I woke to the soft glow of dawn filtering through my rice-paper window, casting delicate patterns on the tatami mat. The distant rumble of a freight train echoed through the quiet streets, heralding the start of another long day. My alarm lay silent beside me—yesterday, I'd knocked it off my nightstand in a restless fit of frustration, its shrill cry drowned out by my own restless thoughts.
I swung my legs from the futon, the coolness of the tatami pressing against my skin. The aroma of miso soup and grilled fish wafted up from the kitchen, mingling with the faint scent of incense from the shrine corner. Hina's laughter echoed from downstairs, bright and carefree, a stark contrast to the heaviness settling in my chest. I groaned, rubbing sleep from my eyes, wishing I could stay in this fragile moment of peace a little longer.
"Haruki! You'll miss your train!" my mother called from the kitchen, her voice warm but hurried.
I pulled on my uniform—white shirt, navy blazer, and black slacks— pausing briefly in front of the mirror. My reflection looked fragile: soft eyes that seemed to hold more questions than answers, narrow shoulders that carried the weight of unspoken worries, and fine hair that never sat right no matter how I styled it. I tightened my tie and brushed my hair back, trying to appear composed.
Down the hall, Hina—a whirlwind of energy at ten years old—bounced into me as I headed for the door.
"Morning, Onii-chan!" she chirped, nearly knocking my satchel from my shoulder.
"Watch it," I grumbled, steadying my bag.
"Sorry!"
My mother handed me a steaming bowl of rice and a piece of tamagoyaki. "Eat on the train," she said softly, her eyes gentle but tired.
I nodded, grabbed the bowl, and slipped out the door, the familiar rhythm of my morning routine grounding me amid the chaos.
The walk to the station was short but familiar. River Valley Station was always crowded at this hour—commuters rushing, students chattering, the scent of coffee and baked goods filling the air. I slipped through the turnstiles and joined the flow of bodies: salarymen with briefcases, students in crisp uniforms, old ladies carrying shopping bags. The city was alive, relentless.
I found a spot near the door of the first car and held on to a pole as the train lurched forward. I liked solitary moments—time alone to think, to breathe, and to escape the noise. But this wasn't solitude. Bodies pressed against me, jostling in time with every stop. I apologized under my breath each time I bumped into someone—schoolchildren chattering, yawning adults, and an elderly man who smiled kindly despite the crush.
Between stations, I finished my rice, spooning the last grains into my mouth as the train rocked rhythmically. The familiar hum of the city outside was a dull lullaby.
At Kawadani Station, I stepped off and merged back into the throng on the platform. The morning sky gleamed over the tracks—cloudless, bright, promising a day that would pass in a blur.
I followed the crowd up the stairs to the street above. River Valley High 's red gate came into view, a familiar sentinel amidst the budding sakura trees that were just beginning to bloom despite the season's chill.
I slowed, taking a deep breath before entering the world of classrooms, lockers, and whispers. The air was thick with anticipation and the scent of fresh paper.
Outside, Ren was waiting at the gate as always. Soccer ball under his arm, wind gently tousling his already-perfect hair.
"You actually slept last night?" he asked, giving me a sideways glance.
"Not really," I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck.
"Try not to get punched today," he teased, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"No promises," I replied, a faint smile breaking through my usual reserve.
The streets buzzed with energy—students rushing toward school, shopkeepers setting out trays of fresh melon bread, bicycles whizzing past. We passed the old shrine on the corner, where a cat stretched lazily on the stone steps, indifferent to the world.
"Ayame's already ahead," Ren said with a teasing tone, eyes glinting.
My heart jumped. "You sure?"
"Saw the pink scarf. Maybe today you'll actually talk to her."
"I talk to her," I muttered, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks.
"Telling her 'good morning' doesn't count," Ren added with a grin.
The school gates loomed in front of us—River Valley High, though most students just called it Kawadani. A sprawling three-story building surrounded by sakura trees that were just beginning to bud again, promising new beginnings.
Inside, the hallways buzzed with conversation. Shoe lockers slammed open and shut, and the scent of disinfectant and fresh chalk lingered in the air. The familiar chaos of students finding their classrooms, exchanging greetings, and hurriedly organizing their belongings created a comforting backdrop.
We reached our classroom—2-B—and took our seats as the bell rang. The room filled with the rustling of papers and the murmur of voices.
Yamada-sensei walked in, straightening her glasses with a calm, practiced gesture. "Alright, settle down. We'll begin with attendance."
I caught glimpses of Ayame in the front row, her long hair tied in a neat side braid, taking meticulous notes. She was the kind of student teachers adored—polite, focused, and naturally brilliant. I tried not to stare too long, feeling a strange pull of admiration and longing.
"Haruki-kun, good job this time. Keep focusing like this," Yamada-sensei said, handing me my test paper with a small smile.
"Hai, sensei," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.
Ren leaned over, whispering with a mischievous grin. "Model student arc, let's go."
I flicked his ear, earning a chuckle from him.
Later, between classes, we wandered the halls. Students crowded around notice boards, chatting excitedly about upcoming club performances and sports meets. The buzz about the October Dance Festival was already building—posters everywhere: "Auditions Open!", "Dance Themes!", "Vote for the Festival King & Queen!"
Sora caught up to us in the hallway. "Did you see the flyers? Auditions for the dance festival. Themes are out." She waved a brightly colored poster.
Riku grinned. "Ghost stories. That's third-year horror maze. This year they want screams."
I groaned. "Now everyone's going to expect scares everywhere."
Ren elbowed me. "You're in this year, remember?"
"I'm not dancing," I said firmly. "I'll pass."
"Ayame's class is doing a themed performance," Ren added casually, a knowing smile on his face.
I shrugged, trying to hide the heat creeping up my neck. The idea of performing in front of everyone made my stomach churn.
At lunch, the cafeteria was a chaotic mess of noise—trays clattering, students chatting, the smell of curry rice, fried chicken, and takoyaki filling the air. We sat at our usual table near the windows, watching the world go by.
"Did you hear? Third-years are doing a horror maze this time," Riku said between bites.
"Last year someone passed out in the middle of it," Sora added, eyes wide with excitement.
Everything felt normal—until the room suddenly went quiet.
A shadow loomed.
"Still pretending to be a boy, Haruki-chan?" came Kaito's voice—low, slow, full of poison.
Kaito was built like a freight train. Two-time repeater. Sharp eyes, jagged grin. He leaned over my tray, eyes glinting with mischief and menace.
"What are you wearing to the dance? A ribbon?" he sneered.
A few scattered laughs rippled through the room. Then silence.
I stood slowly, my hands clenched tight—but not shaking.
"No ribbon. But if you want to borrow my mirror, I can show you what insecurity looks like," I said, voice steady despite the pounding of my heart.
Gasps and "oooohs" spread across the room.
Kaito's grin faded. "You talk tough, but you're still soft. Meet me after school. Behind the gym."
I nodded. "I'll be there."