CHAPTER FIVE – OLD SENSATIONS

Clad in a white P.E. shirt, his prison bottoms and a pair of white sneakers, Ryoma knew he must look even more comical now more than ever. The chains at his feet could not be helped, and he knew they were bound to draw more attention than he would like at the gymnasium. He stared at his reflection resentfully in the mirror, wondering how it had all come to this. Uncomfortable with the thought of exercising in his prison clothes, he had asked for other types of clothing and footwear from Kirumi, who was more than willing to procure them from the school's stock of P.E. uniforms for him, and he knew that any second thoughts he had right now were far too late in coming. After all, he had given his word yesterday—and something more.

Long after he had gone back to his dormitory after lunchtime yesterday, Ryoma could not quite forget his exchange with Kirumi, particularly about an old flame. His memories of Isabella Henderson sat at extreme polarities; on the one side, there were the happy times and moments, and on the other, there remained only immense anguish and regret. Both sides stung Ryoma every time he remembered them, and so he had tried his best to bury the memories at the back of his mind, leaving only the emptiness that he often wallowed in.

Yet once again, Kirumi seemed to pierce through even that, mostly without her knowing it—for how could she know indeed, given that he never told anyone else about Isabella after what had happened to him? During their first few conversations, Ryoma had glimpsed in the Ultimate Maid a young woman with a steadfast sense of responsibility and determination, but he had never expected to hear her say words that he had heard in a similar way long ago, directed at him in order to help him overcome his low points—and there were many of them. And through that, Isabella had resurfaced in his mind, like a song once forgotten and now remembered. Let them laugh, Kirumi had said, her words then matching some of the things that Isabella had told him before.

So what if you're smaller than any of them? You're also better than they are. Let them laugh, Ryoma. When you shut them up right after, there is no better feeling in the world.

Ryoma sighed. With his current lot in life, he knew that he had disappointed Isabella as much as he had let down everyone else from his past. He had it all, as both an athlete and as a person, and then it all went down the drain with the blood still on his hands. And yet here he was, wearing fresh clothes, about to work out in the same way he had done as an athlete long ago, as if he was merely a tennis player looking to get his groove back instead of a convict trying to make the most out of whatever time he had left. Whether it would herald a new time in his life or if it would merely be another presage to failure and disappointment remained to be seen, as did the thought of him even deserving any of the positives in it to begin with.

Whatever the case, just let them laugh indeed. They always have plenty to laugh about anyway. Ryoma turned away from the mirror, picked up his duffel bag, and made his way towards today's fate.

Surprisingly, Kirumi was not yet present when he reached the entrance to the gymnasium, their designated meetup place. Then again, it was not four o'clock yet, and Ryoma knew that Kirumi would easily arrive just as early to prevent him from waiting for too long in case he showed up first. Other students, meanwhile, were scattering throughout the school as the end of the day's classes came. Ryoma observed them closely, feeling highly exposed without his usual clothes to wear and his beanie to cover his head. A few cast glances at him—no doubt wondering why a short, childlike student with chains on his ankle was hanging out alone outside the gymnasium, he sensed, though very few seemed to look on longer and recognize him for who he actually was now that his appearance was different.

"Ah, you're here."

Ryoma looked around as he heard her voice, and his own voice caught in his throat for a moment. Kirumi stood there, sure enough, carrying her own bag of fresh clothes and other necessities, but like him she had shed her maid uniform for the school's P.E. uniform—a white shirt, white sneakers, and a pair of navy blue shorts. Ryoma had seen her before in similar attire, back when he had walked around the school in the early hours of the morning and witnessed her jogging, but that had been from afar. To see Kirumi like this up close now—tall, graceful, and undeniably beautiful—somehow made him fall silent for a moment.

"I'm sorry. I hope you didn't wait for too long," Kirumi said, bowing.

"No, it's . . ." Ryoma cleared his throat, wondering why he felt discomfited all of a sudden. "It's fine, don't worry about it. You didn't take that long."

"I hope so," said Kirumi, smiling. "I had a few final errands to take care of, and I brought along some refreshments, like I had promised. If you need any energy drinks, protein shakes, sports drinks or bottled water, just let me know."

She indicated her tote bag. Ryoma nodded, and then looked at the gym's entrance. "Well . . . are we gonna get going now?" he asked her.

"If you're ready," said Kirumi in reply.

"I am. Let's go then."

As it served no purpose for the present time outside of any event that the school holds, only a few students were inside the gymnasium, lounging around on the bleachers and stands as they passed the time talking to one another. However, there were also a number of them who, like Ryoma and Kirumi, seemed to be heading to the exercise room right next to the stage, its doors sitting adjacent to it at the end of the gymnasium. A number of students recognized Kirumi as they saw her, greeting her with a few words or eyeing her due to her attractive appearance. Some of them, on the other hand cast short glances at Ryoma, no doubt intrigued or amused, or somewhere in between.

The exercise room was more spacious than most gyms that Ryoma had visited before—and rightfully so, given how it was made to cater to a large number of Ultimates looking to work out. Sections of it were devoted to certain workout types—treadmills, elliptical machines and exercise bikes for cardio; benches and racks laden with bars, dumbbells and plates for weightlifting; and exercise and yoga mats for flexibility and aerobics. Eyeing everything in silence, Ryoma felt both stirred and skeptical, wondering just how quickly he would burn out amongst the machines and equipment from all his physical and mental rust.

Kirumi spoke up next to him. "The changing rooms are over there. The showers are just beyond. You may go ahead and deposit your things first if you wish. I will just hand out some of these drinks to those who might need them."

"Sure thing," Ryoma said in return. "I'll just meet you back here."

Given that most of the gym-goers—and there were a surprising few of them, but also well-known ones, as Ryoma noted—were already working out and exercising, the locker rooms were practically devoid of people when he came in to drop off his gear. The cold tiles, steel lockers and long benches were very reminiscent of how high school locker rooms looked, but for Ryoma they gave him a more uncomfortable memory. He glanced at the nearby showers, taking note of how similar they looked to prison showers, and he remembered once again his unsavory experiences during his incarceration. Feeling a slight chill of revulsion and discomfort creeping up his back, he quickly singled out a locker and stuffed his duffel bag inside. By the time he went back out, he was feeling slightly stressed already. He rubbed his eyes wearily, letting the chill run its course.

"E-Excuse me, are you alright?"

Ryoma looked up at the sound of the voice, coming from someone he had not yet met: a tan-skinned girl, shorter than Kirumi, with blue eyes and an athletic, hourglass-shaped figure. Her brown hair was coiffed up in a curled ponytail, and she was wearing a navy blue shirt with matching athletic shorts and grey sneakers. She was looking at Ryoma with a polite but concerned expression.

"Are you okay?" the girl repeated, drawing back a little at his gaze. "I was just passing by when I noticed you a-and . . . ah, what am I saying, I don't even know who you are yet and here I am, poking my nose into your business. I'm really sorry!" She let out a nervous laugh.

"Nah, it's fine," Ryoma muttered, heaving a sigh. "Slight headache, that's all."

"I see. I hope it's nothing too serious," said the girl. At that, she straightened up. "Anyway, I think introductions are in order. I'm Aoi Asahina, the Ultimate Swimmer, from Class 78. But you can call me Hina if you want!"

She held out her hand with an enthusiastic smile. Ryoma took her hand and shook it briefly. "Ryoma Hoshi, from Class 80-A," he said in return.

"Got it!" Aoi began tracing her right index finger quickly across the palm of her left hand. Ryoma noticed that she was muttering his name under her breath as she was doing so.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Eh? You don't know?" asked Aoi, looking slightly surprised. "If you wanna remember someone's name, you gotta write it on your hand three times!"

"I see. . ." Ryoma looked around, wondering it was polite to leave or to continue talking, but at that moment, Aoi suddenly froze in her spot, looking startled.

"W-Wait, 'Ryoma Hoshi'?" she asked, looking back down at him as she stopped tracing her finger on her palm. "As in, the Ryoma Hoshi? The tennis player?!"

Ryoma sighed inwardly. "Yeah, that's me," he replied.

"Aoi, is everything alright?"

The two of them looked up, and Ryoma felt even smaller and more exposed than before as he stared up at the huge and powerful visage of Sakura Ogami. Like Aoi, the Ultimate Martial Artist was in her workout clothes—a white shirt with its sleeves ripped off, a modest pair of black gym shorts, and grey uwabaki. The fabric stretched taut over her rippling muscles, her masculine appearance putting even bodybuilders to shame. Her long white hair and reddened dark skin gave her countenance an intimidating, almost bestial aura, and to stand only a few feet from her in person as opposed to seeing her fight on television, Ryoma could feel her intensity emanating almost palpably from her like some sort of force field.

"Oh, hey there, Sakura!" said Aoi, her initial shock at Ryoma's identity vanishing for a moment as she beamed up at her; standing next to Sakura, she looked like a child herself. "Everything's fine, I was just . . ."

She gestured towards Ryoma nervously. When she spoke again, her voice was both excited and nervous. "You know Ryoma Hoshi, right?" she asked Sakura. "That big tennis star that they used to show on T.V.?"

"I think 'big' isn't exactly the most fitting term to use," Ryoma muttered.

"Don't worry. A man's value is not in his height," said Sakura earnestly. "And yes, I'm familiar with you."

"I could say the same for the Ultimate Martial Artist," said Ryoma, nodding back.

Aoi giggled a little, looking at him apologetically. "I'm sorry if I got too excited there. The thing is, I used to watch your matches back then online. I'm no tennis player, but I know a thing or two about it, and you were a really, really good player. Like, some of my classmates back then were huge fans of yours. I'm sorry if I didn't recognize you right away, though. It's just that . . . well, you look a bit different now."

"A lot of things changed since I last played," said Ryoma silently. As nice as Aoi seemed, he had no desire to say anything more about his tennis-playing days or his fall from grace. Sakura, on the other hand, regarded him closely.

"It's good to see you joining us here today," she said in a surprisingly soft tone, belying her intimidating aura. "Are you alone?"

"No, I came here with Kirumi," said Ryoma. He nodded towards her in the distance, as she was speaking to some Ultimates and handing out drinks.

"Ah, I see," said Sakura with a smile as she glanced at Kirumi as well. "You're in good company, then. Kirumi is quite possibly the most responsible and open-minded individual we've met thus far around the academy."

"She gave us some of our favorite protein shakes a while ago. And on top of that, she always helps us with our post-workout meals if we need it," Aoi added happily. "It's the first time I've seen her come here to work out, though."

"Yeah, we're gonna be working out together," Ryoma stated. "It's my first time here as well. Didn't think I'd do this kind of thing again, but here I am."

"That's good!" said Aoi with a smile. "I hope we see you even more around here. It's always good to stay healthy even when you're not engaging in your sport, like me and Sakura here!"

"Well, you're not wrong," said Ryoma with a nod.

Sakura and Aoi left not long afterwards, expressing their wish to keep exercising in preparation for their swimming and dojo training sessions on the morrow, respectively. Ryoma watched them leave, feeling slightly grateful that he did not have to talk for too long without anything meaningful to say from his end. Kirumi joined him quickly, having finished handing out beverages to the other gym-goers.

"I'm sorry if that took too long," she said, bowing. "Have you warmed up already?"

"Not really. I was waiting for you," said Ryoma.

Kirumi nodded again, seemingly ashamed at the idea of making him wait too long. But when she looked at him again, there was a meaningful, almost anticipating gleam beneath her elegant gaze.

"I will just deposit my bag in the locker room, and we can begin," she said.

"Sure thing," said Ryoma.

Silent and focused, the warmups felt like a presage to something portentous as Ryoma stretched and bent, not keen on letting any post-workout strains ruin his body in the coming days regardless of what he would be accomplishing today. Kirumi, on the other hand, was already hard at work pedaling on a nearby exercise bike, intending to let cardio draw first blood for her own workout. Watching her out of the corner of his eye, Ryoma saw the makings of a strong frame beneath her graceful and beautiful exterior. He knew that it was a result of her hard work as the Ultimate Maid and even beyond, and he dwelt briefly once again on the stories that Kirumi had mentioned about tangling with undesirables in the past. Given Kirumi's demeanor and outlook in life, it was safe for Ryoma to say that she had been great deal luckier in her encounters compared to him.

As he finished stretching, he looked around, gauging which machine or routine to tackle first. On one part of the room, Sakura had taken up quite a bit of space on the floor as she did some one-arm push-ups, while Aoi was busy limbering up with some bow extensions adjacent to her. Other students worked on their own as well, lifting what dumbbells or barbells they could, jogging steadily on treadmills, or doing other routines like planking and crunches. Though Ryoma was inclined to follow suit with what he had planned with Kirumi the day before, the presence of other exercise equipment made him want to try other workouts nonetheless.

At that, he eyed the nearby dip stand, sitting some distance away from where the weight racks were. Compared to the pull-up stand next to it, which was out of reach for him, the stand was more accessible and easier to manage. Additionally, it made for an engaging but relatively stationary workout, less conspicuous and taxing compared to lifting weights right off the bat. He picked up a nearby plyometric box, intending to use it as a stepping stool, and made his way to the stand, placing it right in front before climbing up to begin his attempt. As he went, Ryoma could feel stares coming his way, but as he glanced around he saw that no one was paying him any heed at all. Feeling slightly comforted by this, he clambered up the dipping stand, planted his feet against the plyometric box, and grasped the stand's opposing bars firmly with his hands. Taking a deep breath, he pushed upwards slowly, his arms stretched but not quite locked out, grunting as his feet left the box and his body weight was supported entirely by his hands and arms. With a bit of annoyance, Ryoma noticed how the burn from the strain was different this time around compared to his room exercises—it was difficult, almost painful. Rusty, he said to himself, heaving a sigh.

But it was too late to back out now, he knew. Steadying his swaying feet beneath him, his chains dangling in the air as he bent his knees and locked his legs, Ryoma lowered himself slowly. His elbows shook a little as they bent, but his arms held nonetheless until he reached the ideal spot he was looking for, feeling his triceps and chest , he pushed himself upwards again, returning to his starting position.

That's one. Gauging the feel of the dip, Ryoma remembered for a moment the first time he had done this particular exercise, about how it had tormented his arms for a couple of days afterwards. Now, with his rust evident after months—no, years—of being unable to work out as best as he wanted due to his incarceration, he knew that he was bound to feel that soreness again in the coming days. But surprisingly, instead of making him feel dejected for even trying, his frustration was starting to fuel his desire to keep going, to ace this workout and all the other workouts he would be doing in the next hour or so.

Gritting his teeth, Ryoma dipped again—and again, and again, his mind narrating the number of repetitions he was making like a grim cadence. His arms burned, his chest strained, but he wanted to keep going, slowly but surely, his spirit stirring awake slowly as he went. Old sensations returned to him, bringing back memories of training with his fellow players in some high-end private gymnasium, readying themselves for their next games. The thought of tennis made Ryoma feel a little bitter all over again, but that was merely some extra fuel for the fire right now. And though he was no longer an athlete, it was not an excuse for him to stop with his choice now.

Upon reaching twenty repetitions, Ryoma planted his feet firmly back on the plyometric box, taking in deep, nourishing breaths. His arms still grasped the dip stand's bars tightly. Droplets of sweat had formed on his arms and face, cooling in the exercise room's ventilated air, and it felt good. That he had reached twenty reps on his first try was nothing short of surprising, and Ryoma found himself wanting more. After a minute-long break, he braced the dip stand again. The repetitions this time were more manageable than before, his grip surer, his core and legs steadier. Ryoma felt determination course through his veins, determination that he thought he would never encounter again. For even as he worked out many times before in the dark confines of his prison cell or within the dreary emptiness of his room in Hope's Peak, this was an entirely different session altogether. To change his clothes, to go with someone, to do once again what he only vaguely remembered from before, to even try in the first place. Now, with his resentment towards himself taking the back seat for once, the old feelings and sensations were starting to come back, and Ryoma could now dare to keep gauging and feeling them ever so slightly. Small steps, yes, but they were steps nonetheless.

Isabella would have been proud, he knew.

He had finished his third set when Kirumi went up to him, wiping her sweat with a towel, breathing steadily. "Are you doing alright?" she asked him.

"Yeah," replied Ryoma, his knuckles cracking as he let go of the dip stand and clenched his fist. "Off to a good start, I think."

"That's good to hear," said Kirumi, smiling.

"Didn't expect it, to be honest. I thought I was just gonna collapse on myself," said Ryoma. "How about you? What are you gonna be doing?"

"A few aerobics routines, like what Aoi has been doing over there. After that, some static exercises, and then another twenty minutes on the bike again."

"Okay. Maybe I'll cap off my time here with some cardio as well. I thought of starting with it, but I think it'll be better if I did it last to limber up one last time. I'll just join you on the bikes later."

"Very well. If you need anything, just let me know."

"I will. Thanks."

Ryoma pushed on, trying to identity more workouts that would be viable and more productive, gradually ditching the tame plan he had pitched yesterday. Knowing that mixing up exercises for other body parts would be less effective, he decided to continue focusing on his triceps and chest with other similar workouts after his dips, going by both experience and knowledge as he went. Naturally, it would also not do if he overworked himself with too much weight or movement, thus he resorted for static but energetic workouts in the same vein as his dips. From overhead triceps extensions to triceps pulldowns, from barbell skull crushers to some close-grip push-ups, he felt the rust starting to fall away gradually. His shirt, damp from sweat, was clinging tightly to his body now, reminding him of the familiar sensations of a fierce tennis match where his body just burned with both sweat and tension. Staring in the mirrors on the wall adjacent to the weight racks, he found himself wondering what else to do instead of looking grudgingly at his own reflection. And contrary to what he had been expecting, no one among the gym-goers interrupted his routines with any intrusive stares, nor did they approach him to talk. Once, Sakura even gave him an approving nod after he wrapped up his skull crusher sets, and Aoi would smile cordially at him when he caught her eye during their workouts, but other than that, nothing else came his way to disrupt his focus or make him feel self-conscious.

And above it all, Kirumi never made him feel alone. Though she was doing some workouts of her own, she always exercised nearby, greeting Ryoma after every set with an encouraging smile of her own and a few recommendations regarding other workouts he would like to tackle. Her formal demeanor never left her, but she approached her duty of helping him make the most out of his workout more as a friend and less as a servant. Ryoma responded in like as he guided her with what advice he could about some of her static exercises and her posture, taking the time to explain and demonstrate when needed. The dynamic exchange made him appreciate her company more than ever, seeing as how Kirumi went by his pace most of the time and did not pressure him into making any choices. It made his reservations from the day before about her exercising with him feel rather silly now. And on the other side of his mind, it also brought back more memories of Isabella, who would stand by his side and cheer him on as he went forward, and comforted him if he stumbled, whether it involved tennis or just life in general.

More than an hour in, the two of them sat down on a bench, patting themselves dry with some extra towels Kirumi had brought after finishing their last workouts. Cardio would follow as soon as they were rested, Ryoma knew, giving them a few minutes' worth of rest to prepare.

"Here," said Kirumi, handing him a bottle of sports drink from her bag. "A good workout always deserves some refreshment."

"Thanks." Ryoma took the bottle and drank eagerly from it, feeling invigorated at its taste. "It's been a while since I drank stuff like this."

"Are there any other beverages you would like?" Kirumi asked him. "It would be easy for me to bring you some for lunch or dinner every day."

"The tea would work just fine for mealtimes," said Ryoma. "And then bottled water or more sports drinks if we're gonna be working out like this again."

"Very well." Kirumi exhaled with contentment as she sipped from her own bottle of sports drink. "All this exercising, staying in excellent physical condition and whatnot, it brings back memories of my training."

"I see. Did you train in some company or school or something?"

"Milky Way High School, to be exact. Have you heard of it?"

"I don't think I have. Was it part of some special extracurricular course?"

"In a way, yes. It was a vocational course, geared towards helping students prepare in advance for a career path that they would like to take in the future. Exceptional students were the only ones who could avail of it, given how taxing it was to juggle between the academic and vocational classes. As for the course itself, it involved technical programs aimed at training the proper skills needed and then applying them in fieldwork for the specified number of hours. Naturally, I took up housekeeping in preparation for being a maid, along with other sub-courses that would help me in my line of duty—caregiving, cosmetology, accounting and auditing, food and beverage management, and office management. It took me more than three years to graduate."

Ryoma raised his eyebrows. "Some courses last for at least two years, right? You're telling me you took up all those and graduated after just three years?"

Kirumi laughed modestly. "I would never say it was easy. And at first, I had my doubts on how far I would get, and a few regrets as well. But the desire to devote myself to my chosen career path regardless of the cost or hardship is what kept me going. Even as my superiors were starting to wonder if I can keep up with the workload, I endured through it all."

Ryoma could only stare as Kirumi finished speaking. Small wonder she always holds herself up with a lot of self-respect and dignity. Here was a person who practically crawled her way to the top, relying mostly on her skills and determination to carry herself towards her destination. In comparison to the severely poor choices he made regarding his career and life, he felt very small and insignificant indeed.

"You mentioned having some regrets," he said after a while.

"Yes," said Kirumi. "Minor ones, in light of where I am now, but I think about them sometimes. Acquaintances I made back then that I've never seen or heard from again, or choices I forgot to make when I was still in training. Things I could have done or addressed better, basically. Many things just change as the years pass, and though I would not trade where I am now for anything, I cannot help but wonder what else I would have seen had I taken a different path at some junction I've crossed before, crucial or otherwise."

"Yeah, you always think of that when you've come so far. You just go back, take a good long look at where you've been, and think of what you would've done different." Ryoma grunted, taking another gulp from his bottle. "Still, dwelling on all those what-ifs won't change a thing. It's better if you just stick with what you've got right now, and see if they'll help you change what's coming."

Kirumi smiled. "Precisely."

Ryoma stared into the distance for a moment, wondering privately how much his philosophy applied to himself. Shaking his head, he drained his bottle of sports drink and wiped his face clean. "Anyway, if you're ready, let's go take care of that cardio, eh?" he declared, standing up.

"Ah, of course," said Kirumi, standing up as well.

Adjustable seats and handlebars gave Ryoma a sense of gratitude and relief as he sat down on his chosen exercise bike. He did not want to imagine how comical he would look trying to pedal with his legs failing to reach below him. However, as he placed his foot on the pedal, he noticed his chains again.

"Ah, damn it," he muttered, getting down from the bike and looking down at his foot.

"What is it?" asked Kirumi, who was already sitting on her own bike.

"I need to take care of my chains," he said, motioning towards his ankle. "Don't want them to get caught in the bike."

"Oh, I see. Perhaps I can help you with that?" said Kirumi.

Ryoma looked down at his foot again. The chains were thicker than they looked, and too short to wrap around his ankle. He cursed the prison system again for letting them stay there, though he did not want to dwell on that thought for too long lest his first day at the gymnasium end with a bitter instance.

"I don't know how we can take care of this, to be honest," he told Kirumi. "And even if I skip out on the bike, it's the same for everything else—the treadmills, the elliptical, whatever. These chains might trip me or get caught on something." He sighed, shrugging. "Maybe I should just skip cardio for today."

"No, it's alright. I have something that will help you with them," said Kirumi. "Please wait here."

Ryoma watched as she made her way to her tote bag again, rummaging in one of its smaller pockets for a moment. When she came back, she was holding a roll of thick brown thread along with a pair of small scissors.

"May I?" she asked, gesturing towards his foot.

"Oh, right," Ryoma muttered, planting his manacled foot on the exercise bike. With a nod, Kirumi knelt down next to him and began her work. She picked up the end of the chains and wrapped them carefully around his ankle, right above where the metal cuff kept them attached to his foot, careful not to wrap them too tightly. Once this was done, she took some of the brown thread she had brought and rolled out several inches of it, severing it with the scissors. At that, she began tying the thread through the chains in small but tight knots, making them stick in place on the cuff to prevent them from unraveling all over again. Ryoma watched her work in silence, observing how carefully and precisely her fingers moved, as if she was doing surgery. Thankfully, no one around the gym seemed to mind much about what they were doing, even as Ryoma looked around self-consciously to see if anyone was starting to stare.

In under a minute, Kirumi was finished. She stood up straight, looking at her handiwork with approval. "The knots should be able to hold without breaking as long as you pedal at a manageable pace," she declared. "If it breaks again, I can always make new knots."

"It should be fine," Ryoma remarked, shaking his foot a little to test the strength of the thread. "Thanks for that."

"It was nothing," said Kirumi with a bow. "I only wish I had thought of it earlier, to be honest."

"It's alright," said Ryoma. "At least I know now to care of them first if I'm ever going to work out again here."

"Yes, I will keep that in mind as well," said Kirumi.

As the two of them got back on their bikes, Ryoma felt more at ease as he began to pedal. The absence of clinking sounds from his ankle lessened his self-consciousness further regarding his presence as an incarcerated outsider, easing away his melancholy. Once again, Kirumi succeeded in making him feel as close to feeling at home as possible, and his respect and appreciation for her merely kept growing.

Five minutes into their biking, he decided to strike up a bit of conversation again. "So, do you always bring stuff like that in case of emergencies?" he asked Kirumi.

"Only in preparation for torn clothing and such, though as you've seen, it does have its other uses," said Kirumi, wiping her sweat as she pedaled beside him. "Among all the duties I take up, sewing is one of my personal favorites."

"Yeah? How come?"

"It is always an engaging task, and one that I needed to focus on quite a bit during my days as a maid-in-training. Admittedly, it is not as complex as cooking, but it requires just as much focus as all the other housekeeping tasks I do. Learning what stitches to use, what threads would work best, things like that. And even then, knowing about these things and applying them are two different things, especially if you're learning to sew posthaste and with efficiency. I took it as a worthy challenge, and though it took me some time to master, I only grew to love doing it. Now, I never leave for my duties without even a small, personal sewing kit in my pocket, just in case I need to make a few repairs for damaged clothing—but also in case I ever get the time to practice making stitches."

Ryoma nodded. "I see. That . . . That sounds nice," he muttered.

Kirumi smiled modestly. "Forgive me. It might not have been the most engaging of topics to talk about."

"No, it's okay. I didn't think of it like that," said Ryoma quickly, wondering if he had aggrieved her in some way.

"But still, it might be too tedious of a thing to discuss," Kirumi proffered.

"Not really," Ryoma assured her. "I'm sorry if I wasn't able to say a lot about it. I just didn't know what to say other than . . . well, it's nice to hear you speak like that, you know?"

Kirumi regarded him with her soft gaze for a moment, pedaling slowly. "I'm sorry. I was simply concerned about me going on about it because . . . well, not many people would willingly sit and listen in on the duties and musings of a simple maid," she said earnestly. "And it is not every day that I get to talk about my experiences like this, let alone with you here in the gymnasium, or even over a cup of tea in your room. It takes some getting used to, especially for someone for whom dutiful silence has always been the norm."

"But like I said, it's alright. And it's pretty admirable, actually." Ryoma also began slowing down his pedaling, letting his legs get a few seconds of respite. "It's obvious that you love what you're doing, and that you put in a lot of effort and skill into achieving it. And the reason you're talking about it the way you do, with passion and confidence . . . it just goes to show how important it is to you and how much pride you take in it and all that you did."

"Is that how you see it?"

"Yeah. Even if being a maid doesn't always seem like a good thing to some people, no one can ever take away that pride and passion in you. So I say, keep talking about your experiences and duties as a maid if you want. I don't say much, but I feel privileged and thankful all the same that you trust me enough to tell me about them."

The gleam beneath Kirumi's eyes was unfathomable, as was the reaction beneath her beautiful features, but the softness of her voice indicated a certain measure of poignant gratitude all the same. "Being acknowledged like this is not one of the things I often expect in my undertakings as a maid," she admitted, "but nevertheless, I truly appreciate your openness with me. I feel that it is more than what I would deserve."

"You deserve a lot, to be honest," said Ryoma. More than my miserable company, he almost added out of habit, but his mindset was on a different wavelength right now, more vocal, more open and more . . . positive. "In fact, I should be thanking you too," he went on. "For what you're doing, and for continuing to treat me like a friend, and not like a boss of some sort."

Kirumi smiled at that, her features glowing, and again Isabella resurfaced in Ryoma's mind. "You know, I couldn't help but notice that you were doing workouts that were different from what we had planned yesterday," she stated.

Ryoma's pace at the bike slackened a little again. Kirumi was still smiling, but there was a tinge of curiosity in her tone all the same. He wondered if there was some resentment there as well.

"You saw that, huh? I hope you don't think that I ignored what you suggested to me yesterday," he told her.

"Don't worry, I did not think of it that way," said Kirumi. "It was a sight to see, to be honest."

"Oh, yeah? Well, can't argue with that," said Ryoma facetiously. "After all, I'm just a rusty guy who's still got a ways to go."

"More like an embattled soul who has just started fighting back," Kirumi said.

Ryoma fell momentarily silent at that, glancing around at Kirumi again as he stopped pedaling. "Do you really see it that way?" he asked.

"Yes, I do," replied Kirumi, stopping with him. "And I truly hope you will be able to keep it up, Ryoma. If I deserve a lot, you deserve many things too—success, growth, joy. Seize the moment, look to the future, and keep fighting back."

Ryoma took a deep breath, looking away from her for a moment. Even as the wave of determination he felt had subsided somewhat, and despite the slow start and how often he kept seeing Isabella's presence some more in Kirumi and everything else that he had undertaken, he still felt rather thankful for how the day had progressed. Indeed, as he looked toward the coming days, he saw hope—a tiny flicker at this point, to be sure, but hope nonetheless, an impossibility that dared to happen against a backdrop of silent suffering and resigned misery that had endured for years now.

"Maybe that's what Isabella has been trying to tell me all those years," he said softly, looking back up at Kirumi. "And to have you sitting here repeating her words in some way to me . . . maybe that's the universe's way of telling me that there's still something left for me, yeah?"

"Yes," said Kirumi earnestly, "perhaps you can look at it that way."

Ryoma nodded. "Whatever the case, I'll just have to see for myself. And if you're there with me . . . maybe I'll see it soon enough."

"Then I will keep doing my very best to help you," said Kirumi with an amiable smile.

At that, as silence descended upon them, the two of them began to pedal again, picking up the pace to make the most of their last minutes for the day in the exercise room. As he went, Ryoma glanced down again at his manacled foot, his eyes resting upon the knots of thread Kirumi had weaved against his chains and the cuff. It was a simple sight, yet he somehow found it speaking volumes to him all the same.

A/N: Had to edit quite a few scenes in this chapter, from the characters present to the ending itself, hence another delay. Overall, I felt that this was the best way to deliver the chapter without speeding things up in the plot too much or letting it drag. Hit a few snags along the way with some anxiety attacks, but thankfully it all turned out okay.

Once again, in light with what is happening around the world right now, I hope that wherever you are, wherever you're from, you are doing well. Please stay safe, guys. See you in the next chapter!