Chapter 3: She Walks Beside Me Now

Hikaru Saito’s POV:

The silence in the house feels wrong.

Not peaceful. Not calm.

Just… empty.

I stand there for a while, watching the closed door behind me like it might open again. It doesn't. The quiet stretches long and wide, swallowing everything I’m used to—the clink of silverware, the low murmur of my parents’ voices, the faint thump of Aoi’s music bleeding through the walls.

They’re gone.

They left early to collect Kenta from his field trip, already planning the weekend ahead. I wasn’t part of the plan.

They didn’t say it outright—they never do—but they left a note on the kitchen table:

Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner in the fridge. Feel free to order anything for tomorrow. We will be back by Monday afternoon. Don’t forget to lock up.

No “see you later.”

No “take care.”

Just four sentences scribbled in fading pencil, tucked under a saltshaker like it barely mattered.

I’m alone now.

The hallway feels longer when it’s quiet. The wooden floor reflects pale light from the windows, each board stretching into shadow like they’ve forgotten how to end. Even the walls look colder.

I shift my weight, stretching slowly.

Something’s off.

Not wrong exactly—but different.

My arm moves more easily than I expect, like my joints have been oiled. My steps feel lighter, more fluid. I cross the room without meaning to and realise how little effort it takes.

I grab a shirt from the bed—one I’ve worn a hundred times—and pull it over my head.

It hangs wrong.

Too loose around the shoulders. Bunched awkwardly at the waist. The neckline sags, exposing a collarbone I don’t remember being that sharp. I glance down.

My arms look leaner. Defined.

Even my skin feels... warmer. Tighter.

I touch the hollow beneath my throat, fingers grazing bone like it’s something unfamiliar.

There’s no mirror to check.

The old one cracked two years ago, during a storm when the window slammed too hard. No one ever replaced it. I never asked.

But now, I want to see.

You just slept better than usual, I tell myself.

The lie doesn’t sit well.

I sink into my desk chair and flick through my phone, scrolling past headlines, class notifications, group chats. None of it sticks. My brain feels like static.

Then—

A sound outside.

Not the clatter of a delivery truck. Not the cough of Mr. Ito’s tired Honda across the street.

This is smooth. Sleek.

I stand, drawn by the noise, and peel back the curtain just enough to see.

A limo.

Black. Gleaming.

Its surface reflects the power lines overhead. The design is sharp—silver rims, narrow headlights, tinted windows polished to a mirror finish. It’s too expensive. Too immaculate. Too wrong for this neighbourhood.

And then the door opens.

She steps out.

Akane.

She moves like gravity bends for her.

Her hair falls like a curtain of night, catching the sunlight in strands that shimmer against her skin. She wears a cream blouse tucked into a black skirt, modest but perfectly tailored. Her posture is effortless—hands smooth at her sides, chin lifted just enough to say she knows exactly who she is.

She walks slowly.

Like the world is timed for her stride.

Then she looks up.

Her eyes lock onto mine—crimson and clear—and the whole street goes quiet in my chest.

She lifts a hand.

A wave.

Small. Calm. Intentional.

And then—she smiles.

Not just politely.

Not like she’s performing for a crowd.

But warm.

Like it’s meant only for me.

My breath stutters. My pulse climbs. My whole-body freezes at the window.

Why is she here? In a limo of all things.

I grabbed the nearest pair of pants, stumbling into them with fingers that couldn’t quite keep up. The waistband hung loose, slipping against my hips like it didn’t belong to me anymore. Nothing fit right. My shirt was oversized, my shoes felt unfamiliar, and I was somehow both underdressed and overwhelmed.

Akane was waiting by the curb, leaning casually against the side of a sleek black limo like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

Her posture was relaxed hips angled, one hand resting on the polished chrome, hair catching the morning light like woven ink. And when she turned her eyes to me, something inside me fluttered.

"Good morning, Hikaru," she said with a smile that was too warm. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

I froze halfway down the steps, my voice snagging in my throat. “W-What are you doing here?”

My shirt ballooned around my chest like it was stitched for someone else entirely. I tugged at the collar instinctively, heat rushing to my face. Beside her, I looked like I’d stumbled out of a washing machine.

She tilted her head, amused. “I thought we’d spend the day together.”

Just like that. Casual. Unshaken.

Her hand gestured to the open limo door, fingertips soft but confident.

"Come on."

I blinked at her, then at the limo. “Spend the day… doing what?”

Her smile widened, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “You’ll see,” she said, “trust me.”

That last part hung in the air longer than it should have.

Akane stepped aside, waiting.

I glanced one last time at the open door, at the darkness beyond the velvet seats and tinted windows, and then at her. There was something in her presence—unbothered, composed, quietly magnetic—that left no room for argument.

So, I nodded, heart kicking hard beneath my ribs, and climbed in.

The inside of the limo was silent, like a breath held just for us. The seats were butter-soft leather, cream with black trim. Lavender drifted from a discreet vent near the panelling, faint but grounding. A strip of ambient lighting glowed along the floor, painting the cabin in quiet blue.

I sat stiffly, knees too close together, palms flat on my thighs.

She stepped in after me with practiced grace, settling into the seat opposite mine. The space seemed to shrink around her. Her posture was flawless. Her presence immense.

I swallowed.

“Relax, Hikaru,” she said, watching me carefully. “You look like you’re about to jump out the window.”

I tried to breathe.

Tried to sit normally.

But all I could feel was the ghost of her smile, and how my heartbeat didn’t quite sound like mine anymore.

Akane sat next me, legs crossed, her posture effortlessly elegant as the limo rolled deeper into the city. Somehow, she made stitched leather and tinted glass feel regal.

“I just…” My voice tangled. “This is a lot. I’ve never even been near a limo before—and now you’re showing up at my house like…”

I trailed off, unsure how to finish the thought without sounding ridiculous.

“Like what?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, her smile still warm.

“Like it’s normal!” I spoke. “None of this is normal.”

Her soft laugh was barely louder than the hum of the engine. “I told you we’d see each other soon, didn’t I?”

She didn’t blink when she spoke, and her crimson eyes never wavered. It felt less like she was answering and more like she was reminding me of something important.

“Maybe it’s time for you to get used to things being... different,” she added.

I leaned back into the seat, trying to breathe steadily. She watched me carefully for a moment, then reached forward and placed a hand gently on my leg. Her palm settled just above my knee—light, casual, but charged with intention.

“Relax,” she said softly. “I don’t bite.”

I flinched at the touch—not because it startled me, but because it felt unexpectedly grounding. Her fingers lingered, firm and steady, like she could anchor me to reality without effort.

“How did you know I’d be home?” I asked, voice quieter now.

“I sensed it,” she said smoothly. “But I also heard.”

“Heard?” I echoed.

Her gaze slid to the window. “Your family left you behind, didn’t they?”

I hesitated. “Yeah. They went to pick up my brother.”

“Oh, Kenta,” she said. She didn’t ask—it was more like she already knew.

“He had a field trip,” I said, staring at the passing buildings. “Some advanced science institute. My parents decided it was worth turning into a weekend thing.”

“No invitation?” she asked.

I laughed bitterly. “They left a note.”

Her eyes returned to mine, quiet, unreadable.

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner in the fridge. Feel free to order anything for tomorrow. We’ll be back by Monday afternoon. Don’t forget to lock up.

“That’s all?”

I nodded.

For a second, her smile vanished.

Her expression changed—not subtly, not slowly. Her eyes darkened like a shadow had passed across the sun. Fury, cold and precise, flickered across her face. I could feel it—not in her words, but in the way her presence filled the cabin.

Then—just as quickly—it softened.

The rage faded, leaving behind something quieter. Warmer.

Concern.

“Are you okay?”

I gave a noncommittal shrug. “It’s not new.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s right,” she said, her voice low now. “Your family doesn’t get to choose how invisible you feel.”

I said nothing.

She leaned back into her seat, posture still perfect, but her tone was lighter now, purposeful, like she was pulling me out of the fog.

“Well,” she said, the corner of her lip lifting, “I'm going to spend time with you. You can forget all about them.”

Outside, the city had changed.

The sleepy rows of convenience stores and apartment blocks had vanished, replaced by glass towers and elegant storefronts. Neon signs gleamed softly beneath shaded awnings, flickering between foreign brands and designer names I couldn’t pronounce. Café patios stretched beneath latticed arches. People moved with purpose—heels on cobblestone, conversations filtered through sunglasses and silk.

Everything here looked expensive enough to require breathing clearance.

The limo slowed.

We rolled past a boutique with silver lettering etched into the glass: tailored suits on mannequins posed like royalty, mirrored walls glowing with gold accents. Then we stopped. The driver didn’t speak, didn’t signal. Just waited.

Akane opened the door with the ease of habit and stepped out first. Her hair caught the light in a way that made my chest tighten.

She turned, held out her hand.

I hesitated.

I hesitated.

“What… are we doing here?”

“Shopping,” she said.

I blinked. “Akane—I can’t afford anything here.”

She smiled gently, eyes steady and firm.

“I didn’t ask you to pay.”

She stepped closer, fingers brushing mine.

“You’re with me now.”

Before I could protest, Akane took my arm and led me inside.

The boutique felt like walking into a showroom trapped in a dream. Polished marble floors glowed under soft pendant lights. Every rack was precisely arranged shirts folded like origami, jackets positioned as if they were waiting for someone important to claim them.

And somehow, she walked through it like it was hers.

I followed, painfully aware of the way my shoes squeaked against the floor. My outfit felt wrong—too plain, too loose, too loud in a place this quiet.

Akane paused by one of the racks, her fingers trailing along the fabric like she was scanning for something only she could see.

“This,” she said, pulling out a deep grey shirt with subtle gold threading along the collar. She folded it neatly, then handed it to me. “Try it on.”

I took it reluctantly, hesitating as I glanced at the tag.

I nearly choked.

“This costs more than everything in my closet,” I muttered.

She raised a brow. “And?”

“I can’t wear this. I shouldn’t even breathe near it.”

“You’re worth much more, Hikaru.”

Her voice was calm. But there was no teasing—just quiet sincerity, like she was telling a fact I’d somehow missed about myself.

I didn’t know what to say. So, I nodded and followed the attendant, who led me to a private fitting room with mirrored walls and velvet seating I was too nervous to touch.

I didn’t look in the mirror. I focused on the shirt—soft, featherlight, impossibly tailored. The moment I slipped it on, I felt… held. Not restricted. Just assembled.

As I stepped out, Akane turned to face me. Her eyes swept over me slowly, head tilting just slightly.

Her lips parted.

“Perfect,” she said, quieter than before.

I shifted awkwardly, fingers twitching at the fabric near my ribs. “I don’t know. It feels… weird.”

She stepped closer, reached out, and adjusted the collar with a touch so gentle it stopped my thoughts.

“You’re just not used to looking like yourself,” she said.

“Like myself?”

She nodded. “Give it time.”

We drifted through the store, her hand occasionally brushing mine when I veered too far. The lighting spilled golden across the tiled paths, casting soft reflections on the glass counters beside us. As we passed a display of leather satchels, I noticed movement behind me.

Two girls—university students—watching. Whispering.

“He’s so handsome,” one murmured.

“Are they together?” the other asked.

My breath caught. I turned toward Akane.

“Did you hear that?”

She glanced at me, her smile faint but knowing.

“I hear everything, Hikaru.”

We kept walking.

“But they think we’re…” The words stalled at the edge of my throat.

I couldn’t say it. I wasn’t even sure I believed it myself.

Akane didn’t miss a beat.

“Does that bother you?” she asked, voice light, a hint of teasing curled at the end.

“I—I mean, no! I just—” I fumbled, cheeks burning. “I didn’t expect people to… say things like that.”

She laughed softly, and somehow the sound wrapped itself around my pulse. It was warm. Effortless. Like she’d found something endearing in my confusion and decided to keep it.

“They’re just noticing what’s already obvious.”

I blinked. “What does that mean?”

She stepped around me, glancing at a display of silk blazers. “Let’s see. We entered together. You let me pick your shirt. You didn’t argue when I adjusted your collar—twice.”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“We walked side by side for an hour,” she continued, lifting a charcoal jacket with one elegant hand. “You let me match it with your hair, your eyes. We talked. You smiled. I gave you my opinion and you listened.”

I felt my face growing hotter by the second.

“And then,” she added, turning toward me with a faint smile, “I told you that you’re worth much more. And you didn’t even try to disagree.”

I stared down at the floor, at the slick reflection of overhead lights that curved around our feet. “Maybe this is a date—but we're not even a couple.”

Akane shrugged. “That may change soon.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that.

We passed another section—this one full of embroidered jackets, imported shoes behind glass, belts coiled like trophies. She stopped once to examine a minimalist black watch, holding it up and looking at me like she already knew I’d wear it well.

I watched her interact with the space like it bent to her rhythm.

We hadn’t done anything dramatic—no flowers, no candlelight. But in the past hour, she’d taken me into a boutique I didn’t belong in, picked out clothes I didn’t think I deserved, and told me I looked perfect.

She’d noticed what my family never did.

It didn’t feel like shopping.

It felt like being claimed.

And for the first time, the whispers didn’t feel wrong.

They felt inevitable.

After everything that had happened today—the boutique, the stares, the strange comfort I was starting to feel by her side—I hadn't expected us to end up here.

But when Akane mentioned dinner, her eyes glinting with unguarded excitement, I couldn’t bring myself to say no.

“It’s one of my favourite places in the entire world,” she said as we stepped onto the mosaic-tiled path leading to the restaurant. “Their dumplings are basically divine.”

I nodded, though I wasn't sure what counted as divine anymore. My body still felt off—lighter, faster, strangely precise—and my mind hadn’t stopped whirring since this morning. But her voice had a way of making the noise quiet down.

The restaurant’s exterior was understated—dark wooden panels with golden accents glowing faintly under the evening light. Inside, the warmth was immediate. Hanging lanterns cast soft circles across the lacquered tables, and faint jazz spilled from speakers tucked somewhere out of sight. The scent of freshly cooked dishes hung in the air, layered with hints of ginger, sesame oil, and something faintly sweet.

Akane led the way to a small corner table near the windows, partly shielded by an indoor bamboo partition. The city stretched just beyond the glass—neon signs blinking in the distance, cars whispering past in clusters, strangers framed briefly under passing lights.

“This place is perfect,” I said, settling into the seat across from her.

She smiled. “I like places that don’t try too hard. The food here speaks for itself.”

The menus arrived, etched with ornate gold brushwork. I opened mine but barely absorbed the words. It was like flipping through a book in a language I hadn’t learned yet—soy-glazed fillet, truffle broth, matcha duck salad. I realised I hadn’t said anything in a while.

Akane glanced up. “So, what are you thinking?”

Her eyes were calm, but her gaze felt… personal.

I sat straighter. “Uh—maybe something light,” I said quickly. “I’m not really that hungry.”

Her brow arched. “You sure?”

I nodded, then at once regretted it.

She leaned forward slightly, her fingers tapping the menu with quiet amusement. “This place is famous. You’ll regret it if you leave hungry.”

I hesitated. “Okay… maybe something small.”

Akane flashed a quiet smile and tapped a few options on her menu. “We’ll share. Trust me.”

The waiter arrived. His posture was upright, his voice professional but warm.

“Good evening. Anything to drink while you decide?”

Akane didn’t hesitate. “Genmaicha for two.”

I blinked at her.

“What? You need something grounding,” she said.

The waiter smiled and scribbled. “Anything to start?”

“Dumplings,” Akane replied. “The chilli-sesame ones.”

I glanced toward the kitchen—a row of frosted-glass panels and low counters behind which steam hissed, and servers moved like dancers in tight formation.

As the waiter retreated, Akane rested her elbows lightly on the table, her chin cradled in one hand.

“You’ve never been out like this, have you?”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“With someone who notices when you're quiet. Who picks food for you? Who tells you what suits you—and doesn’t pretend not to care.”

I felt heat crawl into my chest. “No. I haven’t.”

Her expression softened. “I thought so.”

The tea arrived first, poured from a ceramic pot into tiny stone cups. The scent was nutty and rich, instantly calming.

Soon after, the dumplings came—arranged in perfect spirals on a charcoal slate plate, each glistening with sauce and flecks of chilli.

“Try one,” Akane said, already dipping hers into a small dish of vinegar and soy.

I followed her lead. The texture was delicate, chewy, and crisp in all the right places. Heat spread across my tongue, mellowed by the earthy broth inside. I hadn’t expected it to be good. I hadn’t expected it to be that good.

“Wow… this is amazing,” I said, still chewing.

Akane leaned back, looking pleased. “Told you.”

“Do you come here often?” I asked between bites.

“Not alone. It feels better when someone’s here to enjoy it with me.”

Her words weren’t forced. They just… settled.

We lingered after that—Akane ordering two more dishes to share, none of which I’d ever tasted before: sweet soy tofu skewers and a vinegared rice salad with crushed mint and seaweed pearls. Each bite was better than the last.

At one point, I noticed a family at the far end of the restaurant. A father with his son. The boy pointed at us, whispered something. I didn’t hear it, but I saw the way the man smiled back and nodded slightly.

Akane noticed too.

“You’re getting attention again,” she murmured.

“Is that a good thing?” I asked, feeling myself tense.

“For me? Yes. For you?” She sipped her tea slowly. “Still undecided.”

I laughed softly, and her eyes flicked toward me with something almost gentle affection held back by a thread.

Between plates, our conversation drifted. I told her about my least favourite classes, my weird habit of listening to podcasts in languages I didn’t understand, and how the broken mirror in my room had made me stop thinking about appearances altogether.

She listened—really listened.

In return, she gave me fragments. A story about slipping away from a crowded ceremony just to breathe. A late-night walk along the shore, years ago, where she first realised solitude wasn’t the same as loneliness.

“I wasn’t running away,” she said. “I was just tired of being seen in pieces.”

The words stayed with me long after she moved on.

As our plates emptied, the waiter brought dessert unprompted—delicate yuzu tarts with spun sugar on top. Akane raised an eyebrow but didn’t send it back.

“It’s a gift,” the waiter said quietly. “The chef wanted to thank you for your visit.”

I felt myself blink. “Why us?”

“Because you’re both hard to ignore,” he said, smiling, then walked away.

I looked at Akane. She looked at me.

We said nothing.

But it meant something.

The tart melted on my tongue—bright, sour, fleeting.

Everything about this night felt like that.

Eventually, the dishes cleared, the bill handled without my knowledge, and we sat there, sipping the last of the tea as the evening bloomed into quiet.

The restaurant began to dim—lanterns flickering lower, the crowd thinning to hushed shadows. Outside, the streetlights cast long reflections across puddles left behind by a late drizzle.

“I didn’t realise how much I needed this,” I said finally.

Akane nodded, her gaze still fixed out the window.

“I did.”

We stood slowly, gathered our things. She didn’t offer her hand, but the space between us felt thinner now—like a cord pulled taut across an invisible distance.

As we stepped into the night, something shifted in the air around me.

Or in me.

But for once, I didn’t feel like I was disappearing into the background.

I felt noticed.

The city had softened.

By the time we stepped out of the restaurant, the sky was stained navy, and the last warmth of sunlight had vanished beneath the skyline. But I didn’t feel cold. I felt weird, like my heart hadn’t decided how fast it wanted to beat yet.

Akane walked ahead with that usual composure—every step smooth, deliberate. Her silhouette caught stray fragments of streetlight, painting slivers of silver into the folds of her skirt. People passed us. Cars hummed. Somewhere nearby, music leaked from an open apartment window.

I didn’t hear any of it.

She turned down a side street without a word. I followed.

It was quieter here. Less polished. The buildings leaned inward like they were trying to keep secrets. Rain had slicked the pavement earlier, and the faint scent of wet stone still hung in the air. Our steps echoed lightly on the alley floor, but hers somehow made less sound than mine.

We entered a narrow lane lit by old-fashioned streetlights—tall, pale, flickering just enough to feel unsteady. I pulled my sleeves down over my wrists. She did not seem to notice the chill. Or she didn’t feel it. Akane moved like she belonged to the night—soft and sure, like everything bent slightly around her.

She stopped near a wrought-iron gate that led into a small, quiet park. Faded leaves clung to the trees. The wind rustled through them like a whisper that did not want to be overheard.

I almost spoke.

But she turned to me first.

Her eyes locked onto mine—and this time, she didn’t smile. Not fully.

“If you had the chance,” she said softly, “to leave behind everything holding you back—your fears, your regrets, the parts of you no one ever bothered to see… would you take it?”

Her voice was quiet, but each word pressed against me like something sharp and carefully aimed. I couldn’t look away. Her expression was calm, but her gaze burned.

My chest tightened. The words clawed through me before I could grab hold of them.

“I…”

She stepped closer, tilting her head slightly.

“You’re always so serious when I ask you things,” she teased. “It’s cute.”

I blinked. “Cute?”

“You get flustered.” She grinned now—not mocking, just amused. “That little pause. That awkward breath. Your eyes go wide like I’ve reached into your brain and moved something around.”

“That’s not—” I began, then stopped.

She raised a brow. “Not what? Not true?”

I swallowed. “I just… I don’t know how to answer.”

“That’s alright,” she said. Her voice dipped lower. “You’re allowed to hesitate.”

She reached out then—lightly, fingers grazing the collar of my shirt as she adjusted it for no real reason. Her thumb lingered against my neck. I felt her touch like heat blooming under my skin.

“I’m not asking you to become someone else,” she said. “Just to stop being afraid of who you are.”

I tried to laugh. It came out thin.

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Nothing about you has ever been easy, Hikaru.” Her voice softened. “That’s why you’re interesting.”

I looked down at our feet—hers planted, mine half-shifted like I still hadn’t decided where I belonged.

“Do you think I’ve been… held back?” I asked quietly.

“By everything,” she said. “Your family. The way people treat you. The way you treat yourself.”

There was no hesitation in her voice.

I wanted to argue. I couldn’t.

The park was still behind us, the iron gate slightly ajar. A breeze brushed through the alley, stirring the leaves. The light flickered again, casting shadows across her face.

“You carry so much doubt,” Akane continued. “I see it in the way you walk. In how you look away when people compliment you. In the way you didn’t believe me when I said you’re worth it.”

“I guess I never learned how to accept things like that.”

Her smile returned—smaller, sadder.

“Well, I’m teaching you now.”

I blinked. “You’re really serious about that?”

“Hikaru.” She stepped into my space fully now. Her hand lifted again, brushing hair from my eyes. “I don’t do things halfway.”

Her fingers paused there. Her gaze held mine with a kind of restrained hunger—like she’d found something fragile in me and didn’t intend to give it back.

“If I wanted to play games,” she whispered, “I’d have picked someone who didn’t flinch every time I got close.”

I froze.

“You didn’t pick me,” I said. “Did you?”

She tilted her head again, the red in her eyes glinting under the flickering light.

“Oh, Hikaru…” she murmured, “of course I did.”

My breath hitched. I tried to steady it, but her presence was like gravity turned inward.

“I’m not used to being wanted,” I admitted.

“Well, you’ll have to get used to it,” she said. “Because you’re mine now. Whether you realize it or not.”

That last line landed heavier than the rest. Not dramatic. Not threatening. Just… certain.

And terrifying.

Because a part of me wanted to believe it.

Badly.

She turned toward the gate, fingers lightly trailing along the iron as she pushed it open.

“Come on,” she said. “There’s still time to decide.”

I stared at her silhouette framed against the trees.

A voice inside me stirred again—the one that had been quiet for years.

The part that wanted to be brave.

“I don’t know,” I said, the words scraping their way out.

Akane paused—then looked over her shoulder.

“That’s okay,” she said, not unkind. “I’ll wait.”

Akane’s gaze softened, and for a moment, I saw something shift in her eyes—something like understanding. She didn’t push me. Just nodded, like she had already anticipated my hesitation.

“It’s something to think about,” she said, her voice calm and low, but with a weight I couldn’t entirely grasp. “The choice will be yours when the time comes.”

Her faint smile reached her eyes—not smug, not pitying. Just knowing.

The silence between us stretched, full but not empty. I wanted to ask why she’d asked that question—what she meant by choice, and why it felt so important. But I knew she wouldn’t explain. Not yet. There was something about the way she carried herself, something just out of reach, like she was waiting for me to catch up.

She turned, her boots tapping quietly against the damp pavement as we walked toward the limo parked a little way ahead. The soft glow of distant streetlamps pooled across slick concrete, turning reflections into fragments. Her presence beside me was both a comfort and a challenge. Like a door waiting to be opened—but still locked from the inside.

As we approached the limo, I slowed a little, trying to gather myself.

Akane stopped just short of the door and turned toward me again. “Do you have your phone?”

I blinked. “Uh… yeah?”

“Let me see it.”

I hesitated, patting my pocket and pulling it out. She reached for it without waiting.

“Wait—what are you doing?” I asked.

She tapped the screen quickly, smiling faintly. “That’s for me to know, and you to find out.”

We both giggled—her laugh light and precise, mine awkward and too loud.

She didn’t look up as she said, “I’m just adding my contact info. So, we can talk anytime we want.”

I swallowed. “Right. That makes sense.”

She handed it back. Her name was now saved simply: Akane. No emoji, no last name. Just her.

I glanced down. A message already waited.

You looked good today. Let me know when your spiral ends.

I flushed. “You really typed that?”

“You really need it,” she said with a smirk.

“I guess I do.”

I paused, then looked up. “Thank you, Akane. For… all of this. You’ve treated me so well. Honestly, this has been the most fun I’ve had with anyone.”

Something flickered across her face—not surprise, but something gentler. Her lips parted slightly, then she looked down for a beat.

“It’s no problem,” she said, quieter now. “You’re far too kind.”

She touched her necklace briefly, like a grounding gesture. “You deserve nice things, Hikaru.”

I felt that. Not just the words, but the way she said them—like they were meant to patch something inside me I hadn’t realized was torn.

We stood still in the night, the hum of the limo behind us, the street stretched empty in both directions. I didn’t want the moment to end.

“I’m serious,” I said. “I don’t think anyone’s ever done this much for me.”

Akane turned slightly. Her hair shifted with the movement, catching a faint gleam beneath the streetlight.

“Well,” she said, “maybe they weren’t paying attention.”

Her voice was warm, and underneath it, something heavier. Something like… promise.

I nodded, unsure how to respond.

She looked toward the limo, then back to me. “We should get going.”

“Yeah.”

She walked around the car with that same ease as before, slipping into the cabin as though gravity adjusted to her pace. I followed, trying not to look like I was overthinking every step.

The door closed behind us. Inside, the limo was quiet again—cool leather, soft lighting, the faint scent of lavender lingering in the air. Akane didn’t speak right away. She looked out the window, fingers tapping lightly against her knee.

As the car pulled away from the curb, the city slid by outside in flashes—light and blur, reflection, and shadow. I watched it pass, trying to understand why everything felt so different now. Why she felt so different.

Her voice cut through my thoughts.

“You’re still thinking about it,” she said. “Aren’t you?”

I nodded. “About what you said.”

She didn’t turn to look at me. Just kept watching the outside world.

“That’s good,” she said. “It means you haven’t decided yet.”

I hesitated. “That’s… a good thing?”

“You’ll know when it isn’t.”

I laughed quietly. “You’re so cryptic.”

“You like it.”

“I do,” I said before I could think too hard.

This time, she smiled. “Of course you do.”

As we drove through the streets, something inside me began to settle. Not into clarity—but into momentum. Like pieces were shifting. Like something had started, and I couldn’t go back.

I reached for my phone again. Her message stared back at me.

Let me know when your spiral ends.

I typed back.

Still spiralling. Might take a while.

Her reply was instant.

That’s okay. I’ve got time.

Akane smirked, eyes gleaming under the soft cabin lights. “Besides, I like watching your reaction.”

I glanced at her, raising a brow. “You texted me first, remember?”

She tilted her head, mock offended. “Is that your way of saying I started it?”

“Well,” I said, trying not to grin, “I mean, technically—yeah.”

Her laugh was light, unmistakably pleased. “Careful, Hikaru. If you call me out like that, I’ll just text you again the moment you step out of the car.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

“It's a promise,” she teased. “I told you—I like knowing I’m just one message away. You don’t get to escape that now.”

Outside, my house slid into view—the porch light flickering gently, the windows quiet. I felt the hum of the limo beneath us slowing as we pulled into place.

I looked at her one last time before the door opened. “See you Monday?”

She nodded. “It was fun spending the whole day with you.”

“It was,” I said softly, stepping into the night. “Really was.”

Her smile lingered in the glass, crimson eyes catching me until the limo eased away down the street, leaving me with silence—and something warm I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Akane Fujiwara’s POV:

The city is a fever dream tonight. Rain trails like veins across the tinted windows of my family’s limousine, smearing neon lights into bladed haloes. The engine’s hum is low, content. The leather seat beneath me is cold, but not unpleasant.

I sit composed, hands folded loosely, posture still — trained into elegance from the cradle. Outside, the underworld pulses in the shadows: alleys thick with whispers of blood and power, the scent of iron hanging in the damp.

Inside this car, it's different. A separate dimension suspended between civility and carnage. This is how the underworld breathes — softly, constantly. You can pretend you’re safe behind glass, behind status, but the truth seeps through eventually.

The difference is, I don’t pretend. Not anymore.

I watched him carefully today.

Hikaru Saito. His posture, his gait — altered. Not visibly to most. But I noticed. I always do.

There’s a sharpness now, coiled just under his skin. His senses reach farther than they should. His reaction times inhuman. His steps quieter. And the way his pupils shift under stress…

The blood is waking.

He’s not a vampire. Not completely. But he isn’t only human anymore either.

His heritage — latent, dangerous, divine — has begun its ascent.

I’ve studied cases like his before. Awakening is never simple. Never painless. But it’s also irreversible.

What slumbers in his veins will not let go.

And neither will I.

The whispers will start soon. They always do.

But this time, they’ll come with stares. With fake laughter, cloying perfume, fluttered lashes.

On Friday, the girls pretended he didn’t exist. On Monday, they’ll swarm like moths to flame — drawn to whatever shift they sense but don’t understand.

It disgusts me.

They call it charm, beauty, mystery. But its shallowness dressed as awe.

The very same girls who mocked him will now treat him like a treasure. Some will pretend they always admired him.

And they’ll touch him — casually, carelessly — brushing against his sleeve, leaning too close, giggling at things they’d once ignored.

They don’t deserve him. They wouldn’t know what to do with him even if they did.

They’ll paint their obsession in compliments, but the moment he stumbles, they'll sharpen their claws again.

What he’s becoming isn’t some adolescent glow-up. It’s dangerous. Sacred. Singular.

And watching them reduce it to appearance — to attraction — feels like a violation.

A part of me wants to silence them.

Another part wants to make them kneel.

But neither would truly protect him.

Still… Monday will be hell.

Because on Monday, I won’t have him to myself.

Everyone will question him.

Every hallway, every desk — a new girl trying to stake her claim.

And the worst part is, Hikaru won’t know how to push them away. He’s still too kind.

I know how they’ll look at him. I know what they’ll want.

And I know they’ll never understand what they’re inviting.

So, I’ll be there.

Watching.

And if they touch more than they should… I will respond.

That’s why I’ve already decided.

Bringing him into my class isn’t indulgence. It’s necessity.

I need proximity. I need control.

Because every second he’s outside my reach, someone will try to claim him — for fame, for gossip, for envy.

The school’s social field is brutal. Hierarchies rise and fall in the span of a lunch period. If I leave him exposed, they’ll devour him in pieces and call it love.

But beside me? No one dares.

Students may speculate why I watch him closely. Teachers may raise eyebrows at my requests.

Let them.

Let them whisper. Let them wonder.

Because Hikaru Saito belongs beside me.

Where I can monitor him, guide him, shape his evolution.

No one else knows what he’s becoming.

No one else understands what he could ignite.

They see a beautiful boy. I see a lineage awakening.

They chase him out of fascination. I stay close out of purpose.

Even if it means rewriting rosters. Rearranging timetables. Sacrificing my own standing.

So be it.

He’ll be close.

And that’s all that matters.

Earlier today before we left his house, I planted a piece of new uniform folded neatly in his room. A simple blazer.

To him, it’s just clothing. A formality.

But he’s wrong.

The crest stitched into the collar — my family’s. The lining? Modified for defensive shielding, resistant to low-tier blood hexes.

It’s not grand. It doesn’t need to be.

It's my way of saying: I know what’s happening to you. I see it. I welcome it. You are not alone.

Small gestures matter more than declarations.

He’ll realize that soon.

And when he does, he’ll know I’ve been preparing him all along.

Relief settles into my chest as we pass the southern gates of the estate.

He won’t be caught unaware. Not while I’m watching.

Let others fawn, manipulate, deceive. I’ll be the constant. The one who understands what he is, not what they wish he was.

He’ll stumble, yes. He’ll doubt himself.

But when he does, he’ll see me there — unwavering, ready to guide, to instruct, to correct.

That’s the promise I’ve already made.

To him. And to myself.

Whatever this evolution demands… I’ll make sure he’s ready.

Outside, the monsters stir beneath façades of civility. The underworld isn’t just back alleys or whispered names — it’s infrastructure. A culture. A system deeper and older than anything most mortals can imagine.

The Crimson Order rules this system.

Founded 3,000 years ago by Lucien Vale, the first progenitor — a man who bent vampiric instinct to purpose. He formed the Order from ruin, after the Blood Reckoning turned empires into ash.

The Order governs what the human world doesn’t know exists. Vampires. Blood-born. Exiles. Heretics.

Through policy, shadow diplomacy, and blood-binding contracts, we maintain balance.

Or at least, we pretend to.

The Order isn’t peace. It’s control.

And my father? He leads it.

But due to Hikaru’s transformation, that control may start to fade.

His aura flared earlier. Subtle, but unmistakable.

The Council will sense it soon. Our psychics will report anomalies. Someone will mention his name — and that’s all it will take.

Then the whispers begin. Within the Order. Among the factions. In the streets.

Because Hikaru Saito is not just another student.

The rogues will notice him. Vampires seeking chaos. Heretics seeking prophecy. Noctarra monsters who roam the city’s spine.

They’ll want him.

Use him.

Or kill him.

And my father’s enemies? They’ll see him as bait — a chance to strike at me through someone I care about.

That’s why I can’t let him stumble blindly.

Because what he doesn’t know will try to consume him.

The limousine slows. We reach the estate’s final curve.

I glance at my reflection. Calm. Controlled. But never indifferent.

I won’t let him drift into danger.

He’s not just some boy fumbling into power.

He’s a signal. A spark. A fracture point.

If left unchecked, he could start a war.

But if guided…

He could end zone.

They don’t understand what he is.

But I do.

He’s mine.

And I will shape him into what the city needs.

Even if it means shaping myself into something darker.

Because Hikaru Saito will not burn out before his time.

Not while I breathe.