The Girl Who Paints

Morning sunlight spilled across Mitaka like thin golden threads weaving through rooftops and quiet streets. Akihiro, Ayame, and Rei walked together in practiced silence—the kind that carried tension instead of peace. Their expressions were calm masks, but beneath them, unease pulsed like a hidden current neither dared acknowledge first.

Rei’s gaze flicked to Akihiro, sharp beneath the facade of casual composure.

“Her dreams haven’t stopped,” he murmured, voice low, swallowed by the cool morning air. “Every night… the same turbulence. Something inside her stirs too strongly.”

Akihiro slowed, exhaling—a rare crack in his usual unshakable calm.

“I know,” he replied quietly. “That’s why we cannot lose sight of her."

Ayame’s eyes narrowed, jaw tightening just slightly.

“You two speak as if she’s already the Guardian,” she said lightly, though there was an edge to her tone. “And what if it’s Miyu? You’re assuming too much.”

Akihiro turned to her, gaze sharp, not unkind—but clear, cutting through hesitation.

“Then we respond accordingly. And protect them both until we know the truth.”

Ayame pressed her lips together, exhaling slowly. Doubt lingered around her like a shadow—reluctant to leave, unwilling to settle. Beneath it, a quiet, unfamiliar pang of jealousy twisted her chest. She didn’t like the thought of Akihiro so close to Aihana—so attentive.

Ahead, on the sidewalk in front of her house, Miyu was already waiting. She bounced slightly on the balls of her feet, eyes bright with barely contained excitement—or maybe worry.

“Finally,” she called as they approached, voice light but edged with urgency. “I was starting to think you’d sleep in today.” She clapped her hands lightly, breaking the tension. “Come on, let’s move. Aihana’s waiting, and we don’t want to be late.”

With that, the small group set off toward Aihana’s house, Miyu skipping ahead just slightly. The quiet tension walked with them under the soft morning light, each step a silent preparation for whatever lay ahead.

They arrived just as Aihana stepped outside. Her eyes were darkened with exhaustion, a veil of weariness draping over her presence. Miyu, bright and oddly cheerful, waved.

“Still didn’t sleep well?” she asked.

Aihana only nodded, barely a whisper leaving her lips. Akihiro’s eyes lingered on Miyu; there was a subtle understanding in hers, as if she had glimpsed the weight of Aihana’s dreams—or perhaps even shared it.

Mitaka High Gym — The Art of Foreboding

The gym had become a battlefield of creativity. Easels lined the polished floor, palettes gleamed, and the scent of paint clung heavy in the air. Every class had brought its top students, each ready to prove themselves under expectant eyes.

Aihana positioned herself at her canvas, fingers gripping her pencil like a lifeline.

Akihiro’s gaze found her immediately. Every stroke, every careful line drew him in, like invisible threads connecting them.

Brushes danced. Watercolors bled in soft floods; oils built layers like architecture. Judges moved through the aisles, murmuring praise or critique. Aihana’s heartbeat pulsed with each sound—the shuffle of feet, the clink of jars, the hiss of paint on canvas. Beneath it all, faint hums of magic pricked at the edges of her awareness, echoes of dreams and hidden threads weaving around her.

When the judges reached her work, she held her breath. The painting shimmered—an ethereal girl standing alone in a pale meadow, wings unfurling into twilight light. Shadows lingered behind her, indistinct, neither foe nor friend. The figure radiated warmth, almost breathing, a signal threading through the gym itself.

Akihiro, Rei, and Ayame approached, and a shiver ran through them. The wings, the meadow, the girl—it was more than art.

“This isn’t just a painting… it’s a signal,” Akihiro whispered, voice low and steady, carrying the weight of responsibility.

Rei swallowed hard. “A premonition… something’s coming. And she—Aihana—is tied to it.”

Ayame stood silent, eyes flickering with conflict. Fear. Recognition. Resentment. And something she refused to name.

Aihana didn’t hear them—her body and mind were unwell, teetering on exhaustion.

Fading Light — Unexpected Collapse

Aihana’s hand faltered. Her brush slipped, vision darkening at the edges. Dizziness hit like a tidal wave. Knees buckled. The world tilted dangerously.

Reflexes faster than thought caught her before she fell. Akihiro’s hands closed around her, firm and steady—an anchor against the chaos. Her pulse thundered against him.

He glanced at Rei and Ayame; they stayed back, obedient to his silent command.

“I’ll take her to the nurse,” he said quietly, low and absolute.

Rei and Ayame nodded. Ayame’s jaw tightened, a subtle flash of irritation crossing her features. She didn’t like the way Akihiro’s attention lingered on Aihana—an unfamiliar, possessive edge curling in her chest.

Akihiro moved with deliberate precision, each step careful. Her hair brushed his chest, warm and soft, trembling under his hand. Around them, students remained blissfully unaware, lost in the chaos of the competition.

The nurse’s office offered a rare oasis of calm. Akihiro set Aihana gently on the cot. The nurse leaned in, professional but kind.

“She’s exhausted,” she said immediately. “She needs rest. If she pushes herself, she could faint again—or worse.”

Akihiro’s expression remained unreadable but tense.

Aihana blinked up at nurse, confusion clouding her vision. “W-what… happened?”

“You fainted,” the nurse said simply. “And if you keep pushing yourself, you’ll collapse again.”

Aihana’s shoulders slumped. “But… the competition—”

“No,” the nurse said firmly. “Not today. You’re too weak.”

Akihiro stepped closer, calm yet commanding. “I’ll accompany her home.”

Startled, Aihana realized he had been there all along. His presence filled the room, steady, protective.

“Slowly,” the nurse said approvingly. “She’s fragile.”

The Walk Home — A Suspended Moment

Mitaka’s streets hummed with evening wind and scattered traffic. Aihana tried to walk ahead, but her pace faltered. Feet dragged, breaths shallow.

“Aihana, slow down,” Akihiro said softly.

She couldn’t—or wouldn’t.

Darkness crept into her vision. Her legs gave way.

Instantly, Akihiro was there. Arm wrapped around her shoulders, the other beneath her forearm. Strong, warm, unwavering.

“Careful,” he murmured, face close to hers. “You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

Aihana’s heartbeat thundered in sync with his calm, steady pulse. “I-I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said softly. “You won’t fall. Not while I’m here.”

His words wrapped around her like an unbroken promise. She didn’t ask why they felt protective; she only leaned into it, long enough to regain balance.

Even as she stepped forward again, an invisible thread of energy pulsed faintly between them, unbroken, unseen by the world.

Dark Tides — Demon Attack Looms

Rei and Ayame sensed it first—the subtle shifts in the air, vibrations of dark energy moving around the school. Something was coming. Fast. Malicious.

Rei tapped a rapid message to Akihiro and Control Hall: reinforcements needed. Immediately.

Ayame’s eyes, sharp as blades, met his. A silent agreement passed between them: discretion, stealth, preparation. Transform. Angelic forms ready, powers brimming.

Meanwhile, Akihiro received the alert on his wristwatch. For a moment, his normally unshakable calm faltered. His eyes sparked with tension—a flash of worry Aihana noticed instantly.

“Are you… okay?” she asked, concern threading her voice.

“Yes… don’t worry,” he replied, nodding slightly. Inside, he thought only: I trust Ayame and Rei to protect the school.