(Volume - 3 - The Pharmacy Beyond Dreams Above!)
Chapter 1 - Burned Dreams, Shivering Soul
The snow was falling wrong.
Not gently, not like the soft lullabies Tokyo sometimes sang when winter draped its quiet arms across the city. No—this snow drifted heavy with ash, swirling in sickly spirals, glinting faint orange from the flames still clawing their way through the remains of Hukitaske Pharmacy.
Akio Hukitaske staggered down what used to be the cleanest street in the district. Now it was a wound in the world—blackened signs, shattered windows, and the acrid taste of chemical fire still hanging like punishment in the air. Every step he took left a faint wet print—half snow, half soot. His breath came in white gasps. He didn't dare stop walking because if he stopped, he feared he'd never start again.
His right sleeve was burned through to the elbow. Blisters crawled across his wrist. His eyes watered from the smoke. He couldn't tell if the wet streaks on his cheeks were melted snow or tears.
Behind him, the pharmacy—his life's second birth, his proof that he wasn't just a number, not just Subject 9—collapsed inward with a groan that sounded almost human. The final wall folded into itself, releasing a bloom of fire that painted the snow crimson for a moment before dying into smoke.
It was over.
The world around him blurred into a colorless haze of white and black.
He didn't even realize he was muttering aloud until the words fell out:
"Gone… It's all… gone."
He limped down a narrow side street where old ramen shops and tiny bars huddled together like survivors of their own past fires. Their shutters were down, their neon signs unlit. A single vending machine buzzed softly, half-buried in the snow, its blue glow flickering like a dying pulse. Akio's legs gave out there. He slid down the metal side of the machine and sat in the slush.
The snow that touched his face wasn't cold anymore. He was too numb to feel it.
He stared at his trembling hands, palms cracked and blackened with soot. The faint smell of antiseptic still clung to him. It was almost cruel—like a ghost of what he'd lost.
The place where he'd once healed others had become the site of his own destruction.
For a long time, there was nothing—no thought, no memory, no reason. Only the soft hiss of snow landing on fire.
Then memory intruded.
Raka's laughter when the new shelves went in crooked and she insisted they call it "character." Yamataro's booming voice trying to sing karaoke while holding a beaker like a microphone. Misaki's sarcastic commentary from behind the counter, pretending to hate every second of it but never actually leaving. Hikata's bright grin, always teasing Akio for being too serious. Rumane's smirk, quiet but loyal. Akazuchi's silence that always said more than words.
Every face flickered before his eyes like old film—warm, imperfect, human. Then the flames swallowed them again.
A hot sting of shame surged up his throat.
"I was supposed to protect them," he whispered. "I promised them safety. I promised them a place that couldn't burn."
The irony hurt worse than the burns.
Something cracked inside him then—like a thin layer of frost breaking underfoot. His shoulders started to shake. No sob came out, just air, ragged and empty.
He didn't notice the faint crunch of footsteps approaching until a flashlight's beam cut across the alley.
"Found him!"
The voice was bright, relieved, painfully alive.
Misaki. Her boots splashed through slush, the light trembling as she ran toward him.
Behind her came the others—Yamataro first, carrying a broken broom handle like a weapon; Raka behind him, her arm in a makeshift sling; Hikata with soot smeared across his forehead; Rumane steadying Akazuchi, who still limped from a bruised leg. Yasahute trailed last, face unreadable but eyes fierce with worry.
Akio looked up at them, too stunned to speak.
Misaki dropped to her knees beside him. "You idiot," she breathed, half-laughing, half-crying. "You should've called us. You can't just sit here like—like roadkill."
Akio's mouth opened, but only a hoarse whisper escaped. "It's gone. Everything. The pharmacy… it's—"
"We know," Yamataro said, voice low. "We saw it."
No one else spoke. They just looked at the smoldering skyline behind him, then back at their friend who sat amid the ruins. The silence that followed was not empty—it was shared. A kind of quiet that held them all together in grief.
Then Rumane knelt down and tossed a charred piece of wood aside. "You didn't fail," he said flatly. "You got bombed."
Misaki snorted despite herself. "Terrible phrasing, but… yeah. Pretty much."
Akio's eyes fluttered shut. "I wasn't supposed to survive. They said I was just… a variable. A mistake. A leftover test subject."
Raka's hand shot out, gripping his collar with surprising force. "Then shake the ash off and stand up, idiot. You're still breathing, aren't you?"
He looked at her—really looked—and saw that she was trembling too. Her fingers were cut and bandaged, her hair singed at the tips. They were all hurt. They had all come through the fire for him.
"You taught us dreams aren't inherited," Yamataro said softly. "They're built. One screw, one brick at a time."
Akazuchi's voice, quiet as falling snow, added, "You're allowed to break, Akio. But you're not allowed to disappear."
Even Hikata, usually the joker, spoke seriously. "We didn't follow you because of your pharmacy. We followed you because you didn't give up on us. So don't start now."
Akio's throat closed. His legs shook. But slowly—painfully—he pushed himself up. Misaki offered a hand, and when he took it, her glove left a faint mark of soot on his burned palm.
The snow fell harder now, blanketing the ground, muting the world's noise. The fires in the distance were dying. The night was cold, but for the first time since the explosion, Akio felt something like warmth—small, flickering, defiant.
"I'm still here," he said quietly.
And that was enough.
Rebuilding, Ribbon by Ribbon
The next morning arrived like a faded photograph. Pale sunlight spilled through smoke-stained clouds. The district still smelled faintly of chemical ash, but life had already begun to move on. Somewhere down the street, a shopkeeper was sweeping debris away, muttering about insurance. A stray cat pawed through a pile of burnt packaging.
Akio and his friends stood before the ruins of the pharmacy.
It was a black skeleton of twisted metal and collapsed beams. The wooden frame was nothing but char. The sign that once read "Hukitaske Pharmacy" was split in half, dangling by a single nail.
Nobody spoke for a long while. Then Misaki sighed and crossed her arms. "Well," she said. "We'll need gloves."
It began like that—not with grand speeches, but with the simple stubborn act of doing.
First came the clearing. The broken glass. The melted jars. The smell of singed herbs that still clung to the air like ghosts of medicine past. Yamataro cleared debris with his bare hands until his palms blistered. Raka sorted through what could be salvaged: metal tools, a few unbroken vials, the charred but intact signboard. Hikata fetched tea and warmth wherever he could, turning even despair into a small comedy show for the volunteers who slowly gathered.
Word spread faster than Akio expected.
Customers came. Strangers came. People who'd once bought a single cough syrup or stopped for directions. They came with shovels, buckets, money, and food. Some came just to hold candles.
"Guess your quiet little pharmacy meant more to people than you thought," Rumane said, watching an old gramps hammer nails into a new foundation board. "Congratulations, you're a community symbol now."
Akio tried to laugh, but it came out weak. "I never wanted to be one."
"That's what makes you worth following," Rumane replied.
The work stretched into weeks. Government paperwork arrived by the truckload—insurance claims, reconstruction permits, and long letters of bureaucratic refusal. Misaki handled most of it, her sharp tongue and sarcastic charm terrifying half the officials she spoke to. "You'll approve this form," she'd say sweetly over the phone, "or I'll personally come over and read the fine print out loud until your soul leaves your body." The permit came through three hours later.
Hikata's "fundraising video" was somehow worse and better than anyone expected. It featured emotional music, a raccoon in a pharmacist's coat, and Akio awkwardly staring into the camera while Hikata shouted, "HE SAVED MY LIFE AND HE CAN SAVE YOURS TOO—IF YOU DONATE!" It went viral overnight. Donations poured in.
Raka and Yamataro led the physical reconstruction. Akazuchi negotiated with suppliers, quietly pulling strings no one knew he had. Rumane organized night shifts and kept everyone fed with vending machine coffee and improvised soup.
And Akio?
He worked silently, hands bandaged but steady. Every screw he tightened, every shelf he sanded down—it felt like stitching a wound closed. He stopped counting the hours. Time became a rhythm: build, breathe, rest, repeat.
The scent of antiseptic returned first. Then the faint sweetness of cinnamon from Raka's winter mix. The place was becoming itself again—different, scarred, but still alive.
When the new sign was finally mounted—same calligraphy, slightly crooked again—Akio stood beneath it, snow dusting his hair, and felt something small and steady click back into place inside him. The world didn't feel quite as empty anymore.
The Second Opening
It was late afternoon when they finished.
The new Hukitaske Pharmacy stood humble but proud, a bright shape of white and pale green against the gray winter streets. Its glass door gleamed. A ribbon of blue silk hung across the entrance—symbolic, though none of them wanted speeches.
Inside, the shelves were freshly stocked. The counter gleamed. A faint hum of the heater filled the quiet. Outside, the snow had stopped.
Akio wore a clean white coat, the same style as before, though his right sleeve still bore the faint marks of the burns beneath. His hair had grown uneven, his face thinner, but his eyes were calm now—tired, yes, but steady.
A familiar chime sounded. The first customer stepped through the door: an elderly granny with a wool scarf and a cough like gravel. She blinked in surprise at the rebuilt interior.
"Back already?" she said softly.
Akio smiled, the smallest, truest smile he'd managed in months. "We don't stay down for long here, ma'am."
Behind him, his friends gathered quietly in the back room doorway, pretending not to watch but failing spectacularly. Misaki nudged Yamataro, whispering something about crying, which he absolutely denied.
The person paid, bowed, and left with her medicine. The door chimed again.
For a moment, silence filled the pharmacy—the good kind this time. The kind that means something has ended and something else has begun.
Akio turned toward the others. "Why are you all grinning like that?"
No one answered. They just laughed—loud, warm, alive.
Akio exhaled, leaning back against the counter, eyes half-closed.
The world was still broken, still dangerous, still cruel. But he wasn't alone in it.
Not anymore.
The snow began to fall again outside—but this time, it felt clean.
And for the first time since the fire, Akio didn't feel the burn.
He felt the pulse of life beneath the ashes.
A promise rekindled. A dream reborn.
[Next: Chapter 2 — The Anonymous Arrival]