June 30th, 2019, 10:10 A.M.

The late morning light slanted through the blinds of Sumire Publishing's small Osaka office, stripping the carpet in gold. Clara sat opposite her supervisor, Sumire Takimoto, who set aside a pile of manuscripts before folding her hands.

"Clara-san, we've all heard about what happened. The croquette shop incident, the hospital stay... it must have been terrible," Sumire began.

Clara sighed. "It was... difficult, yes. But Johan is still fighting, and that gives me hope."

Sumire nodded, her expression softening.

"You've worked with us for, what, more than seven years now? Your translations have brought many authors' words to life overseas. You've done more for this company than you realize. You don't have to come to work tomorrow."

Clara tried to protest, but Sumire raised a hand gently.

"Listen, Clara-san, your leave is now fully paid. No deadlines for you to work on this month, no draft submissions. Focus on your son's recovery. Our HR department will coordinate with the hospital and insurance to cover any outstanding balance."

Clara's breath caught.

"You don't have to—"

"We want to," Sumire insisted. "You've always carried yourself with such grace. Let us carry some of your burden for you now."

When Clara bowed, tears warmed her eyes. For the first time in weeks, the heaviness in her chest loosened just a little.

****

5:30 P.M.

That evening, Chandresh was sitting in the hospital's visitor lounge with his laptop open, waiting for Kenta to return with tea. He was checking emails from Nishida-sensei about thesis revisions when a message titled "You should see this" appeared.

He clicked. It was a link to a crowdfunding page.

At the top was a picture of Johan in a Kindai University hoodie, smiling faintly. The campaign title read:
"Support Johan Sitohang's Recovery – For His Courage and Kindness."

Below it, the description explained the story: A student intervened to protect a woman from domestic violence and suffered serious injuries. He's now in recovery.

The donation bar was already well past its goal. Over ¥3,000,000 had been raised—more than triple the original target.

Chandresh scrolled through the comments:

"I don't know him, but my heart breaks for what he endured."

"He's proof that goodness still exists. He just wants to protect his mom at all costs."

"From a fellow domestic abuse survivor—don't give up, Johan-san."

Kenta came back with paper cups of tea and froze when he saw the screen. "Wow. They're really doing this for him?"

Chandresh smiled. "Yeah. And not just the university. People from all over Osaka, even some outside of our prefecture. For once, the internet is actually being kind."

He took a photo of the screen and sent it to Clara with the message:
'His fight is now not his alone. It's like all of Osaka is fighting with him.'

****

July 1st, 2019, 1:10 P.M.

Johan sat in his wheelchair by the hospital window, the afternoon light glinting off the glass panes. Outside, cherry blossoms fluttered down the walkway like falling snow, the petals catching the wind before they disappeared behind the ward's corner.

Kenta and Chandresh had just spent the past hour talking about graduate school programs in Europe — about Leiden, Wageningen, and Amsterdam. Johan's eyes had shone the way they hadn't in months.

"I can almost see it, you know? The three of us, walking by the canals, talking about ocean preservation and renewable energy."

Kenta smiled softly."And I can imagine you lecturing us about fisheries again."

"He'll fit right in," Chandresh chuckled. "Dutch people love fish and arguments."

They all laughed — the kind of laughter that tasted like relief. But as the laughter faded, Johan's hands grew still on his blanket.

"But guys, can I even afford to go? I mean, after all this? The hospital stay, the therapy..."

He trailed off, staring at his bandaged wrist where the IV line had been. His voice dropped lower.

"Maybe it's selfish to dream so soon. The bills must be huge. I don't want Mom to carry that burden."

Kenta and Chandresh exchanged a glance — the quiet, wordless kind that had become second nature between them. Kenta stood up, pulling out his phone.

He handed the phone to Johan. On the screen was a photo of Johan smiling in his Kindai University hoodie. The donation bar was full, the number next to it far higher than Johan could process.

"Three million yen? Wait, is this for real?"

Chandresh nodded. "You went viral, Jo. Students, professors, people you've never met. Everyone in Osaka heard about what your dad did."

"You're not alone in this anymore," Kenta added softly.

Johan scrolled through the comments, his eyes blurring halfway down the page. 'He's a hero.' 'Sending prayers from Sapporo.' 'He deserves the world.'

He laughed under his breath, the sound thin but real.

"I don't even know these people..."

Chandresh shook his head. "Sometimes kindness doesn't need introductions."

The door slid open, and Clara entered, holding an envelope and a paper bag.

"I was just about to tell you — my company is covering everything the insurance doesn't. They said I've given them years of good work, and now it's their turn to help."

Johan blinked, still gripping Kenta's phone. His lips trembled, and for the first time since waking up, he didn't try to hide it.

"All this time, I thought I had nothing left but debt. And now... It's like the whole world decided to lend me hope instead."

Clara put a hand on his shoulder.

"Hope, and a chance to start again."

Kenta crouched down beside the wheelchair, gently squeezing Johan's knee.

"Then that's settled. Amsterdam is waiting for us."

And though Johan's eyes glistened, his smile was steady — soft, tired, but unshakably real.

****

2:15 P.M.

Johan sat there, the words and numbers swimming on Kenta's phone screen. He felt the weight of the day pressing down on him — the hope, the disbelief, the ache in his chest that came from realizing the world had reached back when he thought no one would.

"But what have I ever done for the world? I'm not some hero. I just— I just got lucky someone called for help before it was too late."

Clara shook her head, her voice gentle but sure.

"You're a good son, a great brother, and an even greater friend. That's more than enough, Johan. The world doesn't always pay kindness back right away, but it never forgets it."

Johan swallowed, his throat tightening. He wanted to protest — to say he didn't deserve any of this — but when he looked up and saw the quiet certainty in her face, the softness in Kenta's eyes, and the patient pride in Chandresh's, he could only exhale.

"Thank you... all of you."

The room was still after that, only the hum of the hospital lights filling the silence. It wasn't awkward — it was the kind of silence that meant healing had begun.

****

1: 45 A.M.

The hospital room was dark except for the faint glow of Kenta's phone screen. Everyone else had drifted off. Chandresh was slumped in the visitor's chair, while Kenta was asleep with his head resting near Johan's hand.

Johan scrolled through the crowdfunding comments, reading words of love from strangers, old classmates, even customers from the croquette shop. Each one felt unreal, like pieces of a dream he wasn't supposed to see.

Then he saw it — a comment written in simple hiragana and a few romaji letters:

"My parents explained that your dad isn't nice at all and that, in such a situation, some great grown-ups are working to make sure your family can get away from him. When I become an adult, I want to be like those brave people."

The words blurred. Johan blinked hard, but the tears came anyway — hot, soundless, unstoppable. His chest tightened, not from pain this time, but from something gentler.

He pressed the phone to his chest, whispering through a shaky breath.

"Thank you... Thank you, little one."

Beside him, Kenta stirred, eyes still heavy with sleep. He didn't say anything — just reached out, resting a hand over Johan's heart. Johan didn't need to explain why he was crying. Kenta already knew.

Outside, the city hummed softly. Inside, Johan finally let himself believe that maybe he had done enough good in this world to be loved back.

****

July 2nd, 2019

The hospital therapy room smelled faintly of disinfectant, mixed with the faint sweetness of air fresheners. Johan gripped his cane, one hand steadying himself on the parallel bars, legs braced in their metal supports. Every step was slow, deliberate, and exhausting.

Sayaka hovered nearby, a clipboard in one hand, watching his movements. She asked casually,

"How are you doing?"

Johan didn't immediately understand. He glanced up, brushing damp strands of hair from his forehead.

"Physically? Uh... I still get drowsy easily, and the migraines... they come often. My focus sometimes drifts when I read. But... I'm hanging in there."

Sayaka tilted her head.

"I meant mentally. How are you feeling?"

Johan paused, the question settling in his chest. His fingers tightened around the cane's grip. A faint smile flickered on his lips.

"Mentally... I'm very touched. That people think my fight is worth supporting. That... I'm not alone. It's... It's enough to keep going."

Sayaka nodded softly, her eyes warm but professional.

"Good. Let's take one step at a time, and we'll work on building your strength—both here," she tapped his arm gently, "and in here," she said, placing a hand over her heart.

Johan exhaled, steadying himself for another careful step. With each movement, each tiny victory, he felt a little more like himself again.

But just a few seconds later, Johan wobbled, one leg trembling under the brace, and the cane slipped from his grasp with a soft clatter. He froze, feeling a flush of frustration.

Chandresh stepped closer, voice calm but firm:

"It's alright. You can do it, Jo. We believe in you. But remember, no one achieves perfection in just one day."

Kenta crouched beside him, steadying the cane for him.

"What matters isn't how many times you fall," he said gently, "but that you still get up."

Johan swallowed hard, letting the encouragement seep in. He gripped the cane again, adjusted his stance, and tried another step. The tremor in his legs persisted, but with every careful movement, a tiny spark of confidence returned.

Chandresh gave an approving nod, and Kenta's hand brushed lightly against his shoulder in silent support. In that quiet therapy room, with braces, a cane, and steady friends at his side, Johan realized he wasn't facing the challenge alone.

Johan gritted his teeth, gripping the parallel bars tightly, each step a careful negotiation between determination and exhaustion. The eight minutes it took him to reach the end felt endless, but finally, he placed both feet down and let out a shaky breath.

Kenta was already there, arms wrapping around him in a proud, tight hug.

"I'm so proud of you," Kenta said, his voice warm. "Taiyaki's on me. You know I can't resist spoiling you when you do something like this... Also, taiyaki is fish-shaped, so what better snack to treat you with, am I right? Nothing beats the red bean paste inside them."

Johan chuckled, the sound raspy but genuine, feeling the tension drain out of his shoulders.

Chandresh leaned on the parallel bars, watching with a soft smile.

"You're incredible," he said, "and even if you can't beat this record tomorrow, I still won't change my mind about you being amazing."

For the first time in weeks, Johan let himself feel the full weight of accomplishment—not just in his legs, but in the presence of two people who had never stopped believing in him.

Johan finally collapsed onto the mat, breathing hard, sweat dampening his hair. Chandresh leaned down, resting a hand gently on his shoulder.

"You don't have to impress anyone, you know. Just showing up is already more than enough."

Kenta crouched beside him, ruffling Johan's hair affectionately.

"I know I'm using taiyaki as a kind of reward," he said, grinning, "but honestly... I'd buy you taiyaki anytime. Just for being you."

Johan let a small, tired smile slip, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with physical exertion. Even when every step felt impossible, he wasn't alone.

Chandresh nudged him lightly with his elbow.

"See? You're amazing no matter what, cane, braces, or all."

Johan closed his eyes for a moment, letting their words sink in, the three of them silently sharing the small victory that meant so much more than just walking eight minutes.

***

Later, as Johan sat on the edge of his hospital bed, cane leaning against the wall, Kenta perched beside him with a small notebook in hand.

"You know," Johan said, tracing the outline of his leg braces with a finger, "walking eight minutes felt impossible at first. Every step hurt, every second felt too long... but day by day, it gets a little easier."

Kenta nodded, encouraging.

"It's the same with learning something new. Like Dutch. You can't rush it. You just... keep showing up, practicing a little every day."

Johan smiled, a tired but genuine one.

"Yeah. Patience, consistency... and having someone who believes in you. That's what makes the difference."

Kenta gently squeezed his hand.

"We'll be there every step of the way, just like with therapy. You're not alone in this."

Johan looked out the window, imagining canals and tulips and conversations in a language he hadn't yet learned. Somehow, the thought of months of Dutch study didn't seem so daunting anymore.

Chandresh walked in just as Johan and Kenta were talking. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and smiled.

"Watching you push through physical therapy," he said, "reminds me of those nights we spent revising our capstone citations over and over until Nishida-sensei finally approved them."

Johan laughed softly, imagining that painstaking process again.

"Yeah... those felt endless too," he admitted.

Chandresh's expression softened.

"Exactly. But we survived that, didn't we? Learned patience, resilience... how to keep going even when it feels like you're stuck. And now you're doing the same thing, just in a different form. You're rediscovering that quiet strength we all have inside."

Kenta reached over and squeezed Johan's shoulder.

"Take your time, Johan. Celebrate every win—no matter how small. That's what counts."

Johan's eyes glistened. For the first time in weeks, he felt the weight of his fear lift, replaced by the reassuring certainty that strength didn't always roar; sometimes, it was simply about showing up, day by day.

****

July 3rd, 2019

Johan gripped the parallel bars, muscles trembling as he pushed forward. Eight minutes had felt grueling yesterday—but today, nine and a half minutes had passed before he reached the end.

He froze, letting go of the cane and staring down, a frown creasing his forehead.

"I... I was slower today," he muttered, almost to himself.

Sayaka crouched beside him, her voice calm but firm.

"Johan, this isn't regression or a setback. Each day is different. Some days your body will cooperate better, some days it won't. What matters is that you keep going. That's all anyone can ask of you."

Kenta gently draped an arm over Johan's shoulders, squeezing lightly.

"And that's enough for me. Even if you take ten minutes tomorrow—or twenty—I'd still be proud of you."

Chandresh added, grinning:

"Exactly. Every small victory counts. No need to compete with yesterday or anyone else. Just keep moving forward."

Johan exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing. For the first time that day, he allowed himself a small, genuine smile. Progress wasn't always linear—but it was still progress, and that was enough.

Kenta leaned closer, a teasing glint in his eyes.

"I'm getting you not one taiyaki, but two—if you promise not to get upset about how fast you can walk. It's not about speed. It's about not quitting."

Chandresh chuckled softly, nudging Johan gently.

"See? Even if you're a little slower today, you're still awesome. And you've got us cheering for every step."

Johan's lips curved into a small smile, the weight of disappointment lifting. Maybe it wasn't about beating yesterday—it was about showing up, day after day, with people who believed in him. That, he realized, was victory enough.

****

Once the physical therapy session concluded for the day, Kenta went to the nearest minimarket to get the promised taiyaki. As soon as Kenta came back with it, Johan took a careful bite of the pastry, the sweet red bean filling soft and warm. He paused, savoring it.

"Has taiyaki always been this sweet?" he asked, looking at Kenta with a faint smile.

Kenta chuckled, nudging him lightly.

"Anything enjoyed after something grueling always tastes better."

Chandresh leaned back in his chair, arms crossed but smiling.

"It's like acing a grammar drill after making a hundred mistakes. You don't just taste the sugar—you taste all the effort it took to get there."

Johan wiped the last crumbs from his fingers and sighed, a mixture of contentment and thoughtful worry on his face.

"I guess the hardest thing about our plan to go to the Netherlands is securing our visas. I've heard the interview process for visa requests can be daunting," he admitted.

Chandresh leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes determined.

"That's why we'll do mock interviews and anticipate the questions that will be asked of us. Preparation is everything."

Kenta gave a soft chuckle and shook his head, looking between his friends.

"Almost everything in life comes down to persistence. To be successful, you need to keep going, even when it seems impossible. One step at a time."

Johan looked at both of them, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah... one step at a time," he echoed, feeling a little more certain that if he could get through rehab, he could get through this too.

Chandresh ruffled Johan's hair lightly, grinning. "And we'll be there every step of the way—just like now."

Kenta nodded, squeezing Johan's shoulder. "Exactly. We're all in this together. No shortcuts, no giving up, just perseverance—and maybe a lot more taiyaki along the way."