The house was quiet, save for the faint rhythm of creaking floorboards above. Satoru's arms trembled as he pushed against the floorboards of his room.
One. Two. Three. Four—
His arms gave out on the fifth. He collapsed onto the thin carpet, breathless, sweat soaking through the back of his shirt.
He didn't move for a while.
Then he rolled over and looked at the ceiling, chest rising and falling like a crashing tide.
Outside his door, a floorboard creaked.
He sat up fast, wiping at his face. The doorknob didn't turn. No knock. Just the sound of someone lingering on the other side.
A few moments passed.
Then footsteps retreated down the hallway.
---
The next morning, Keiko slid a cup of barley tea across the table toward him. She didn't say anything at first. Just sipped her own tea and watched him with a strange expression.
"You're still scared, huh?" she asked quietly.
Satoru hesitated. Then nodded. "Yeah."
She tapped her fingers against her cup.
"...You were still the bravest person there."
Satoru didn't answer. He didn't have to.
The silence between them wasn't awkward anymore.
It was something new. Something honest.
---
That afternoon, when he came home from school, there was a small package on his desk.
Inside: a pair of second-hand bike gloves.
No note.
Just a quiet offering.
Satoru sat on his bed, holding them in his hands.
They were worn, but sturdy. The kind delivery people used. The kind he'd sketched in the margins of his notebook.
He didn't cry.
But he smiled.
A little awkward. A little stunned.
Like something in the world had shifted, just a bit, in his favor.
---
That night, Keiko passed his room on the way to the bathroom. She paused.
The door was cracked open. Just enough.
Inside, she saw him doing push-ups again.
His form was bad. His arms wobbled. He grunted through every motion.
But he didn't stop.
Keiko leaned on the wall outside his door and closed her eyes.
She didn't say a word.
But for the first time, she believed in him.
Even if just a little.