Chapter 28 - Five Year Class Reunion

Five years.

That’s how long it’s been since I walked out of Mishiro High with my diploma and a vague sense that the world was about to crush me. Spoiler: it did.

And yet here I am again, walking back into the gymnasium, except this time I’m not a surly teenager. I’m a surly twenty-something with a job, a wife, and a kid.

Progress? Maybe. Or maybe life just tricked me into filling out more forms and paying more taxes.

---

The Mishiro High gymnasium hasn’t changed. Same polished wood floors, same banners hanging crooked from the rafters, same faint smell of sweat and cleaning spray.

Only difference? Now it’s decorated with banners that scream “Class Reunion – 5 Years!” in glittery letters. Someone definitely went overboard with the budget.

My classmates trickle in one by one. It’s like watching a zoo exhibit labeled “The Many Ways Life Screws You.”

The former class delinquent? He runs a café now. A cat café. He even has a cat-print apron. The irony nearly killed me on the spot.

The shy girl who could barely answer roll call? Yeah, she’s a famous idol now. Posters of her face are plastered all over the city. I still can’t reconcile that with the girl who once cried because she forgot her gym shoes.

And the self-proclaimed genius from my class? He sells insurance. His eyes are dead inside. Truly, the most tragic arc of all.

---

Then there’s us.

I walked in with Asuka on one side and Yume on the other, holding both their hands like some kind of overgrown chaperone. Yume’s ten now, full of energy and sarcasm. Deadly combination.

The second we step in, whispers start.

> “Isn’t that… sensei?”

“Wait, so it’s true, she married him?!”

“Damn, Kazama actually grew up?”

I wanted to turn around and leave, but Asuka squeezed my hand and whispered, “It’ll be fine.” Easy for her to say. She wasn’t the one who used to get suspended every other month.

Within minutes, the teasing began.

> “Yo, Kazama! Heard you’re the teacher’s husband now!”

“Did she finally beat that temper out of you?”

I muttered something about workplace harassment, but they just laughed.

--

Of course, Yume had to make it worse.

She proudly announced, “Papa burned dinner last week, and Mama had to save it!”

Everyone roared with laughter. Asuka covered her mouth, trying to hide her blush, while I stared at Yume, silently promising revenge. She smirked back at me, fearless.

Later, during karaoke, someone shoved a mic in my hand. I tried to refuse, but Asuka nudged me forward with that teacher look of hers. You know, the one that means “you don’t get a choice.”

So there I was, awkwardly mumbling through a love song while my classmates cheered like I was on a talent show. Yume filmed the whole thing, cackling. If this video ever goes public, I’ll have no choice but to change my name and move to another country.

---

The chaos didn’t end there. Someone brought up that memory—the time during the cultural festival when a falling decoration nearly killed me and I ended up with Asuka on top of me in front of half the class.

> “Hey Kazama, remember when you tried to play hero and just looked like a perv?”

Cue laughter. Cue Asuka blushing furiously. Cue me seriously considering arson as a solution.

Even Yume joined in. “Mama fell on you?! Ewww!” She waved her hands like she was warding off a curse. Then, after a pause: “Wait… was that when you two started liking each other?”

We both choked on our drinks at the same time. Perfect comedy timing, courtesy of a ten-year-old menace.

---

Between the teasing, the karaoke, and the buffet food that tasted suspiciously like the old school lunches, I found myself watching my classmates.

Some were glowing with success, others struggling but laughing anyway. We’d all grown, in different ways, down different roads.

And for the first time, I realized—I wasn’t bitter. Not really. The old me would’ve sneered, compared myself to them, ranted about unfairness. But now?

I had Asuka. I had Yume.

That was more than enough.

Asuka caught me staring. She tilted her head, smiling softly, her eyes saying more than words ever could. Pride. Affection. Maybe even amazement that I’d actually turned out okay.

I wanted to tell her she was wrong—that I hadn’t turned out okay, not by myself. She made me this way. She carried me, pushed me, scolded me, believed in me when I couldn’t stand myself.

But instead I just looked away and muttered, “Don’t look at me like that. It’s creepy.”

She laughed.

---

Later that night, the reunion ended with fireworks. Because apparently nostalgia and pyrotechnics go hand in hand.

We stepped outside. The night air was cool, the sky wide and clear.

Yume had fallen asleep somewhere between the third karaoke round and the dessert table. She dozed now on my shoulder, drooling slightly. Asuka stood beside me, her hand slipping into mine.

Above us, the first firework burst into the sky—bright, fleeting, beautiful. Just like the one five years ago, when I finally confessed.

And in that moment, I knew it.

No matter what comes next—jobs, struggles, aging, whatever—I’d stay. With them. For life.

Because somehow, against all odds, this cynical, broken kid had found something worth protecting.

And I wasn’t letting go.