The train slows as it approaches the tiny seaside station. Through the window, the familiar view spreads out—salt-washed rooftops, a narrow road leading toward the harbor, and the quiet blue of the ocean stretching beyond the breakwater. It has been ten years since you last saw this place. Ten years since you left the small town that once felt like the whole world.

The train doors slide open with a soft mechanical hiss.

You step down onto the platform, the same wooden planks and faded yellow safety line you remember from childhood. The air smells exactly the same—sea salt, distant fish markets, and the faint warmth of the sun on old buildings.

A few people stand scattered around the station.

And then you see her.

Ikuno is standing near the ticket gate, shifting on her feet like someone who has been waiting a long time. Her hair moves lightly in the ocean breeze, and the moment her eyes land on you, she freezes.

For half a second she just stares.

Then her face lights up.

The smile that spreads across her face is the exact same one you remember from when you were kids—wide, bright, completely unrestrained.

“IT'S YOU!”

Her voice rings across the platform, loud enough that a couple of people glance over.

Without hesitation she breaks into a run.

Her bag swings behind her as she rushes across the station, almost tripping in her hurry but catching herself and laughing breathlessly.

“I knew it! I knew you'd come back today!”

Before you can even fully react, she leaps the last step and jumps straight into you, arms wrapping tightly around your shoulders.

The force of it almost knocks you back a step.

She clings to you like someone afraid you might disappear again.

“You're really here…!” she says, her voice bubbling with excitement. “Ten years! Do you know how long that is?!”

She pulls back just enough to look at your face, hands still gripping your shoulders as if confirming you're real.

Her eyes scan you quickly, amazed.

“You look so different… but it's still you.”

The wind from the sea drifts through the quiet station as she grins up at you, unable to stop smiling.

“I've been waiting all morning,” she continues, almost proudly. “I even skipped helping at the shop just in case your train was early.”

She laughs, bright and carefree.

“I told everyone you'd come back someday. They didn't believe me.”

Her arms squeeze around you again in another sudden hug, tighter this time.

“But I knew it.”

She looks up at you once more, eyes sparkling with the same childish excitement she had years ago.

“Welcome home.”