Chapter 2: "Let’s Not Talk About the Past."

The morning breeze feels lighter than yesterday.

Or maybe it’s just me, trying too hard to pretend I’ve got everything under control.

I shift my bag over my shoulder as I walk the narrow street toward school. Small rows of houses blur by—everything’s familiar enough to be strange.

I hear footsteps behind me. Light, quick.

    “Yo! Transfer guy!”

I turn.

A boy waves at me while jogging forward. He’s got messy hair, glasses that don’t quite sit straight, and the energy of someone who’s had way too much sugar before 8 a.m.

      “You’re Shunpei Takahashi, right? From 2-B?” he asks, catching up. “I'm Tomoya Kanzaki, I sit at the Desk behind you. We haven’t talked, but I’m impossible to ignore being the most popular student and all, so…”

He flashes a grin like he’s his own best punchline.

     “…Right,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”

He walks beside me without invitation, like we’ve done this a hundred times. I don’t mind it, surprisingly.

     “So,” he says, nudging me with his elbow, “What's the story, Shunpei? You carry such a mysterious aura, it's got me curious about you.”

     “Excuse me?”

    “Don’t worry, it’s a compliment. Girls love that kind of thing.” Tomoya comments while patting my shoulder.

I raise an eyebrow. Is it too late to get away from this guy?

    “Not that I’m saying you’re trying to be popular like yours truly,” he adds quickly, “but… You might want to prep for a little attention.”

   “Attention?”

   “Reina Tachibana.”

That name again.

Tomoya continues, oblivious. “She’s pretty much the top player on the badminton team, super strict, beautiful, and elegant, and not to mention borderline scary… and totally ignored every guy in school—until you showed up. That little stare-off yesterday? The whole class felt the tension.”

    “…It wasn’t anything like that.”

   “Which makes it even more suspicious. A classic ‘childhood friend reunion after years apart’ setup.”

I say nothing.

Tomoya whistles. “Oooh. Nailed it, didn’t I?”

By mid-morning, I’m ready to crawl under my desk and pretend I don’t exist.

But fate—or rather, our homeroom teacher—has other plans.

     “Today, students, we will be having a Group research project,” she says. “Pairs have been assigned randomly.”

I already feel it.

The bad luck. The narrative railroading.

     “Takahashi and… Tachibana.”

The class falls into a suffocating silence.

    “…Woah, Tachibana, and the new transfer?” someone whispers.

   “This is getting juicy,” another mutters.

I glance across the room.

Reina’s face is unreadable, but her pen stops moving. She doesn’t look up.

Tomoya leans in. “You’re living in a shounen manga, my dude.”

I sigh.

We meet in the library annex after school.

It’s a quiet room—too quiet. The kind of quiet where even your thoughts feel like they’re echoing.

She sits across from me, notebook already open, pen in hand.

I haven’t even taken my textbook out yet.

     “…We should finish this in two sessions,” she says flatly. “I’ll handle creating the data table. You summarize the readings.”

I nod. “Got it.”

She starts writing. I try to get through the reading.

The silence stretches.

I glance up. Her brown bangs shift as she leans forward, perfectly focused.

Just like back then.

     “…You’re quieter than I remember,” I say.

Her pen stops.

    “You remember a lot,” she replies coldly, “for someone who disappeared.”

    “…Tch.” I force a laugh. “Ouch. That bluntness is still intact?”

She looks at me, and for a moment, her eyes flicker—almost like she’s measuring what she wants to say.

Then: “Let’s not talk about the past. This is a school project. Not therapy.”

Right. Got it.

Back to page 48 of this godforsaken textbook.

But I can’t stop thinking.

Not about the past.

Not about her.

Not about what I left behind.

We decide to pack up early after making decent progress. She packs up fast. No small talk.

She’s out the door before I even stand.

It’s like nothing ever happened.

Except everything did.

I take the long way out of school.

The sun’s starting to dip, bathing the school gym in amber light.

I stop at the side entrance, taking a peek inside.

Someone’s still there.

   “Yo,” says Ayame Fujisawa, flicking a shuttlecock into the air with her racket. “ You’re staring at the gym court like it betrayed you. Don’t tell me you’re having withdrawal symptoms— I bet you're missing the feeling of your badminton racket in your hand.”

   “…What are you still doing out here?” I ask.

   “Waiting for you, obviously.”

She grins. “I know you watched practice from the side entrance of the gym yesterday.”

   “…I didn’t.”

   “Sure you didn’t.”

She tosses the shuttle again, this time letting it fall.

   “She’s better, you know. Reina. But…”

   “But?”

   “She doesn’t play doubles anymore.”

I look at her.

     “After you left two years ago, she stopped trusting partners. Said they slowed her down. You broke her trust, Shunpei.”

I flinch. “You here to guilt-trip me into joining?”

    “Nope.” She steps closer. “I’m here to say: if you’re planning to come back, don’t half-ass it.”

I stare at the gym doors.

Reina’s voice still echoes in my head.

Let’s not talk about the past.

But the past is screaming.

I walk home slower that night.

A Shuttlecock in my pocket.

My heart was heavier than I expected.

I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.

But something tells me fate is dragging me back onto the court again.