Chapter 2: Too Comfortable

The image of Hana’s eyes lingered in my mind like a storm that refused to pass. That day, when she saw me with Yui and Rin my newfound “sisters” from the Niroku clan she didn’t say a word. 

But her silence was louder than any argument. Her gaze, sharp and heavy with unspoken anger, felt like an ocean of hurt crashing over me. 

I froze, my voice caught in my throat, unable to bridge the gap between us. All I could do was watch her walk away, her schoolbag swaying slightly with each step.

Hana and I weren’t the kind of couple who flaunted our relationship. She’d told me early on that some of her relatives’ kids attended our school, and she didn’t want anyone to know about us. 

It was her request, and I respected it. So, our moments together were confined to the short walk home after school. My house wasn’t far just a ten-minute stroll from campus but those fleeting minutes were ours. 

Every word we exchanged felt like a treasure, carefully chosen and heavy with meaning. But after that day, the air between us felt different. Charged. Fragile.

The next afternoon, as we walked side by side down the quiet street lined with ginkgo trees, their golden leaves crunching underfoot, Hana was… normal. Too normal. 

She didn’t mention Yui or Rin, didn’t ask who they were or why they’d been so close to me. She just talked about her day how her math teacher had tripped over a projector cord, how the cafeteria’s udon was surprisingly good that day. 

Her voice was light, her smile soft, but it felt like a performance. I could sense the weight behind her words, the questions she wasn’t asking. It gnawed at me.

Hana’s innocence was something I couldn’t quite explain. It was like she belonged to a different world, one where trust was absolute and doubt was a quiet, private ache. 

She didn’t have the confidence to confront me, and that made my guilt twist deeper. I couldn’t tell her the truth that Yui and Rin were my clan “sisters,” bound to me by the Niroku’s Generation System. 

The clan’s rules were ironclad: no outsider could know about our traditions, not even someone as important as Hana. 

But keeping that secret meant letting her believe those girls were just… random. Flirty classmates. The thought made my stomach churn.

I made a promise to myself then and there. Every moment we had, no matter how brief, I’d make her feel special. She wasn’t like Yui or Rin, who treated me with the casual familiarity of family. 

To Hana, they were strangers, and I was the one caught in the middle. I had to show her what she meant to me, even if I couldn’t explain everything.

“Hey, Hana,” I said, breaking the silence as we passed a small park, its swings swaying gently in the late afternoon breeze. “You ever think about what you’d do if you could skip school for a whole day?”

She glanced at me, her dark eyes catching the golden light filtering through the trees. “Skip school?” she said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. 

“I don’t know. I’d probably just stay home and read. Or maybe… go somewhere quiet. Like a library or a café.” She paused, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “What about you, Soia?”

I grinned, nudging her shoulder lightly. “I’d take you to the arcade. You know, the one near the station with those claw machines you’re weirdly good at.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked down, her smile growing. “I’m not that good. I just got lucky that one time.”

“Lucky?” I laughed. “You won that giant plush cat in, like, two tries. I spent half my allowance and got nothing but a keychain.”

She giggled, the sound soft but genuine, and for a moment, the tension between us seemed to melt. We stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. 

A group of kids ran past, their laughter echoing, and I noticed Hana watching them, her expression softening.

“Do you ever miss being that age?” she asked quietly. “When things were… simpler?”

I thought about it, kicking a pebble across the pavement. “Sometimes. Back then, I didn’t have to worry about… well, anything, really. 

Just playing with friends, sneaking extra snacks from the kitchen.” I glanced at her. “What about you? What were you like as a kid?”

Her eyes lit up, and she hesitated, like she was sifting through memories. “I was shy. Shyer than now, if you can believe it. I used to hide behind my mom whenever we went somewhere new. 

But I loved drawing. I’d spend hours with my sketchbook, making up stories about the characters I drew.”

“Stories?” I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What kind of stories?”

She blushed, looking away. “Just… silly stuff. Like, a girl who could talk to stars, or a cat that went on adventures. I don’t draw as much anymore, though.”

“You should,” I said, my voice softer than I intended. “I’d love to see them. Your stories, I mean.”

Her eyes met mine, wide and surprised, and for a second, it felt like the world narrowed to just the two of us. The crosswalk light turned green, but neither of us moved. 

“Maybe I will,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “If you really want to see them.”

“I do,” I said, and I meant it. The idea of Hana sharing something so personal, something she’d kept hidden, made my chest feel warm.

We kept walking, the conversation flowing easier now. She told me about a book she’d been reading, a fantasy novel about a cursed prince, and I teased her about how she probably rooted for the villain. 

She laughed, swatting my arm playfully, and I realized how much I’d missed this her smile, her voice, the way she made even the smallest moments feel significant.

As we neared the corner where we’d part ways, I noticed a small street vendor selling taiyaki, the fish-shaped pastries filled with red bean paste. 

The smell of warm dough and sweet filling wafted toward us, and I had an idea. “Wait here,” I said, jogging over to the stall before Hana could protest. 

I bought two taiyaki, still warm from the griddle, and handed one to her.

“For me?” she asked, her eyes wide.“Yeah,” I said, grinning. “Figured we could use a snack for the last stretch.”

She took a small bite, her expression softening as she chewed. “It’s good,” she said, her voice muffled by the pastry. “Thanks, Soia.”

We ate as we walked, the silence between us comfortable now. A crumb clung to the corner of her mouth, and without thinking, I reached out to brush it away. 

My fingers grazed her cheek, and she froze, her face turning bright red. “S-Soia!” she stammered, stepping back.

“Sorry!” I said, my own face heating up. “I didn’t mean there was just a crumb, and ” She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. “It’s okay. I just… wasn’t expecting that.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, embarrassed but relieved she wasn’t upset. “I’ll warn you next time,” I said, half-joking.

“You better,” she teased, her eyes sparkling. For the first time that day, her smile felt real, unguarded.

When we reached the corner where our paths split, she paused, clutching the taiyaki wrapper in her hands. “Soia,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Thanks for… today. It was nice.”

I wanted to say more, to tell her she didn’t need to worry about Yui or Rin, that she was the only one who mattered. 

But the Niroku’s rules loomed over me, a silent barrier I couldn’t cross. Instead, I smiled. “Anytime, Hana. I mean it.”

She nodded, her expression soft but still tinged with something unspoken. As she turned to walk away, I made another silent promise to myself. 

I’d keep finding ways to make her feel special, to show her she was more than enough. Even if I couldn’t tell her the truth about my “sisters,” I’d make sure she never doubted how I felt.

To be continued…