Kamino – Days After
The streets are quiet.
What's left of the city is buried in ash, with wilted flowers and torn banners scattered at the wind's mercy. Every wall, every crumbled sidewalk bears his silhouette now—spray-painted or drawn by trembling hands.
But none of it feels like him.
---
Flower Shop – Closed
Keiko unlocks the door to their mother's flower shop with a quiet click. The bell above the frame doesn't ring—it broke during the quake. Dust coats the counters. The petals of a half-withered bouquet lie scattered where they'd fallen.
She picks up one of them.
Soft. Faded blue. Her favorite hydrangeas.
She walks slowly through the shop, trailing her fingers across the shelves, the register, the little corner he used to sit in while their mother made arrangements.
It still smells like home.
And him.
---
Back Room – His Bedroom
She enters quietly, even though there's no one to disturb.
The room is still as he left it.
His chipped bookshelf leans at a stubborn angle. His favorite hoodie, torn beyond repair, is folded on the bed. His spare bike gloves sit on the desk, still smelling faintly of sweat and asphalt.
And on a small makeshift shrine by the window:
His goggles. The cracked ones. Cleaned now. Set on a folded cloth beside a bundle of incense.
Keiko kneels.
---
She speaks.
"You always thought no one noticed."
"But we did."
"I did."
Her voice doesn't shake. Not yet.
"You were always riding off somewhere. Saving someone. Fixing things no one else had time for."
She smiles faintly.
"I used to get so mad. 'Stop getting into fights, Satoru.' 'Stop coming home bleeding.' 'You're not a hero—just be a kid for once.'"
Her voice finally falters.
"But I was wrong."
She places a small envelope beside the goggles. A letter she couldn't bring herself to write until now. The words are messy. Tear-streaked.
She stares at the goggles for a long moment.
---
Flashback – A Memory
She and Satoru were kids.
Their mother was out. The shop was flooded with customers. Keiko was overwhelmed. Fourteen and stressed.
Satoru, barely ten, climbed onto a stool and helped wrap a bouquet.
It looked terrible. But the old lady who bought it smiled anyway.
He grinned up at Keiko and said,
"See? I got your back."
She smacked him with a daisy.
---
Back to Present
"You never stopped saying that," she whispers. "Even when it was killing you."
A tear finally falls.
She presses her palm against the photo on the shrine.
"You got all of us. Even now."
---
Final Scene – Outside the Shop
Keiko steps out into the light.
The wind is soft.
She locks the door and hangs the "Closed" sign back up.
But underneath it, she tapes a hand-written note.
"In loving memory of Satoru Kojima – our brother, our hero."
And beside it, she leaves a single white chrysanthemum.