Invisible Minato

Minato Ryuji stood at the threshold of the Sumida Riverside Shinyo High School. The school carved into a weathered stone beside the gate. The entrance was a red torii gate with a path that led to a second torii, which split the school grounds. The path lead to the three-story square main building. The track and field to the left; indoor gym to the right. The path had cherry blossoms planted, still young and had fledgling amounts of flowers.

He felt the haori collar at the back of his neck and the hakama's pleats brush against his skin. Both male and female students wore the same uniform; white shirt with red hakama and white haori-like jacket with red accents. First years wore white obi; second years red; third years purple. He set a goal this year to not become invisible Minato again but looking like a shrine maiden wanted to be invisible on his way to school. He was glad he moved closer to the school instead of commuting all the way from Chiba. That reminded him he still had to unpack the rest of the boxes and figure out what the mystery parcel arrived that morning before he left for school.

Seeing other students in the same outfit eased the embarrassment more than he expected. A student two steps ahead adjusted his obi with the same awkward, practiced motion; a girl laughed at a friend's crooked collar. the sameness felt like a small, accidental camaraderie.

A janitor crouched by the path, sweeping a drift of cherry‑blossom petals into a neat pile. Ryuji felt almost sorry for him—this place was huge to keep clean—so he bowed politely, shrugged, and passed under the second torii toward the gym for the opening ceremony. “Well, at least we won’t see any spirits in the hallways if this is a beyond the second torii,” he muttered.

- - -

The gym was new but otherwise ordinary: folding chairs, a low stage, paper signs marking each class. Students trickled in and found seats; Ryuji slid into the middle of 1‑2 and tried not to yawn. Even with Shinyo listed on the curriculum, the principal’s speech sounded like every other opening ceremony he’d sat through—discipline, study, tradition—so he slouched and scanned the room for anyone from Chiba.

No luck. He didn’t recognize anyone, and no one came over to say hello. A boy two seats down laughed at a joke Ryuji didn’t hear; a girl brushed past without a second glance. He felt that old, familiar hollow—Invisible Minato creeping back in—and the promise he’d made to himself felt thinner by the minute.

“I won’t be an invisible Minato this time.” He told himself, then felt defeated almost at once.

Halfway through the principal’s line about “honor and community,” a ripple moved through the gym. A girl entered at the rear—taller than most, skin pale as new snow. The chatter thinned; a pencil stopped mid‑scratch; someone behind him whispered, “There she is.”

“Yuki‑hime Hanako, Yukiharu Hanako,” someone said, half awe, half gossip.

Hanako. The name sounded like it belonged in his grandmother’s photo album, not on a class roster.

Ryuji watched her cross the floor. She wore the uniform as if it had been cut for her: the white haori‑style jacket sat perfectly, the red hakama pleats falling without a wrinkle. She didn’t look around like someone seeking attention; she moved like someone used to being watched. A tall boy walked beside her for a moment, close enough to be protective, then both slipped out of the gym before the ceremony ended.

Ryūji’s chest tightened with a stupid, sudden curiosity. What was it like to sit in the same classroom as someone like that? She was everything he wasn’t—visible, effortless, the kind of person who drew eyes without trying. What did it take to be seen like that? Would she notice him at all? The questions followed him through the ceremony, a quiet, persistent throb beneath the principal’s speech.

- - -

“Class 1‑2, line up,” Mr. Yamaguchi called, and Ryūji fell into line with his classmates. Teachers checked lists on their clipboards; the detached gym doors closed behind them, and they crossed the short walk into the main building.

Once inside the ground‑floor hallway, Ryūji could finally see the Kuroakami shrine framed at the center. Two L‑shaped, three‑story wings formed a square around the courtyard; between them the new lacquered torii rose just past the shrine gate, its lintel carved with dragons. Behind the shrine the older brick wing showed its weathered face, a quiet contrast to the concrete new wing they were in. Class 1‑2 sat along the shorter stretch of that new wing, just before the corner by the stairs.

- - -

They filed into the classroom and took their seats. Ryuji blinked when he saw who was already beside him—Yukiharu Hanako, hands folded neatly in her lap. She hadn’t been with the rest of the class in the gym; she must have slipped in through the side corridor during the shuffle or come in after the teachers had started lining everyone up. The tall boy who had walked in with her in the gym sat down behind Ryuji.

Ryuji could feel his presence before he could turn around to see him - his broad shoulders overshadowed Ryuji. His more pronounced jawline made him look lot more mature than Ryuji. He sat close to the edge of the seat as if he's ready to move.

Mr. Yamaguchi placed the clipboard on the podium “Class 1‑2, settle down,”

“Hana‑chan! We’re in the same class!” A short, bubbly girl with permed hair and a mole on her lower left lip bounced over to Yukiharu-san as if she was openly defying against the teacher.

“Sayuri‑chan, we’re finally back in the same class. It’s been years.”

“You look pale again. Are you all right? Should I take you to the infirmary? Oh! Ko-chan's here as well!'”

“Please don’t call me that?” the tall student behind Ryuji answered begrudgingly, his voice was much lower and steadier than Ryuji's.

Ryuji watched them—friends already, laughing like they’d known each other forever. It must be nice to have friends like that.

Yukiharu-san noticed him. “Is there something you need?" her tone was calm and proper.

Their eyes met.

His heart kicked his chest; panic flooded him and throat went dry. All he managed was a sharp shake of his head. She tilted her head lightly with a thin smile and turned back to Sayuri.

Stupid. He couldn’t say anything when it mattered.

Mr. Yamaguchi continued, hand gesturing Sayuri to return to her seat “…If you do not have your own omamori, the school shrine will provide you with simple omamori during practicum class. Have your own by the end of the month."

"Oh - Ko-chan do you have your omamori yet? Hana-chan, help me. I don't know what to get. Can you pick something for me at the school shrine? Do they even sell them?" Sayuri begged

Ryuji hoped the anonymous parcel waiting at his apartment contained an omamori; if not, he’d have to visit the nearby shrines himself.