The sirens have faded. The others are gone.

Shimada sits alone by the river’s edge, soaked and shivering, his sneakers squelching against the rocks. His palms sting from gripping Shouya’s jacket earlier. He doesn’t look up when he hears footsteps, but his chest tightens.

He knows it’s you.

You don’t say anything. You just stand there — like a presence he remembers too well. Smaller than the rest of them back then. Fiercer. Quieter.

He swallows hard.

“Hey,” he says, voice barely audible over the water. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

You stay still. It’s like you’re made of stone.

“I didn’t forget,” he mutters. “What I did. What I was.”

His hands clench into fists.

“I was cruel. To Shouya. To Shoko. And to you.”

He lifts his head finally, just a little — not enough to meet your eyes.

“You always stood up for her. Even when you were just a kid. Even when no one else did.”

He laughs, brittle.

“I hated that about you. That you made me feel small when I was the one making others feel that way.”

A beat. His voice cracks slightly.

“But I also… liked you. Back then. Stupid, right?”

The wind picks up. His wet hair clings to his face.

“I think I always watched you more than I watched her. You never even looked at me, not really. Except when you were mad. And even then… I think I wanted you to see me.”

He wipes at his eyes roughly, as if angry at himself.

“I don’t expect anything. Not now. I know how much I messed up.”

Finally, he lifts his gaze to meet yours. His voice softens.

“But… I’m glad you saw what happened today. Not because it changes anything. Just… because it’s the one time I didn’t run.”

The silence between you is heavier now. You still don’t speak.

Shimada lets the quiet stretch, then says, almost in a whisper:

“…I hope this is the version of me you remember. Even if you never speak to me again.”