Silent Tempests

Sakura sits cross-legged in the karuta club room, her fingers fidgeting with a set of beautiful cards. Determination flickers in her eyes, but her movements are clumsy. As she reaches for a card mid-air, she barely grazes it before it falls beyond her grasp.

Her lips press together in frustration. She forces a smile, glancing at the other students playing with practiced ease. Her gaze drifts to the calligraphy cards before her, the elegant kanji strokes pulling her into a distant memory.

"But I can’t dance like you. How do you make it look so easy?"

Five-year-old Sakura looks up at her mother, brows furrowed in confusion.

"Rhythm is everything." she chuckles softly, her voice a melody in the quiet room.

"I would swear I’m on beat—"

"It’s not just about beats, Sakura. Feel the flow, move with it... A good polska dancer doesn’t force its steps; let the rhythm guide you, like a heartbeat."

Sakura fumbles again, cards slipping through her fingers, one skittering across the floor. She pouts slightly, brows furrowing in frustration.

"This feels like the first time I tried to learn polska…'” she mutters, her breath slightly constricted by the borrowed hakama.

Takumi, who has been watching, quietly moves to sit beside her. He hesitates for a moment before reaching down to help her gather the scattered cards. Their hands brush as they both reach for the same one, and for a brief moment, their gazes spark—electric, like lightning that ignites the night.

Sakura’s radiant smile doesn’t falter, but she tilts her head with a playful pout.

"This game is hard! It’s like trying to catch falling stars... but they just keep slipping away!"

Takumi blushes slightly. His fingers tighten around a card as he tries to focus on gathering the rest, but his thoughts are a blur.

"Why does she make everything feel so... effortless? It’s like she doesn’t care if she’s failing, as long as she’s laughing.", he thinks.

His eyes linger on her—on the way she pouts, on the way she smiles, on the warmth that contrasts with the cool attitude she usually carries.

A flicker of guilt makes him glance toward Rei. She sits at the club desk, her fingers lightly resting on a stack of papers, her focus elsewhere.


She hasn’t noticed.
*
"What do you mean, bad ending?"
Rei blinks as Aoi waves a hand lazily beside her, lounging against the desk.

“You know,” Aoi muses, “the girl makes poor choices, and they end up in a car accident? Or the mother-in-law takes the hero away?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Aoi-senpai.” Rei protests, her tone clipped.

Aoi gives her a knowing look, then forms a playful hand gesture, shaping her fingers into a fox.

"The Yeou Son."

Rei raises an eyebrow.

“A Kitsune Hand,” Aoi clarifies. She intertwines her fingers. “This is what happens when Yeou  one likes Yeou  two."

"Over time, one of the Yeou  grows tired," she continues pulling her right hand away, comically mimicking disappointment.

Rei frowns slightly, but before she can question further—

*

A small "kyaa! " breaks the room’s quiet.
Rei lightly drums her fingers on the desk, distracted by the sight of Sakura and Takumi.

Sakura is almost falling off the tatami mat, and in an instant, Takumi’s hands steady her. For a moment, they freeze—heartbeats loud in the silence between them.

*
Aoi finishes with a soft sigh, flexing her fingers apart.
"And then the left Yeou dies lonely in the cold winter."
Rei's heart tightens, a chill settling in her chest. She lowers her gaze to the papers in front of her, but suddenly, they feel meaningless.

The school buzzes with activity as the Lantern Festival approaches. Tetsuji-sensei, in his usual no-nonsense military manner, delivers his orders.

”Everyone knows their part in the festival? Great, move on!”

His tone sharpens, eyes sweeping the room like a hawk.
“I don’t want to see anyone of you slacking. Understood?”
Students scramble to their tasks. Rei, having proven her excellence in literature and history, has been assigned to oversee the festival's theme. She recalls Tetsuji-sensei’s words.

"Rei Masanori, you’ll handle the cultural aspects of the festival. You’re a model student—Don’t disappoint us."

As always, Rei accepts the responsibility without hesitation. Her expression keeps composed as she swiftly directs the others through the preparations.

“This one, here.”

A flicker of irritation crosses her mind.

‘Why can’t I be with Takumi?’ She crosses her arms, lightly tapping her fingers against her sleeve.

“That one, over there.”

‘Why is that?’ Vexation simmers beneath the surface, more intense than usual. Her thoughts drift, unbidden, to Sakura.

“You’re behind schedule.”

‘Something dangerous, something … foxy ?’ Her hand tightens around her sleeve as she suppresses the unease creeping in. It’s not just about the festival anymore—it’s about Takumi.

And Sakura’s presence, somehow, makes everything feel out of her control.

But Rei doesn’t falter.

‘I am a Masanori.’

The words steady her. She can’t let anyone see through her composed dignity.

“Shift the tasks this way while we wait…”, she continues giving directives, her voice cool despite the weight of her thoughts.

Takumi sighs, accepting his fate. On the opposite end of the social spectrum, there’s him—assigned to chores with Naoki, another D-rank student.

Mop in hand, Naoki grumbles.

"Why do I always get stuck with the dirty work? It's like I’m invisible. At least you’ve got the mikan boxes, man. Those aren’t too bad."
Takumi nods, pinching his nose.
“What is that smell?”

“Some guys have left the washroom … unclean.”

Takumi exhales. Compared to Naoki’s situation, maybe mikan duty wasn’t so bad. But still—the weight of the festival lingers. Rei takes this seriously.
As they descend into the courtyard, a group of students approach, uniforms loose, hair unkempt. Chains dangle from their pockets, and their laughter grates against the air. They throw crude gestures at Naoki with rebellious energy, relishing the discomfort they’re causing.

“You gonna do something about it, Naoki?” one sneers, stepping closer, eyes gleaming with malicious intent.

“Don’t forget our payment, Naoki.”
Takumi doesn’t know the full story, but he knows he should step in. He grips the talisman beneath his gakuran, searching for his grandfather’s resolve. He can already see the old man’s towering figure, his voice rolling down like thunder: "Discipline first, hesitation never."Takumi reaches for Naoki’s mop, ready to wield it like a ken sword. Before he can act, a sharp voice slices through the tension—crackling like static before a storm.
“Alright, that’s enough.”
A girl strides forward, her presence like raw energy surging through the high mountains—vibrant, yet unshaken. Her uniform is pristine, her every movement measured. A yellow metallic hair clip catches the light, securing twin tails that flow behind a stark black cape. 

There’s no hesitation in her form—everything feels deliberate, like a boxer landing every blow with perfect precision.

The troublemakers pause, thrown off by her unwavering stance. She doesn’t raise her voice, yet the weight of her words demands obedience.
"There’s a festival to prepare for. You should be helping, not wasting air."
One of the delinquents scoffs, rolling his shoulders.

"Yeah? And who put you in charge?"

She doesn’t flinch. Her eyes gleam, like lightning ready to strike.
"You think I need permission to stand up for someone?"
The air shifts. It’s not fear she inspires, but conviction—an unshaken belief that she won’t back down.
The delinquents exchange glances. Her presence alone feels like a battle already lost. One by one, they step back, muttering curses under their breath.
The girl turns to them with a curt nod, her gaze unwavering.
"Her Excellence can save you, as she saved me," she says, her words a promise of salvation.
“I have already declined your group twice.” replies Naoki.
“This is your last chance. Choose wisely.”
Naoki smiles faintly.

« Very generous… but I’m not ready to kneel. »

« Too bad. »
She pauses, her eyes briefly lingering on Takumi, as if offering him an unspoken invitation.Takumi’s heart quickens as he notices how captivating she is—her tan skin, her eyes brimming with a quiet intensity. It’s as if nothing in the world can stand in her way.

Then, she delivers her parting words.

“One Heart, One Throne, One Eternity. Farewell, Naoki.”
“Farewell.”
Takumi watches the girl leaves, her strides exuding confidence.
“You’re getting a lot of attention.”

“Weird, right? You’d think no one benefits from a D rank.”

“Someone does?”

Naoki shrugs, grabbing his bucket and mop.

“Come on, Takumi. We don’t want Tetsuji-sensei thinking we’re slacking.”
“Relax, he doesn’t see us.”
Naoki smirks. “Oh really? Then who’s standing at the classroom window?”
Takumi follows his gaze—then bolts. A festival wouldn’t prepare itself.