Haruki had never been the kind of person to initiate contact.
He was the one who quietly waited on the sidelines, hoping someone else would speak first. But that morning, after a night of staring at the ceiling, eyes dry from too much crying and too little sleep, he found himself dialing a number saved under Rina Asahina.
The phone rang once, twice.
"Haruki?" she answered, voice alert, surprised.
"I want to talk," he said. "Properly, if the offer's still open."
A pause.
"It is."
They met at a small riverside park Rina had suggested. It was quiet, the trees shifting gold in the early afternoon light, families strolling, leaves drifting like thoughts that didn't quite settle.
Haruki sat on a wooden bench near the water's edge, feeling the weight of what this moment meant. He didn't owe her anything, but he wanted to try something new, telling the truth.
Rina arrived with two canned coffees in hand. "I figured you'd need something warm."
He took one with a nod. "Thanks."
She sat beside him, not too close, just enough that the silence felt shared.
"Before you say anything," Haruki began, "I'm not here to tell the story people want. Not the dramatic kind. I'm not going to cry for the cameras or brag about the money. If you're looking for that, I'm not your guy."
"I didn't think you were," she replied. "I'm not here to write a puff piece. I want to understand what happens to a person when the world suddenly stops punching down."
Haruki gave a dry smile. "You mean, what happens when you go from zero to ten million yen overnight?"
Rina sipped her coffee. "Or when you realize money can't protect you from the past."
He looked at her then. Really looked.
She got it.
"I've been thinking," he said after a while. "About what I'm supposed to do. I used to think surviving was enough, that if I just got through each day, that was victory."
Rina nodded, listening.
"But now, I'm still surviving. I just have nicer walls."
"That's not nothing," she said gently.
"No, it's not, but it's not everything either," he paused. "You asked what I'm doing with the money. I haven't done anything big. I paid off my family's debts, moved out, helped a couple people, quietly. But the rest? I don't know."
"That's more than most."
"Does it matter?" Haruki asked, voice tightening. "If I don't do something meaningful with it? Am I just another lucky idiot?"
Rina studied him. "You're asking the wrong question."
"Which is?"
"Why do you feel like you have to prove you deserve it?"
That hit harder than he expected.
"I guess..." He hesitated. "Because part of me still thinks I don't."
The wind picked up, sending a few red leaves swirling between them.
"You don't owe the world an explanation," Rina said. "But maybe you owe yourself a chance to be more than what they saw you as."
Haruki leaned back on the bench, letting the sun hit his face. For once, he didn't shrink from the light.
"You said you wanted to start a nonprofit," he said.
Rina smiled. "Yeah. Education equity. I was one of the kids who slipped through the cracks until someone reached out. I never forgot that."
"I think…" Haruki took a breath. "I'd like to help with that."
Her eyes widened slightly. "You sure?"
"I don't know anything about nonprofits, or budgets, or change. But I know what it's like to be invisible, to be ignored until you break. If someone like me can help someone else not get to that point, maybe that's enough."
Rina was quiet for a moment.
Then she held out her hand. "Then let's figure it out. Together."
He took it.
It felt like the first real yes he'd ever said.
Over the next week, Haruki and Rina met regularly.
At cafés, libraries, even his apartment once (after she insisted it didn't make sense to always meet in public like fugitives). They began drafting the outline of a small initiative, nothing massive, just a pilot idea. A support grant for underprivileged students in Tokyo. No red tape, no bureaucracy. Just help, directly.
Haruki handled the finances. Rina managed the paperwork, outreach, and research.
They debated names. Project Startline, ChanceBridge, New Leaf.
Eventually, they settled on Kindling, after Rina said, "We're not trying to be the fire, just the spark."
Haruki found himself smiling more these days. Not fake smiles to survive, but real ones, the kind that didn't hurt his cheeks.
Miyu messaged again.
[Miyu]: Heard you're working with someone named Rina? Good for you, Haruki. Keep moving forward. I'm always cheering for you, even from the sidelines.
He stared at her words for a long while.
Then he messaged back:
[Haruki]: Thank you, for everything. I hope we see each other soon.
But just as Haruki began to think the tide was finally turning, the past returned with a cruel sense of timing.
Late one night, as he and Rina were finalizing the Kindling website design over instant noodles in his living room, his phone buzzed with an anonymous number.
He almost ignored it.
Then he saw the message.
"You can play charity boy all you want, but I know who you really are. Let's see what people think when they see the real you."
Attached was a blurry photo.
Him. In high school. Face bleeding. Knees bruised. Crouched in a bathroom stall. Eyes hollow.
Haruki's blood ran cold.
Rina saw his face pale. "What's wrong?"
He didn't answer.
Another message came.
"You bought your way out of pain. Doesn't mean you're clean. Try to play hero, I'll remind everyone who you were. Weak. Pathetic."
He stood abruptly, heart pounding. The photo. That day. He remembered it. After Kazuki and Ryo had shoved him down a flight of stairs during gym class. No one helped. No one reported it.
It was the day he'd almost quit school for good.
Rina was on her feet too now. "Haruki, talk to me. What's going on?"
He handed her the phone with a shaking hand.
She read the messages, her expression darkening.
"This is blackmail," she said.
He nodded.
"Do you know who sent it?"
"No," Haruki said, voice hoarse. "But they know too much."
Rina looked up, firm. "Then we fight it. We don't run."
Haruki stared at her. "What if they're right?"
"They're not. And even if they were… so what? You survived. That's not weakness. That's proof you're stronger than they ever were."
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
His fingers tightened around the phone, not in fear, but in decision.
"Then we fight it," he repeated.