He smiled, took a final bite of orange, and listened to his uncle play a lonely nocturne on the piano. Outside, the snow began to melt—one slow, secret drip at a time.

Kenji looked at the calendar. December, January, February. Three months. A lifetime.

January was worse. The snow piled so high it buried the first-floor windows. Roads vanished. The only sound was the groan of the roof straining under the weight. Kenji began to understand: winter in Japan was not a season. It was a siege.