[Sendai, Japan — Winter, 2051]
Snow drifts past the paper windows of a quiet ramen shop.
Inside, a young woman wipes the counter — Kaiya Yamaguchi — Arin's ex-sous-chef.
She hums an old melody she heard once on a broken broadcast, something about cooking to save the stars.
On the wall behind her hangs a framed recipe card:
"Lechon Miso — Arin Sol & Lira Vale, 2050."
The bell above the door jingles.
A tall man steps in, hood dusted with snow.
Seven-one. Broad-shouldered.
He bows slightly, voice deep, careful.
TEO ALVARADO:
"I heard this place serves warmth."
Kaiya smiles, ladle still in hand.
"Depends who's asking."
TEO chuckles — a sound like old rain on metal.
"I'm not sure anymore. I used to play ball.
Now I just follow the smell of something real."
Kaiya gestures toward the counter.
"Then sit.
We're still cooking."
He sits.
Steam rises between them — faint, golden.
The kind of light that once glowed under a bridge in Cubao.
Outside, the snow keeps falling — slow, rhythmic —
like the world finally learned how to breathe again.