Chapter 1: Does Rain Always Come Without A Warning?

The weather forecast on my phone said clear skies.

But this fateful afternoon, autumn didn’t want to listen.

I was washing the pan at the public faucet beside my stall when the first drop landed on my uniform sleeve. My first course of action was to continue my store operations—I had weathered storms so many times before, so I wasn’t worried at all.

Besides, I hadn’t hit my quota for a net income yet, I would end up being tight on budget if I ever forced closure.

But the dark skies above lost patience. The rain immediately went torrential, making me withdraw back to the stall with feverish steps. The raindrops sizzled upon hitting my portable gas stove, and most of the park emptied in seconds—umbrellas bloomed like flowers, and shoes slapped wet pavement as people scurried for shelter.

I sighed in surrender and moved on instinct.

Hang up the apron.

Close the grill.

Stack the skewers.

Cover the baskets.

Pull the umbrella from beneath the counter.

This is my routine. Not the rain itself, but the set of motions I’ve memorized in case it comes. It was the kind of muscle memory you build when you live alone—move first, ask questions later.

I’m halfway through tying down the tarp when I noticed her—

She’s still there.

Kousaka Akari hasn’t moved an inch.

Her sketchpad is still open. Pencil still in her hand, charcoal still dancing. Her bag still laying quietly low below the bench.

Rain already soaked her dark blue Tokyo Yakult Swallows varsity jacket and the school blouse beneath it. Her hair clung to her cheeks, gold streaked with water.

I told myself to look away.

This isn’t my business. We had no common ground between the two worlds where we existed—between school and the outside, between being a classmate and a stranger.

She probably has an umbrella in her bag.

She probably likes the rain.

That’s an introvert’s instinct. I don’t need a psychology certification to guess because I spent days being one myself.

Besides, she’s the kind of girl who would curse me out for assuming otherwise. I could still recall the humiliation our class rep, Tsurugi-san, received after accidentally holding her wrist mid-argument, or the neck injury the delinquent Yuuya endured after getting a clean roundhouse for hitting up on her.

I told myself these over and over—she’s a bomb that will explode at a moment’s notice. I had to thread carefully or I'll be the next victim.

The rain blurred the distance between us, but that wasn’t even the case when I saw her soaked hands.

They were shivering.

But they’re still drawing.

I don’t know if that’s serene dedication or comic absurdity, either way, I found the situation amiss. There’s something about it—about the stubborn, stupid stillness of it—that breaks whatever numb logic I’ve built up.

And I found my body moving before my brain caught up.

I grabbed the umbrella, its familiar weight in my hand feeling foreign now. It was heavy with doubt and impending danger.

I stepped into the rain. Not once I had thought crossing this invisible line between us.

Ten meters. That was all.

But this short distance between us might as well have been a gorge to cross.

The pavement felt slick under my school shoes. The rain made my uniform clung to me like a second skin.

I slowly approached with calm and measured steps, as if I was walking on water, and she’s a remnant of a rabid animal that will pounce on a prey at a little miscalculation.

Then I stopped at a cautious distance in front of her, but still enough to cover her in the protection of my black umbrella.

This is the first time I had seen her this close. Gemstone earrings, branded headphones around her neck, luxury sandals, partially buttoned uniform exposing the crease between her ample breasts, and brown checkered school skirt shorter than regulation.

She should’ve earned herself a lot of men just on the first glance, but I knew better.

Kousaka Akari is a porcupine with golden spikes.

And what's more sharper than her spikes, was the blue eyes she sharply carried as she looked up at me.

Blue meets hazel.

She stared at me like I’ve just rewritten the rules of the world.

“…Who are you?”

My stomach dropped. Even though we had months of cohabitation in the classroom since she transferred, Kousaka Akari hasn't acknowledged my existence. I get it, I am a wallflower, an invisible observer, but her words sounded accusatory rather than a genuine question.

“I’m…”

A classmate?

A random stranger?

For a second, I feel like the Shonan High School uniform I was wearing was mere cosplay. Answers didn't come right away. I’m not good with words when it mattered.

“Answer me.” she spoke again, voice chiseled with frustration. “What are you doing?”

She watched me with a confused expression, as if it was a spectacle that a boy of her age did something decent like this.

“You’ll catch a cold.” I said finally. My voice sounded foreign even to me. I hadn’t prepared anything beforehand because I never expected to get this far.

“Worry about yourself.” as she looked down and started sketching again.

I looked at my miserable state of being soaked in the rain—but it’s better than nothing. I have no valuables in my possession, and I feel that the sketchpad on her knees was a divine collection of her unspoken thoughts undeserving to crumble below the rain.

I shifted my glance to the trees, to the sky, everywhere but her. I leaned the umbrella closer to her like a fool.

A long moment passed. Maybe seconds. Maybe an eternity. I heard the scribbles and scratches slow down.

“You’re creeping me.”

It was just a drizzle of a phrase, but her words struck me like thunder.

I snapped my head to her figure, and now, the sketchpad was shut close. I didn’t have a chance to know what she’s drawing. I didn’t intend to ask.

And I was muted.

“You’re a dirty bug in the proximity of my personal space,” she followed up with a sharper words to emphasize her point.

“It’s because you’ll get soaked.”

"I’m aware," she said. "Go back."

"I will. After you take this."

Her eyes narrowed, too uninviting. "I didn’t ask for help."

"And I didn’t offer kindness. It’s just an umbrella."

She scoffed. “So what, charity?”

"No. Efficiency. I can get wet. You’re just half-drenched. This costs me less than it does you."

She studied me like I was speaking a foreign language. "What comes after then? I’m indebted by a half-assed logic?"

I looked away. “I don't care how you feel. If I need to feel good about it, that’s my problem, not yours.”

The rain pattered between us. She was still studying me—like she wasn’t sure if I was mocking her.

Her eyes dropped to the umbrella—then to my soaked sleeves, the drops trailing down my jaw.

"You’re ridiculous."

"I received compliments worse than that."

Another pause.

"...Fine."

Then, slowly, she grabbed the stem of the umbrella, and took it away from me.

"Give it to me. Then go."

I handed it to her.

Great, too close, but no contact. Perfect execution, Shimizu Itsuki.

"Thanks," she said, barely above the rain.

A thank you from her is the least of my expectations. It was just a simple word said to me a thousand times by my customers, yet when it came from her, I had to gulp, as if I was blessed by some sort of a fallen angel.

I felt the warmth that spreads to my chest, shielding me from the cold of the rain. I wanted to stay, to check up on her for longer, but she already redrawn the line that I had crossed.

I nodded and turned back toward the stall.

The rain hit me harder than I expected. But I didn’t look back.

She already had it.

That’s all I needed.

That umbrella was everything I had needed to weather the storm, but the thought of Kousaka Akari, of all people, taking it, felt better than anything.

The golden flower stole my shield against the rain, but remembering the gesture of doing something for her, I feel like I’m being pulled out of the rain, too.