For Sarina Tendouji, everything that had happened so far today felt like a dream. When she groggily opened her eyes, she noticed a brand-new bed had been placed to the left of hers. The boy lying on it was browsing his phone.
Noticing that Sarina had woken up, Kitagawa Ryo put away his phone and greeted her with a smile:
"Awake?"
"Starting today, we'll be neighbors for a while."
As he spoke, Ryo playfully blinked, his lips curling into a smile that made her heart skip a beat:
"My name is Kitagawa Ryo. Nice to meet you."
"I... my name is Sarina Tendouji! Nice... to meet you too."
Sarina Tendouji responded earnestly, though her words were a bit clumsy due to spending most of her life in a hospital room. Still, she managed to keep up with Ryo's conversation.
After this exchange, Sarina felt an instant closeness to Ryo. From the moment they met, Ryo had never put on any airs, whether it was with her or with Gorou Amamiya.
"By the way, I don't know why you became my fan."
Kitagawa Ryo asked with genuine curiosity. According to the data Mr. Izaki had compiled last month, 55% of his fan base consisted of women over thirty, making him a heartthrob in every sense of the word.
A twelve-year-old fan like Sarina Tendouji was quite rare.
"Because I think Ryo is amazing. Even though you're younger than me, it feels like you can do anything..."
Sarina Tendouji answered without hesitation, but then she quickly lowered her head, a bit embarrassed:
"But I'm not a long-time fan. I only noticed you last year while watching a Getsuku drama. Then I watched Home Alone, the movie you starred in, and I became a fan."
Saying words like "I like you" to Ryo's face made Sarina shy at first, but as she continued, she grew more confident. She tapped her lips with her finger, reminiscing:
"'Maybe they're just too busy. Maybe they haven't forgotten you, they just forgot to remember you...'"
"For a long time, I really liked and believed that line from the movie."
Sarina Tendouji wasn't foolish. She was well aware of her family's attitude toward her, but she could only obediently follow their arrangements, eventually ending up in Miyazaki Prefecture.
After a long silence, Sarina finally spoke again, her voice filled with longing:
"If I could be reincarnated, I'd want to be like Ryo. Even though you're younger than me, you're good at everything, and you're so kind."
"It would be great if my parents were also in the entertainment industry. Then I could perform on stage with Ryo."
She glanced at the poster on her bedside table and added:
"By then, the lead actors' names on the promotional posters could be printed side by side."
"Reincarnation? What are you talking about?"
Kitagawa Ryo shook his head. He knew exactly what kind of situation would make someone pin their hopes on something as elusive as the next life. But for now, he could only comfort her:
"Sarina is already cute as you are. You don't need to be reincarnated. There will come a day when you recover and leave the hospital. If you want to enter the entertainment industry then, you can become an actor or an idol. I'll be your first fan."
"That's what you call mutual fandom."
"Besides, the public welfare film I'm working on is meant to raise funds for people like you."
Just like how that public welfare film about heart disease patients had changed public opinion on organ transplants and donations, Kitagawa Ryo hoped his work could give more strength—both emotional and material—to those suffering from special illnesses.
Kitagawa Ryo had witnessed death firsthand in a hospital and had also seen it portrayed on TV drama sets.
The dying female lead, held in the male lead's arms, clutched his hand as she spat blood and delivered her final words. The man pressed her hand to his face, crying and begging her to stop speaking. Then, against a backdrop of tragic music and slow motion, her hand suddenly fell, her pupils dimmed, and the man let out a heart-wrenching cry.
But in reality, death often lacks such drama. Reality doesn't come with a soundtrack, editing, or dramatic camera angles.
Death is more like flowing water. No matter how hard you try, you can't stop it. You can only watch as it slips through your fingers, your body, your blood, and then quietly drifts away.
"If that's the case, then that's really great."
Sarina Tendouji seemed moved by the beautiful future Ryo had described. She looked up at the dazzling night sky outside the window. The scene, which she had grown accustomed to, now seemed particularly radiant, as if her dream had framed it with a silver edge.
Excitedly, Sarina began discussing her plans after leaving the hospital with Ryo:
"Actually, I'd rather be an idol than an actor."
"Every time I see girls my age singing and dancing on stage, I imagine myself as one of them."
Kitagawa Ryo listened attentively as Sarina rambled on about her dreams, but his gaze unconsciously drifted to the words "anaplastic astrocytoma" on her medical chart.
He had already looked up the information that afternoon. Astrocytomas are invasive tumors, and even after surgical removal, the recurrence rate is high. When they recur, they often evolve into anaplastic astrocytomas.
The most common symptoms of this condition are limb weakness and sensory loss on one side of the body. In later stages, it can even lead to hemiplegia, which is why Sarina had difficulty moving.
At this point, Ryo understood why Sarina had become his fan after watching Home Alone. The character he played in that movie had everything Sarina longed for.
A family that, despite their quirks, loved each other deeply. A lively yet harmonious household.
The clever and resourceful protagonist, played by Kitagawa Ryo, who outsmarted bumbling burglars using household items.
All of these were things Sarina Tendouji had never experienced but desperately yearned for.
Following Sarina's gaze, Ryo turned to look out the window at the bright night sky. The hospital, built on a mountaintop, was so high that it almost felt like you could reach out and pluck a star from the sky.
Under such a magnificent nightscape, even the most fantastical dreams seemed a bit more dazzling.
"Hey, how about trying to move a little?"
"Consider it a preview for your future idol career?"
Remembering what Gorou Amamiya had told him earlier—that nurses had seen Sarina doing dance-like stretches in her room at night—Ryo had an idea and suggested it to her.
"...No, I can't."
The moment she had been fantasizing about waving to fans under the spotlight at Tokyo Dome, Sarina deflated like a punctured balloon. She was well aware of her physical condition. Just as she refused to show her bald head and always wore a knitted cap, even now, Sarina clung to the last bit of dignity a girl could have.
Especially in front of Kitagawa Ryo.
"If you can't even do this, how are you going to perform under the spotlight at Tokyo Dome?"
Kitagawa Ryo exaggerated his tone, speaking seriously:
"By then, I might already be a washed-up child star. If that happens, Sarina, remember to give me a personal response."
(A personal response: When an idol makes eye contact or waves directly to an audience member, it's called a response. A personal response is when it's directed at a specific individual.)
"N-no way! Ryo's path is meant to go all the way. Even if I do become an idol, I'll always be your true fan."
It was clear Sarina was a seasoned fan, effortlessly using fandom jargon. But Ryo's words had given her some courage, and she reluctantly conceded:
"Just... don't laugh, okay?"
Perhaps out of shyness, a faint blush appeared on the girl's pale cheeks. She struggled to get up from the bed, and Ryo quickly stepped forward to help.
As Sarina had said, she had almost lost the ability to walk independently. She could only hold onto the bed's handrail, clumsily maneuvering herself off the bed.
When Sarina finally stood beside Ryo, he realized just how frail the seriously ill girl was.
Frail, as if her arms could snap with the slightest pressure. Her small hands looked more like those of an eight or nine-year-old, with no trace of secondary sexual characteristics. There were no curves to speak of—not just her chest, but everywhere else too. Her body was thin and straight, extending all the way down to her feet.
And up close, Ryo noticed the bruises and small scars that still marked Sarina's forehead and wrists, stark reminders of past attempts and failures.
Thanks to the rigorous training he had undergone since childhood, Kitagawa Ryo's physical strength and stamina were among the best, even compared to older children. He gently supported Sarina's back, speaking softly:
"You won't fall."
Ryo didn't strictly demand that she stand tall or straighten her posture. Some things couldn't be achieved through sheer effort. He simply guided her movements:
"Which idol group do you like the most?"
After hearing a somewhat familiar name from her, Ryo nodded. He had some experience with dance and happened to know the group's signature song.
Sarina Tendouji tried to command her limbs, but her body felt like an old wind-up toy that hadn't been oiled. The frustration of not being able to control her own body was overwhelming for a child.
And with that frustration came intense discomfort.
Before Sarina was diagnosed, she had briefly attended school. What left the deepest impression on her were two things her teacher had said.
When a classmate scored first on a test, the teacher patted her head and praised:
"Miyako has such a good brain."
When another classmate scored last on a test, she ran up to the teacher and said:
"My heart feels so sad."
But the teacher's response was:
"Children don't have hearts."
"It's all because you didn't study hard."
For children, it seemed that only the brain mattered. The heart was irrelevant.
So when Sarina first fell ill, she naively wondered if it was because something was wrong with her brain that her parents had sent her to the hospital.
As the tumor in her brain worsened, the occasional sharp pains became a constant. And whenever she tried to move, the pain would become even more pronounced.
It was as if it was constantly reminding her:
"There's a tumor growing in your brain!"
The numbness and sharp pain spread from her limbs to her brain. Just like before, her legs gave out, and her body threatened to collapse forward.
Sarina instinctively raised her arms to shield her face. She was used to falling like this. But in the next moment, Kitagawa Ryo caught her, helping her regain her balance.
"You won't fall."
Ryo repeated his earlier words. He could feel how light she was in his hands, almost as if she weighed less than sixty pounds, as if a gust of wind could blow her away.
But this incident gave him a clearer understanding of Sarina's condition. He gently took her wrist, guiding her movements as if they were dancing a duet.
To an outsider, the two children's movements might have looked more like a clumsy, awkward puppet show than a dance.
But Sarina didn't feel that way at all.
She could clearly feel Ryo's presence so close to her. His strength was greater than she had imagined, his shoulders and back supporting her body.
If she could return to school, Sarina Tendouji would definitely argue with that teacher, pointing out her mistake with solid evidence.
Because in this moment, she felt her heartbeat more clearly than ever.
A fiery pulse in her chest...
Sarina couldn't find the right words in her limited vocabulary to describe this feeling. This sensation couldn't be put into words or written down. It was more like a hazy warmth and loneliness.
She just felt her heart beating fast.
That night, Kitagawa Ryo added a new line to the first page of his well-worn script:
["Imperfection is loneliness. Seeking to mend it is to escape loneliness. When one loneliness seeks another, the desire for love is born."]
Kitagawa Ryo gently bit the end of his pen, suddenly remembering the girl Mr. Izaki had shown him earlier that day.
Her name, it seemed, was also "Ai" (Love).