The walk home took longer than it should have.
Not because Arthur was lost — he knew the road perfectly by now, every cracked tile, every vending machine, every corner that smelled like convenience store coffee. He just walked slowly. Deliberately. Like he was letting the morning settle into his bones before the world got loud again.
The sun was barely up. Pale gold spread across the rooftops of Akarigawa like something spilled gently from a cup. The town was still half-asleep — a delivery truck humming somewhere distant, a cat sitting on a wall watching him with absolute indifference.
Arthur looked at the cat.
The cat looked at Arthur.
"I survived a forest," Arthur told it.
The cat blinked once, then looked away.
"Yeah," he muttered. "Fair enough."
He kept walking.
His apartment felt different when he stepped inside.
Not changed — everything was exactly where he left it. The guitar leaning against the wall. The Little Prince on the desk catching morning light. The half-empty water bottle he forgot to pack.
But something in him was different, and rooms have a way of reflecting that back at you.
He dropped his backpack, kicked off his shoes, and stood in the middle of the small space for a moment — just breathing.
His clothes smelled like forest and cold air and something earthy he couldn't name. His fingers were stiff. His back ached in a very specific way that said you slept on actual ground, you absolute disaster.
But he was smiling.
Quietly. To himself. Like a secret.
He grabbed a change of clothes and stepped into the shower.
Hot water hit his shoulders and he made a sound so embarrassing he was glad no one could hear it. Pure, grateful, half-human relief. He stood under the stream longer than necessary, letting the warmth undo every cold hour the forest had pressed into him.
His mind drifted.
To the deer.
To the owl he almost screamed at.
To the flashlight debate he lost against himself.
He laughed softly into the steam. Actually laughed — not the polite kind, not the nervous kind. The kind that comes from somewhere real.
I actually did it.
Not a mission. Not a stat. Just a fact, sitting warm and solid in his chest.
I stayed. I didn't run.
He came out wrapped in a towel, hair dripping, and almost immediately the system flickered to life in the corner of his vision like a tiny glowing roommate who had no concept of personal space.
"Goodbye."
"I know. I just like saying it."
Arthur ignored it, got dressed, and sat on the edge of his bed. The apartment was quiet except for the distant hum of the town waking up outside the window.
He looked at the guitar.
The guitar looked back.
He picked it up.
He'd been watching tutorials for days — chord shapes, finger positioning, how to stop buzzing on the B string — and in his head it all made sense. Beautiful, logical sense.
In reality?
His fingers refused to cooperate like employees who hadn't been briefed properly.
He placed his fingers on the C chord, strummed once—
The sound that came out was less "music" and more "a very small animal learning it has regrets."
He winced.
Tried again.
This time it was worse somehow.
"Don't."
"I said don't."
"IT WAS A C CHORD—"
Arthur pointed at the air. "One more word—"
He dropped his head against the guitar strings, producing another accidental noise that sounded vaguely like a question mark.
"Shut UP."
He sat back up, exhaled, and tried again. Slower this time. Deliberately. One finger at a time.
The chord rang out — imperfect, slightly buzzing on the high E — but present. Real. Recognizable as music if you were generous and standing far enough away.
He stared at his fingers.
"…That was closer."
Arthur almost smiled. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
He kept playing. Badly. Quietly. Alone in his apartment with morning light stretching across the floor, fumbling through chord shapes like someone learning to walk in a new pair of shoes.
It felt good.
Not impressive. Not skillful. Just good — in the private, unhurried way that things feel good when no one is watching and nothing is at stake.
He'd been at it for maybe twenty minutes when his phone buzzed.
Haruka: hey r u home? I knocked yesterday but no answer. everything ok??
Arthur looked at the message for a second.
Then he typed back: yeah. sorry. I was out.
Haruka: OUT? where?? it was a weeknight arthur
Arthur: …the forest.
Three seconds of silence.
Haruka: THE FOREST
Haruka: ARTHUR.
Haruka: WHY WERE U IN THE FOREST
Haruka: im coming over
Arthur stared at his phone. "I didn't invite—"
A knock at the door.
He stared at the door.
"…She lives ten minutes away."
He let her in.
Haruka stood in the doorway with her hair slightly messy, a convenience store bag in one hand, and the expression of someone who had been worried and was now converting that worry into something louder.
"The FOREST," she said.
"Good morning, Haruka."
"It is NOT a good morning, it is a FOREST morning, why were u in the forest—"
"I needed to clear my head."
"ALONE?"
"I'm not a child."
"ARTHUR. It was a WEEKNIGHT. Exams are in FOUR DAYS."
She pushed past him into the apartment, set the convenience store bag on the desk like she owned the place, and then stopped. Looked around. Looked at him.
Her expression shifted.
Something softer replaced the panic. She tilted her head, eyes reading him the way people do when they notice something they weren't expecting.
"…U look different," she said quietly.
"I had a shower."
"No, not that." She studied him for another moment. "U look… rested. Like actually rested. Not just sleep-rested."
Arthur didn't say anything.
Haruka sat on the edge of his desk chair, pulling her knees up.
"Was it… good? The forest thing?"
He looked at the window. At the morning sky, clear and pale blue, the same sky he'd watched creep up through the trees a few hours ago.
"Yeah," he said simply. "It was good."
She nodded like that was enough. Like she didn't need the full explanation.
That was the thing about Haruka he'd been too distracted to notice before — she always knew when to push and when to just let things be. It was a quiet skill that most people didn't have.
She reached into the convenience store bag and pulled out two cans of warm milk tea, holding one out toward him.
He took it.
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment — him on the bed, her on the chair, the guitar still leaning against the wall, the morning outside unhurried and soft.
Then Haruka noticed the guitar.
Her eyes lit up. "Wait — play something."
"No."
"Please."
"Absolutely not."
"ARTHUR—"
"Haruka I am begging u—"
"ONE chord. Just one. I've never heard u play."
"System, I will find a way to delete u—"
Haruka blinked. "What?"
"Nothing. Fine." He picked up the guitar with the defeated energy of someone approaching a firing squad. "One chord."
He placed his fingers. Strummed.
The sound emerged — buzzy, slightly off, but identifiable as music if you had a generous heart and low standards.
Haruka pressed her lips together.
Arthur watched her.
She was trying. She was genuinely, heroically trying not to react.
Then she burst out laughing.
It was the warm kind — not cruel, not mocking. The kind that meant I'm laughing because I'm comfortable with u and this is ridiculous and I'm happy.
"Arthur—" she wheezed, covering her mouth.
"I KNOW—"
"What WAS—"
"I'VE BEEN PRACTICING—"
"For how LONG—"
"A WEEK—"
She laughed harder, and he started laughing too — actually laughing, the kind that made his ribs hurt and his eyes water and his chest feel lighter than it had in months.
"DELETE IT."
Eventually the laughter settled into something quieter. Haruka sipped her milk tea. Arthur turned the guitar over in his hands, picking at a single string absently.
"U'll get better," Haruka said, voice softer now.
"U have no idea if that's true."
"I don't." She smiled. "But u'll get better anyway."
He looked at her. She wasn't looking back — she was gazing at the window, chin resting on her knee, the morning light catching the side of her face.
Something about the moment felt still. Unhurried. Real.
And then it arrived — without warning, the way it always did.
The smell.
Warm milk tea, faintly sweet, and something in it — not the same, not exactly — but close enough to the cinnamon his mother used to keep in the kitchen just for him.
If my son likes cinnamon, then this house will smell like it forever.
His grip tightened slightly on the guitar neck.
He breathed through it. Slowly. Let the ache move through him like a wave instead of fighting it the way he used to.
It passed. Mostly.
He took a sip of the milk tea.
"Thank u," he said quietly.
Not for the tea specifically. Not for the visit. Just — in general. For being here. For knocking the day before when he wasn't home. For showing up with convenience store drinks and terrible timing and warm, easy laughter.
Haruka glanced at him. Something flickered in her expression — surprised, then soft, then quickly hidden behind her cup.
"Don't get weird about it," she muttered.
He almost smiled. "Too late."
After Haruka left — "study Arthur, I mean it, I will quiz u tomorrow" — the apartment settled back into its quiet.
But it was a different quiet now. Warmer around the edges.
Arthur sat at his desk and opened the system menu.
Right.
Reality.
Exams in four days.
He stared at the numbers.
He pulled up the shop.
Answer Exchanger — 100 points
Allows exchange of answers during exams. Each answer costs an additional 30–50 points depending on subject difficulty.
He did the math slowly.
If he bought the Exchanger now — 130 minus 100 — he'd have 30 points left.
One answer exchange in an easy subject cost 30.
One answer in a hard subject — physics, chemistry — cost up to 50.
Thirty points wouldn't even cover a single hard question.
He leaned back.
"So I buy the Exchanger and I can't even use it."
"How many points do I need to actually get through the exam properly?"
A window appeared.
Arthur stared at the number.
"I have 130."
"Exams are in four days."
"So I need to grind 170 more points in four days while also actually studying."
He dropped his face into his hands.
The system added, almost gently:
Arthur went quiet.
He hadn't thought about it that way.
He looked at the shop icon. Then at his textbooks on the desk, unopened and patient.
Then at the guitar.
Then at the Little Prince, its spine faded from being carried too many places.
Live the best life possible. So they'll be proud.
He exhaled slowly.
"Alright," he murmured. "Then I study first. For real. And whatever I can't get — that's what the exchanger is for."
"Don't push it."
Arthur looked at his bed.
He didn't argue.
He set his phone alarm, lay down on top of the covers, and within two minutes the sound of Akarigawa's quiet morning carried him somewhere soft and dreamless.
And for once, the darkness didn't come.
Just rest.
Just stillness.
Just — finally — a little peace.
Points: 130
Answer Exchanger: 100 pts to purchase
Per answer exchange: 30–50 pts depending on subject
Recommended total before exams: 300+
Points remaining after purchase: 30
Points still needed to use it properly: ~170
Exams: 4 days away.
Missions: incoming.
Arthur Lindström: asleep. Finally.