Fuyu Monogatari

Chapter Twenty-One: Remembering

Murayama's jaw tightened as he left the gym, pushing through the door with a force that spoke of the inner turmoil he was struggling to control.

In the quiet that followed, Todoroki let out a low whistle. "I didn't think..."

Furuyu cut him off, his voice low, "He's doing it to protect her."

Seki nodded in agreement, but the unspoken question remained: Could they really keep Aika away, especially when everyone knew how strong-willed she was?

As the door swung shut behind Murayama, the part-timers stood there, a sense of finality settling over them. Aika wasn't coming back to Oya—Murayama had made sure of that.

But in the back of everyone's mind, they knew it wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

As Aika slept her body finally allowing her some semblance of rest, her mind took her back—far back, to the first memories she ever had.

She was small, only four years old, sitting on a cold pavement in a place she didn't understand. Her clothes were tattered, her hair a wild mess of red, and her bright green eyes wide with confusion. She didn't speak the language, didn't know the faces around her. Her parents had left her here, in a foreign country, with no explanation and no name to call her own.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the streets. She looked up, frightened, and there he was. A boy, no older than fourteen maybe, tall for his age, with a serious expression on his face. His dark hair fell into his eyes, and he carried himself with a quiet strength. He crouched down in front of her, his gaze softening as he took in her frightened form.

"Hey," he said in Japanese, his voice gentle. But she didn't understand him. She blinked up at him, lost, her small hands clutching the hem of her dress.

Realizing she couldn't speak the language, the boy frowned for a moment. He tried again, this time in halting English, "Are you... okay?"

She shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes. She didn't know where she was or what was happening. She missed home, missed the comfort of her parents' voices, but they were gone now. All she had was this boy in front of her.

The boy, Kohaku, smiled softly, though sadness lingered behind it. He held out his hand, offering her safety. "Come with me. I'll help you."

She hesitated for a moment before reaching out and taking his hand, her small fingers slipping into his. He lifted her effortlessly into his arms and carried her through the winding streets. It wasn't long before they arrived at a modest house where another boy, two years older, was waiting outside. He had a protective air about him, and when he saw Kohaku approach with the little girl, he frowned.

"Who's this?" Junpei, later known as Cobra, asked, his arms crossed.

Kohaku placed the girl down gently, brushing a strand of her wild red hair away from her face. "She doesn't have a name, or a place to stay. I found her on the streets."

Junpei's gaze softened as he knelt down to the girl's height, looking into her wide green eyes. "No name, huh?"

She blinked at him, still not understanding the language. Kohaku explained to Junpei that she only spoke English, and Junpei scratched his head, thinking. Then, with a bright smile, he said in the best English he could muster, "Name... Aika. Your name is Aika."

She didn't fully understand, but the warmth in his voice made her smile, and she repeated after him, "Aika."

The moment she spoke the word, something clicked in her small heart. She had a name. She wasn't invisible anymore. She was Aika.

From that day, she became part of the Hino family. Junpei's parents agreed to adopt her, but despite the warmth they showed her, she spent nearly all her time with Kohaku. She clung to him, following him everywhere he went. He was her hero—the one who had found her when no one else cared. Her red hair and green eyes made her stand out, but Kohaku never let her feel like she didn't belong.

She adored him more than anything.

As the years passed, Aika's love for Kohaku grew, and so did her fascination with his strength. When she was eight, she watched him train with an intensity she couldn't quite understand but was drawn to. Every punch, every kick, every move he made was precise and powerful.

One day, when she couldn't take it anymore, she ran up to him, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "Teach me!" she said in Japanese, her voice filled with determination.

Kohaku raised an eyebrow, surprised at her request. "You want to learn how to fight?"

She nodded eagerly.

He chuckled, wiping the sweat from his brow. "It's not as easy as it looks, Aika. You sure about this?"

"Yes! I want to be strong like you, Kohaku-niisan!"

His eyes softened at her words, and after a moment of hesitation, he nodded. "Alright. But it's going to be tough."

From that day forward, Kohaku trained her relentlessly. They would wake up before dawn to practice in secret spots around the city, away from prying eyes. He taught her everything he knew—how to throw a punch, how to block, how to endure pain. And even though she was just a little girl, Aika never complained. Every bruise, every scrape, every sore muscle was a badge of honor to her. It meant she was becoming strong, just like him.

Kohaku would often laugh at her determination, calling her his "little warrior." And the more she trained, the more she fell in love with the fight. It wasn't just about strength—it was about the connection she had with Kohaku, the bond they shared through every punch, every dodge, every lesson.

One evening, after an especially grueling session, Kohaku sat beside her, ruffling her red hair. "You've got real guts, Aika. I've never seen anyone fight like you."

Aika beamed, even though her body was aching all over. "It's because you taught me."

Kohaku looked at her, his expression serious for a moment. "You've got something special, Aika. But remember, fighting isn't always the answer. Use your strength to protect what matters most, okay?"

She nodded, not fully understanding what he meant at the time. But those words stayed with her.

As the dream began to fade, Aika found herself back in the present, lying in a bed in Sannoh, her body aching with a different kind of pain. But in her heart, Kohaku's words echoed.

Protect what matters most.

And that was exactly what she intended to do.