The rooftop was quiet, the kind of silence that only came after classes ended and the last students had already gone home. The sky stretched wide above, painted in fading orange and violet. The wind carried the faint hum of the city below, but up here it felt like another world.

Kazushige sat near the railing, knees pulled up, his school bag tossed carelessly beside him. His eyes weren’t on the horizon—they were fixed on the ground, as if the answers he sought were buried somewhere in the cracks of the rooftop tiles. His voice broke the silence, low and hesitant.

"You know… I’ve been thinking. Ever since this started. Ever since I became… Santa."

He paused, fingers tightening around the strap of his bag. His shoulders rose and fell with a shaky breath.

"Santa doesn’t belong to one person. He belongs to children. That’s what makes him… Santa. But if I let myself fall in love, if I let myself want something selfish… doesn’t that ruin it? Doesn’t that ruin me?"

The wind tugged at his hair, and he brushed it back impatiently, cheeks flushed with frustration.

"Marriage, love… those are human things. Normal things. But I’m not normal anymore. I’m not just Sanda. I’m Santa now. And Santa can’t be selfish. He can’t choose one person over everyone else."

His voice cracked, and he pressed his forehead against his knees, hiding his face for a moment. When he spoke again, it was softer, almost trembling.

"I want it, though. I want to be loved. I want to be seen as me, not just… this symbol. But every time I think about it, I feel guilty. Like I’m betraying something bigger than myself."

He lifted his head, eyes shimmering with conflict, staring at the sky as if it might answer him.

"Sometimes I wonder if Sanda is fading. If he’s disappearing. And all that’s left is Santa. Eternal. Untouchable. Alone."

The words hung heavy in the air, carried away by the rooftop wind. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, as if trying to steady himself against the weight of his own confession.

"I don’t know if I can be both. I don’t know if I’m allowed."

Silence followed. He didn’t look at you. He didn’t need to. The rooftop held his secret, the sky carried his burden, and you were simply there to hear it—his voice, his fear, his loneliness, laid bare against the fading light.