Breaking Points

Chapter 6: Breaking Points

The afternoon light painted the school courtyard in a muted gold, stretching shadows long against the damp pavement. The fountain's rhythmic bubbling provided a deceptive sense of peace—a contrast to the storm raging in Shiro’s chest. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t care. But his feet wouldn’t move away.

Daiki sat just beyond the fountain, flipping through a book with quiet focus. He hadn't flinched when Shiro approached. He hadn't tensed like the others always did. He hadn't even acknowledged him.

And that—that bothered Shiro more than anything else.

He clenched his fists, stepping forward, pulse hammering against his ribs.

“Why are you so calm?”

Daiki turned the page, slow and deliberate, as if the question was beneath his attention. He lifted his gaze—not rushed, not startled—just watching. Studying. Like Shiro was the intruder in his world.

“Because I’ve accepted that I can’t control everything,” Daiki said, tone absent of malice, absent of challenge. “And I’m okay with that.”

Shiro’s body locked before he could even process why.

He expected defiance. Expected fear. Something. Anything.

But Daiki wasn’t fighting him. Daiki wasn’t flinching. Daiki wasn’t afraid.

Shiro hated him for that.

He took another step forward, the fountain behind him feeling suddenly distant, irrelevant.

“You’re okay with that?” Shiro repeated, voice tight now. “Just... letting go?”

Daiki nodded again, his movements measured, effortless. “It’s not about giving up.” He slid his book shut, resting it on his lap. “It’s about not holding onto things that don’t deserve it.”

Shiro’s jaw tensed.

Daiki’s words sat wrong in his chest—not because they were lies, but because something in Shiro felt them too deeply.

Because he had spent years—his whole life, even—gripping power so tightly, forcing dominance into every breath, that the idea of letting go was alien.

Unthinkable.

“But what if you’re wrong?” The words came too quickly, tumbling out like stones down a steep hill. “What if you’re just giving up? What if you’re letting everyone walk all over you?”

His fingers twitched. His throat tightened.

“You can’t just sit there and do nothing. You can’t just let things happen.”

Daiki’s gaze didn’t sharpen like Shiro expected. He didn’t argue, didn’t push back. He simply watched, eyes steady, clear.

And that clarity was unbearable.

“You’re right,” Daiki finally said. “I’m not doing anything. I’m choosing not to waste my energy on things that don’t deserve it.”

Shiro’s breath hitched, pulse hammering against his ears.

Daiki didn’t fear him. Daiki didn’t respect him. Daiki didn’t even hate him.

Daiki just existed. Without needing to win. Without needing to prove anything. Without needing power to survive.

And it made Shiro feel hollow in a way he’d never felt before.

He took half a step forward, the ground beneath him feeling unsteady now, as if something fundamental had shifted.

“That’s weak,” Shiro muttered—but the words didn’t land.

Daiki stood. His movements were slow—not hesitant, but aware, as if he had already calculated the weight of what Shiro was feeling.

The space between them was too quiet now. Shiro’s heartbeat felt too loud, his fists too tightly clenched.

“You don’t have to fight everything all the time,” Daiki said.

The words shouldn’t have meant anything. Shouldn’t have mattered.

But they hit him harder than a punch ever could.

Shiro’s jaw tightened.

Daiki turned away, his figure vanishing into the misty gray of the courtyard.

And for the first time in a long while, Shiro felt unsure of himself.

The answers he had clung to for so long seemed less certain now.

And the storm inside him felt like it was tearing him apart.