**FLASHABACK*

"You don't get it, do you?" Mikako's voice cracked as she yelled, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "I can't just tell you everything—I'm not like you!"

"No, you just shut me out every time something's wrong," came the sharp response, a tone sharper than she'd ever heard it. "How am I supposed to help you if you won't let me in?"

"Help me?!" she snapped, her chest heaving with every angry breath. "You think you can fix everything just by being here? You don't even know what I'm dealing with!"

"Because you won't tell me, Mikako! You won't let me in about what's bothering you!" The words echoed in the small apartment, the silence that followed heavy and suffocating. Mikako turned her back on him, hugging herself tightly. She felt him take a step closer, but her voice stopped him cold.

"Just go," she whispered, her tone brittle, a fragile shield for the raw pain beneath it. "I don't need you. I never did."

He hesitated for a moment—just a moment—and then she heard the door slam shut behind him. Mikako didn't move, didn't cry, didn't scream. She just stood there, staring at the wall, her own words playing over and over in her mind like a cruel mantra. "I never did."

**END OF FLASHBACK*

**

**Four Years Later, The Present. | Shinsekai, Osaka, Japan.*

The dull hum of fluorescent lights buzzed above Mikako as she stared blankly at the counter, the convenience store's sterile atmosphere doing little to dull the chaos in her mind. She hadn't slept in days—not properly, anyway. Each night was spent battling the same suffocating thoughts, an endless cycle of regret and self-loathing. Tonight was no different. In fact, she'd already made up her mind. This was going to be it. The end. It had to be.

Her gaze drifted toward the wall clock above the drink coolers. Almost time to close. She tried to muster the energy to care but found nothing. The thought of returning to her tiny, crumbling apartment filled her with dread. The walls there were too thin to drown out the noise in her head. She toyed with the idea of skipping that step entirely—just walking straight to the bridge after her shift and letting herself fall. It would be easier that way, wouldn't it?

"No one's coming to save you," a cruel voice whispered in her mind. She pressed her lips together and forced herself to finish stocking the instant noodles on the shelf. But the thought lingered, clinging to her like the acrid smell of cigarettes that never seemed to leave her clothes.

**

Mikako stepped outside the store, the chill of the night air brushing against her exposed skin. The street was almost deserted, save for the occasional drunk stumbling home or a taxi gliding by, tires splashing through shallow puddles from earlier rain. She lit a cigarette with shaking hands, the flame briefly illuminating her hollow eyes and smudged eyeliner. Taking a long drag, she exhaled a cloud of smoke into the damp air. The taste was bitter, but it grounded her—if only for a moment.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She ignored it at first, focusing instead on the way the neon lights from the rundown pachinko parlor across the street reflected on the wet pavement. But as the buzz came again, an idea struck her, unbidden and sharp. She could send him a message. Just one. Not because she expected anything. Not because she deserved anything. But because part of her, the part she hated the most, still hoped he might care.

With trembling fingers, Mikako pulled her phone from her pocket, staring at the cracked screen for a long moment before typing the words that had been clawing at her from the inside out.

"You were right to leave. I'm not worth it. But if you care even a little... meet me at the bridge tonight."

She hit send before she could stop herself, her breath catching in her throat. For a second, she thought she might vomit. Instead, she shoved the phone back into her hoodie pocket, stubbed out the cigarette with the heel of her sneaker, and started walking.

**

The bridge came into view just as the rain began to fall again, light but steady. The district around her was eerily quiet, its usual buzz of life muffled by the late hour. The neon signs that clung desperately to the crumbling buildings flickered in and out, casting fleeting glows across the wet concrete. Mikako pulled her hood over her head, though it did little to shield her from the rain. Her steps slowed as she reached the middle of the bridge, her hand brushing against the cold metal rail as she leaned forward, staring down at the dark canal below.

Her breath came in shallow bursts, and she felt the sting of tears she couldn't hold back any longer. She hated herself for crying, for being weak, for hoping that he might actually show up. What was she even expecting? Closure? Forgiveness? A miracle?

She shook her head and closed her eyes, focusing on the sound of the water rushing beneath her. But then—footsteps. Soft at first, but growing louder against the rain-slick concrete. Her heart seized in her chest. Slowly, she turned toward the sound, and there he was.

Standing just a few feet away, his figure blurred slightly by the rain. Mikako's lips parted, but no words came out. She gripped the rail behind her, her knuckles white, as her tired eyes met his.

"You... actually came," she said, her voice breaking, barely audible over the rain. "Why?"

The question hung in the air between them, heavy with the weight of years of pain and regret. Mikako's hands trembled at her sides, her body caught somewhere between wanting to collapse into his arms and running away before he could see how far she'd fallen.