was just one line. ——May I go to Kagerou Slope? She read it again. Three times. Her mother had contacted her by text message, not by letter. She knew the name Kagerou Slope. She was asking permission to go. All three of those things were in that one line. Arisu didn't press reply or mark it as read. She closed the screen. She began walking toward Corpo Misogi. When she entered the promenade along Misogi River, the withered cherry blossom trees cast shadows in the streetlight. The river surface gleamed black. The bone-deep cold of a January night seeped through her coat. She passed in front of the bench where she had sat on the night of the first episode. She didn't sit tonight. As she continued walking, Arisu wasn't trying to decide something. She wasn't thinking about whether to write back or imagining her mother coming. She was just walking the winter night path with one line of text inside her. She climbed the external stairs of Corpo Misogi. The hallway light cast a white glow. She turned the key to room 206. When she entered, pothos and a cactus were lined up on the shelf by the window. She turned on the light. She placed her smartphone on the desk. The pothos leaves were round and still, sitting there. The seedling she had bought at the end of the year from Takeuchi Produce's storefront, reaching out her hand. No one had told her to. It wasn't for anyone. That small choice. Arisu took off her coat and hung it on the chair. She looked at her smartphone screen. Her mother's message was still there. She would decide on a reply tomorrow morning. That's what she thought. Tonight, that was enough. Next to the pothos sat the cactus. The one someone had given her seven years ago, the one no one had said anything about. The two pots sat side by side, with the withered row of trees outside the window as their backdrop, quiet and still.