The auditorium was quiet, except for the low hum of stage lights.
Haruki stood behind the curtain, palms sweaty, heart pounding against his ribs. Beyond the drape, rows of chairs were filling with people. Students, parents, teachers, local media. Strangers. Too many strangers.
He could hear them talking.
"Is that the lottery guy?""Yeah, the one who got bullied.""Didn't he give away a million yen to some girl he barely knew?"
Every word felt like a pinprick. But Rina's voice grounded him.
"They're curious. That's all. You've got the floor now, not them."
She handed him a small folded note. "Read this if you choke. Or panic. Or run away. Which you won't."
He nodded, barely managing a smile. "Thanks."
"You got this, Haruki. And if you don't, we'll fake it until you do."
Then she was gone, slipping off to the side of the stage, headset on, clipboard in hand, running the event like a general.
He was alone again.
Almost.
Aya arrived late, sliding into a seat near the back. She hadn't told him she was coming. Her smile, when she caught his eye, was quiet and proud.
Miyu was already there. Sitting closer. Calm as always, with a small notebook in her lap. She didn't wave. She just looked at him with a kind of knowing.
Like she'd already seen this version of him, long before he could believe in it himself.
The lights dimmed.
Haruki stepped onto the stage.
Silence settled like snowfall.
He reached the podium and looked out at the sea of faces. For a moment, the air stuck in his throat. He gripped the edge of the podium to keep from shaking.
You can still walk away, a small voice inside whispered. You don't owe them your scars.
But he had come too far for silence now.
"My name is Haruki Takeda," he began, voice low. "And I want to tell you a story. Not because it's special, but because it's real."
He took a breath.
"I was bullied. For years. Every day. Most of you probably know that part."
Laughter rippled faintly, nervous and uncertain.
"What you don't know is that I used to eat lunch in the bathroom. That I stopped speaking in class because I was afraid someone would laugh just at the sound of my voice. That I counted cracks in the ceiling to distract myself from thinking about how to make it all stop."
The words were falling out now, unfiltered, heavy.
"And then… someone gave me five hundred yen. A stranger. On a really bad day. And I bought a lottery ticket."
The audience straightened.
"I won. Ten million yen. That was when people started noticing me. When they decided I mattered."
He looked directly into the crowd.
"But money didn't fix me. It didn't erase the fear, the shame, the anger. It didn't bring back the years I spent feeling invisible."
He paused, heart hammering.
"But something changed. I started seeing others who felt like I used to. Kids hiding in corners. Crying in bathrooms. Pretending they were fine."
He opened his hand, revealing Rina's folded note. But he didn't read it. He didn't need to.
"I realized I couldn't go back in time. But I could reach forward."
The applause came slowly at first.
Then stronger.
Not thunderous. But real.
Sincere.
Haruki bowed, then stepped back, breath shaky but relieved.
Backstage, Rina hugged him tightly.
"That was amazing," she whispered. "You really did it."
"I almost threw up," he mumbled.
"That's how you know it was honest."
After the event, people came up to speak with him.
A middle-aged teacher, red-eyed. A girl in a school uniform who just said "thank you" and ran off. A father who admitted he didn't understand his son's depression until now.
It was overwhelming.
But not in the way it used to be.
He wasn't being seen for the money anymore.
He was being heard.
Later that evening, Haruki sat on a park bench with Miyu.
The city glowed behind them. Distant neon. Buzzing wires. The world, alive and full of noise, felt just a little quieter beside her.
"You were brave today," she said softly.
"I was terrified."
"That's how you know it mattered."
He looked at her. "You were the first person who ever believed in me. That five hundred yen… you could've used it yourself."
"I didn't need it as much as you did."
"Why?" he asked. "Why me?"
She smiled gently. "Because you looked like someone who needed a reason to try again."
Silence settled between them, warm and reflective.
"Can I ask you something?" Haruki said.
"Of course."
"That day, when you gave me that coin. Were you okay?"
Miyu was quiet for a moment. Then nodded slowly.
"No. But I wanted to be."
And somehow, that answer made everything fall into place.
They were all just trying.
Trying to heal. To help. To mean something.
Before they left, Haruki turned to her again.
"One day, I'm going to pay that moment forward. I already have a few ideas. But whatever I build… I want you to be part of it."
"I already am," Miyu said, reaching out, touching his sleeve.
And in that gesture, there was understanding.
Not love, not yet.
But a promise