Chapter 15: Rainfall and Confession Games

The countryside inn smelled like old wood, tatami, and faint miso soup—basically the scent of “you’re going to hear ghost stories tonight and sleep badly.”

Our class had been buzzing since the bus ride. The Autumn Rain Retreat was supposed to be “a cultural exchange event,” but let’s be honest—it’s just a supervised sleepover where teachers pretend they don’t know students sneak snacks and break curfew.

Boys’ wing, girls’ wing, common area in the middle. And yes, teachers stationed like guard dogs in between. Perfect. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

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Evening Chaos

By 8 PM, the rain was coming down steady outside, rattling the old paper sliding doors. A few guys dragged me into the boys’ common room for a game of Truth or Dare.

Normally, I’d rather drink boiling glue than play, but the alternative was listening to Shimizu snore in our shared room.

Half an hour in, it was predictable: “Do a stupid dance,” “Eat this gross candy,” “Tell us your crush.”

That last one was the trap.

“Reiji, truth,” one of the guys grinned, “Who do you like?”

The room’s energy shifted immediately. I could feel every eye on me. And—oh—of course, I caught sight of a few girls peeking in through the gap in the sliding door from the other wing.

I shrugged. “Pass.”

“You can’t pass!”

“I just did. See? Still alive. No lightning strike.”

Laughter, groans. Someone insisted, “C’mon, at least give us a hint.”

I leaned back against the wall. “…They’re someone who would make you idiots cry if you tried talking to them.”

And despite my best poker face, my gaze betrayed me for a split second—sliding toward the far-off figure near the back of the room where Asuka was chatting with another teacher.

The reaction was instant.

“OH?”

“WAIT—WAS THAT—?!”

“Dude, is it the new teacher?!”

“Congratulations,” I said flatly, “You’ve solved the mystery. Now please perish.”

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Umbrella Scene

The game eventually dissolved into snack raids and whispered rumors. I made my escape, heading toward the garden to clear my head.

The rain was still steady, a curtain of silver in the dim lantern light. I stood under the old wooden awning, hands in my pockets, breathing in the damp autumn air.

Footsteps behind me.

“Skipping the fun?” Asuka’s voice.

I turned. She was holding a dark blue umbrella, the kind with tiny white flower patterns along the edge. Her hair was slightly damp at the ends, probably from walking between wings.

“Not my scene,” I said.

She stepped closer, holding the umbrella over both of us as if it made sense indoors. The rain smell seemed stronger under the canopy.

Her eyes searched mine, that teacher-like concern mixed with something else. “You’ve been quiet all evening.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Not like this.”

I looked away, watching the rain ripple in the inn’s little koi pond. The air between us was warm despite the chill outside.

Her hand shifted slightly, the umbrella tilting. Our fingers brushed.

…Not intentional. But also not not intentional.

The sound of the rain filled the silence until she spoke again, softer this time.

“If I cross that line… I won’t go back.”

I turned to look at her fully. Her eyes were steady, but I could see the faint tremor in her grip on the umbrella.

I didn’t think. I just said it.

“Then don’t.”

Her lips parted slightly, a breath caught. For half a second, the world narrowed to rain, lantern light, and her face inches from mine.

But she stepped back, shaking her head lightly. “Not here.”

And she was gone, walking back toward the girls’ wing, leaving me under the awning with my hands cold and my heartbeat annoyingly loud.

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Inner Thoughts

I stayed there for a while, staring at the umbrella’s empty space beside me.

My brain wanted to run analysis: she meant “line” as in professional boundary. Or maybe as in personal comfort zone. Or maybe as in I’m an idiot for letting my face give me away earlier.

But my chest… didn’t care. It just replayed her voice over and over:

> “If I cross that line… I won’t go back.”

And all I could think was—good. Don’t go back. Stay here.