atsuhiro sako| compress

The sun was still setting, and a honeyed light fell on the rooftops, as if nothing had changed. But a lot had changed.

I stood by the old bookshop, my heart pounding in my throat. The compass in my hand felt heavier than before, as if it had absorbed all those years of separation. And then I looked up—and saw him.

Not just a grown man with a mischievous grin. There was something alien about him now: the black cloth obscuring part of his face, the sharp lines of his silhouette, the shadow that seemed to trail behind him longer than it should have. He had become the kind of man the news called a menace, the kind of man whispered in alleys, avoided. A villain.

But the voice... the voice remained the same.

"Well, have you found somewhere to go, or do you still prefer to hide behind books?" He smiled, but there was a hint of bitterness in that smile now, as if he himself didn't believe he could joke like he used to.

I squeezed the compass in my palm until my knuckles turned white.

"Compress..." I whispered, and the name sounded like a question, like a plea: "Tell me this is a mistake. Tell me you're still the boy who made bracelets out of buttons."

He bowed his head slightly, and for a moment something familiar flashed in his eyes—the same boy who had dragged me from behind the bookshelves into the big world. But then the mask returned.

"Times change, and people change with them," he said, a little harsher than before. "You've grown up, learned to put everything in its place. And I... I found my path. Not one you would approve of."