-AURORA ACADEMY OF EXCELLENCE — THEATRE ARTS CLUBROOM, SAPPORO, HOKKAIDO, JAPAN-
-3:27 PM, NOVEMBER 11, 2017-
The clubroom was quieter than usual.
Most members had already left, leaving behind only the faint scent of dust, wood polish, and the echo of past rehearsals. Light from the high windows spilled across the stage in pale slants.
Ichika Komori stood at the edge of the platform, script clutched in both hands.
Rikuu Arakawa leaned against a chair nearby, arms crossed.
"…Start again," he said.
Ichika took a breath and spoke her line.
"I never asked to be seen," she said softly.
Rikuu shook his head immediately. "No. Don't say it."
Ichika blinked. "Then how—?"
"Stand still," he interrupted, stepping closer. "You're retreating with your voice."
She froze.
"…Like this?"
"Yeah." He adjusted her posture lightly—careful, distant. "Don't move. Let the silence work."
Ichika swallowed and tried again.
"I never asked to be seen."
This time, she didn't look away.
Rikuu's jaw tightened.
"…Better."
She glanced at him. "You're very strict."
"Because you can do better."
The words slipped out easily.
Ichika's fingers curled slightly around the script.
"…You always say things like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you already know what people are capable of."
Rikuu looked away. "Experience."
"With acting?"
"…With people."
She didn't press.
Instead, she stepped forward again.
The scene continued.
Ichika stumbled once—her voice faltering.
"Stop," Rikuu said.
She winced. "Sorry."
He exhaled. "Don't apologize. Figure out why."
She thought for a moment. "I was thinking about how I sounded."
"Then stop thinking." He met her eyes. "Think about who you're talking to."
Ichika hesitated.
"…Who am I talking to?"
Rikuu didn't answer right away.
Then—quietly—
"Someone who won't say what they need."
Her breath caught.
She spoke the line again.
This time, it carried weight.
Rikuu stared at her.
That wasn't instruction anymore.
That was memory.
He turned away abruptly. "…That's enough for today."
Ichika stepped down from the stage. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You did it right."
She smiled softly. "Then why do you look upset?"
"I'm not."
"You are."
Silence stretched.
Rikuu finally spoke, voice low.
"Acting isn't about pretending," he said. "It's about surviving emotions you can't afford in real life."
Ichika listened carefully.
"When you stand there," he continued, "you don't run. You don't hide. You face it."
She nodded slowly. "Is that why you act?"
Rikuu froze.
"…Don't ask questions you don't want answers to."
Ichika softened. "Then don't answer. Just… know I'm listening."
Rikuu exhaled through his nose.
"…You're bad at staying in your lane."
She smiled. "You keep opening the gate."
He scoffed quietly.
"…You should go. It's late."
Ichika gathered her things, then paused.
"Thank you," she said. "For teaching me."
Rikuu didn't look at her.
"…Just don't waste it."
She nodded and walked toward the door.
Just before she left—
"…Komori."
She turned.
"…You learn fast."
Her eyes warmed.
"So do you," she replied gently.
The door closed behind her.
Rikuu stood alone in the clubroom, staring at the stage.
Only then did he realize—
He hadn't just taught her how to act.
He had shown her something real.
And he hadn't meant to.