Chapter 4: The Quiet Shift

The house was too quiet today.

Not the kind of quiet that offered peace. This silence felt sharp, too clean—like the world was holding its breath. Normally, I’d be glad for the solitude. With my family gone for the weekend, the place was mine. No interruptions. No chores. No noise.

But now, the silence amplified everything. Every stray thought. Every strange sensation. Every shift inside me I couldn’t explain.

I sat on the couch, staring into nothing. The living room’s shadows stretched long across the walls, and the air felt unnaturally still.

Akane’s voice echoed inside my skull.

It’s time for you to adjust to things being... different.

She had said it with certainty, like she’d seen this all before.

I didn’t understand her, not completely. But she wasn’t wrong.

The last few days had altered something deep inside me. My body—leaner, stronger. My senses—too sharp for comfort. Every sound pierced deeper. Every scent lingered longer. Even my thoughts felt… faster. Clearer. Louder.

At first, I told myself it was stress. A growth spurt or some weird adrenaline rush. But no. I wasn’t lying to myself anymore.

This wasn’t ordinary.

Something inside me was awake. And it didn’t want to stay hidden.

I stood abruptly, trying to shake the heaviness off my shoulders. Movement helped—at least, it used to. I grabbed my jacket and stepped outside.

The air bit against my skin. Not cold. Just crisp. Alive.

I blinked as my vision adjusted. The evening light had stretched thin across the rooftops, but everything looked sharper now—each leaf outlined in clean contrast, every distant sound reaching me clearly. Cars two blocks away. A dog barking across the district. Footsteps from the neighbouring yard.

It was overwhelming. But it was also… intoxicating.

I turned back toward the door, breathing slowly, counting seconds.

Focus.
Don’t let it spiral.

Inside the house, the quite awaited like a trap. But as I stepped back in, something stopped me cold.

There. On my bed.
A folded uniform. Neat. Pristine.

My stomach twisted.

I hadn't ordered anything new. And I hadn’t laid that there myself.

Cautiously, I approached. The fabric caught the low light black with silver trim. Sleek design. Shirasagi Academy insignia at the collar but modified subtly. Nothing flashy. But too precise. Too intentional.

I reached for it, fingers tracing the lining. It felt expensive. Reinforced. Like it was made to endure more than student life.

Made for me.

But who brought it here?

The answer clawed at me before I could stop it.

Akane.

She’d mentioned preparation. That I’d need something stronger; something tailored to the role I’d be forced to play.

Had she… done this without asking?

I swallowed hard.

A thousand questions surged at once. Why now? Why silently? And how did she even get into my house?

But part of me didn’t want to know.

Because deep down… this felt right. Not just physically.

This was more than clothing.
It was an omen.

I changed slowly, cautiously, pulling the shirt over my shoulders.

The second the fabric settled against my skin, something inside me stilled.
Like puzzle pieces locking into place.
Like my body had been waiting for this exact design.

Still no mirror to confirm what I look like.

Yet I didn’t feel the same.

The uniform didn’t just fit—it belonged. As if it had been waiting. As if someone—Akane—had seen what I would become before I did.

Still, my mind swirled. She shouldn't have access to this room. Shouldn’t have been able to leave something here without me noticing.

Was this her way of protecting me? Or claiming me?

I tried to push the thought aside.

A surge of energy jolted through me.

I gripped the edge of my desk, grounding myself. My legs twitched. My muscles felt too reactive—too ready. Like I could sprint for miles and not break a sweat.

My skin tingled. Heat pooled beneath it, pulsing rhythmically.

I couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t rest.

I needed to test it.

I bolted for the front door, fumbling with the lock. The evening breeze hit me like a charge. Not cold—alive.

I started jogging.

The movement came easy. Too easy. My feet barely hit the ground. My breath didn’t hitch. No burning in my chest. No strain.

Faster.

I pushed harder. Trees blurred at the edges of my vision. My mind adjusted instantly calculating distance, depth, rhythm. Predicting obstacles.

I wasn’t just running. I was gliding.

The streets around me blurred.
Before I even realized it, I was running faster than I ever had.

It wasn’t just my legs—it was everything. My whole body felt like it had adjusted to some new rhythm, like it had been waiting to move like this all along. The wind tangled in my hair. Streetlights flickered past like soft pulses.

Every sound, every motion, every shadow—it all came through so vividly.

I pushed harder, faster, my body responding like it already knew how.
I wasn’t sweating. My breathing stayed even.
My heart pounded in my chest, but not from exhaustion—it felt alive, like it was syncing with some deeper source pulsing beneath my skin.

There was no burn in my muscles. No ache.
Just motion. Just power.

A strange invincibility rushed through me.
Like I could keep going forever.

When I finally slowed to a stop, panting gently in a quiet neighbourhood street, I glanced at the time.
Twenty minutes.

That couldn’t be right.

I’d covered blocks—districts—and I didn’t even feel tired.

My limbs still buzzed. The energy didn’t fade—it lingered. Surging. Breathing. Waiting.

I smiled, breath steady. Not because I understood any of it. But because something inside me did.

This wasn’t me. Not really.
Not the me from last week.
This was something else entirely.

I walked home with a strange lightness in my step. The pavement beneath my shoes barely registered. The air around me felt thinner, quieter—like the world had shifted just slightly.

When I stepped inside, the energy still hummed beneath my skin. But what caught me off guard was something mundane.

My room.

It wasn’t a disaster. Just a few clothes on the floor. Books scattered across the desk.

Normally, I wouldn’t care.
But today...

Today it felt wrong.

Like the mess clashed with whatever balance had shifted inside me.

I moved toward the desk and began stacking the books without thinking.
Title by title, page by page—back in order.

Then the clothes. Folded neatly. Repositioned.

Something in me needed this. Not out of habit. Not obligation.
But precision.

It wasn’t that I was suddenly tidy.
It was that every part of me felt calibrated.

And now, the room had to match.

I wiped the desk with the edge of my sleeve. Adjusted the shelf alignment. Even the corner of the rug—straightened.

The space transformed quickly, like I was claiming it anew. Like it was no longer just my room, but something I had to control.

I glanced around when I finished.

The chaos was gone.
And standing in that order, I felt composed.

It was like the act of putting things back had anchored me, as if the external calm reflected the strange balance blooming inside.

This wasn’t just some routine Sunday cleanup.
This was a shift. A signal.

I picked up my phone from the table, the screen lighting against my palm.

But even that didn’t distract me.

Not completely.

Not from the feeling that something bigger was beginning.

Not from the sensation that I wasn’t just cleaning—I was preparing.

Just as I set the phone down, the screen lit up again. A message. Her name.

Akane Fujiwara.

I remember we exchanged contact information shortly before we arrived.

I opened it without thinking.

Did you eat today? You seem like you forget sometimes.

Then another:

New hobby? Cleaning is it? Or just burning off all that weird Sunday energy?

I stared at the text, thumb hovering above the reply bubble.
She knew. Somehow, she always knew.

I replied slowly.

Yeah. Just felt like tidying up, I guess.
Went for a run earlier. It felt… different. Hard to explain.

Her next message came after a few seconds.

Running sounds well. Fresh air helps.
Bet you went too far though, didn’t you.

I frowned.

Only twenty minutes. Nothing serious.

She didn’t respond to that directly. Instead:

You’ll be coming to school with me tomorrow.
I’ll pick you up at 7:30.

The shift caught me off guard.

Wait, you don’t need to do that. I’m fine getting there on my own.

Nope. I want to.
Besides, walking alone on Monday morning? You’re going to attract way too much attention.

That last part confused me.

What do you mean, attention?

You’ll see.

I waited. But that was the last message.

I stared at the screen. She was always like this — vague, commanding, oddly protective.

I didn’t understand why Monday mattered so much to her. Why she insisted.

It was her way of keeping me close.

It was something else.

But it was decided now.

She’d come for me.

And I’d have no choice but to walk into whatever tomorrow was — with her leading the way.

Tomorrow, everything would shift.

Not because the school bell would ring or homework would pile up again—those things were familiar, manageable.

It was the space between routines that scared me now.

Akane’s insistence.
The uniform folded like a prophecy.
The way my body moved like it already belonged to something bigger.

And now… Kenta.

I hadn’t thought of him in the past two days, but just the idea of facing him again made my chest tighten.
He’d come home to the same walls, same schedule, same praise.
I’d come back different.

Would he notice?
Would he even care?

Or would he flash that perfect grin and keep moving through life like I was still the shadow trailing behind?

I didn’t have the answers. Not yet.

But I felt something rising beneath it all—a quiet certainty that tomorrow wouldn’t let me pretend anymore.

I tapped out a quick message to Akane.

Okay, I’ll be ready.

Her reply didn’t come.
And that was fine.

I placed the phone back on the table, the screen dimming like the day itself. Then I lay back against the mattress, the ceiling fading into dusk.

I didn’t know what would happen.
I didn’t know how far this change would go.

The silence deepened, settling across my room like a blanket.
But underneath it, something else pulsed.

New.
Unfamiliar.
Alive.

I closed my eyes.

And let tomorrow come.

The Next Morning:

The soft hum of the limo’s engine vibrated through the cabin as I stared out the window, trying to calm the unease that had crept into my chest.

Morning felt off.

I had woken up restless, my body still buzzing from yesterday’s run. Like something under my skin hadn’t settled. The uniform I wore now — the uniform, placed in my room without explanation — felt tailored to more than just size.

Something in me had shifted. I couldn’t describe it. I wasn’t in pain. I wasn’t tired. But I couldn’t shake the tension coiling behind my ribs.

Outside, the school gates came into view — students gathering, laughter floating in messy waves across the courtyard. I could hear it all clearly. Every voice. Every step.

Akane sat across from me, calm as ever. The morning light brushed through the tinted glass, casting a pale glow across her features.

She didn’t speak. Not until we slowed to a stop.

Then, quietly:
“You’re nervous.”

I blinked.
“Kind of hard not to be.”

She smiled, just barely.
“You’ll be fine. They won’t recognize you, not really.”

I looked over, confused.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she opened the door and stepped out, her movements fluid, deliberate. The kind of grace people noticed without knowing why.

I hesitated. My hand gripped the edge of the seat.
This wasn’t the same routine. This felt... exposed.

Akane turned back, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Come on. You promised.”

Reluctantly, I followed.

And the moment my shoes touched the pavement, everything changed.

The conversations near the gate faltered. Heads turned.

I straightened my back instinctively, adjusting the collar of my uniform, pretending not to notice how the air thinned around me.

Akane walked half a step ahead, but her eyes flicked sideways — watching.

“They’ll stare,” she said softly.
“Let them.”

I swallowed, unsure whether to shrink or stand taller.
“I thought you said they wouldn’t recognise me.”

She glanced at me over her shoulder.
“Not for who you are. Only for what they see. Don’t mistake one for the other.”

I didn’t fully understand her words. I know I feel different, but did I look different, too? Although the way she spoke to them — the calm certainty — made me feel like I didn’t need to.

Because she did.
And that was enough.

The school gates loomed. The day was beginning.

And whatever this was — whatever I was becoming — had already stepped through with me.

The limo’s door clicked open with a quiet lurch.

Akane stepped out first, crisp and composed as always. Her eyes did a quick sweep of the courtyard, calm but calculating. I hesitated, taking in the morning light and the nervous energy clawing at my stomach.

I followed behind her, stepping onto the pavement—and the atmosphere shifted instantly.

It was subtle at first. A few glances. A double take. Then whispers.

“Wait—who’s that?”

“Did someone new just step out of Fujiwara’s car?”

“I’ve never seen him before…”

The murmurs built quickly into waves of attention. Students angled their bodies toward me as if gravity had shifted.

Girls stared openly, eyes wide, lips parted. A few of them even stopped mid-conversation to track my steps.

“He’s… seriously good-looking.”

“He came out of her limo?”

“No way that’s a normal transfer student.”

I kept walking, trying not to react, but their voices slithered in from every direction.

Akane’s jaw tensed slightly as she noticed the chorus building around us. She didn’t speak, but the sharpness in her gaze was unmistakable—an irritation barely restrained.

I caught her shooting a brief glance toward a group of girls giggling too loudly. Her expression was cold. No smile. No warmth.

They didn’t notice. They were too busy staring.

“He looks like a model or something—how have we never seen him before?”

One of them leaned toward a friend and whispered, “I’d die if he ended up in our class…”

“Why’s he with Akane though?” another girl asked. “Does she know him?”

“She never lets anyone get close. It’s creepy how protective she looks.”

Then came the voice that made my shoulders lock up.

“Yo… who the hell is that guy?”

Daichi.

He pushed through the crowd like he owned the place, his eyes narrowing when they landed on me. There was no flicker of recognition. Just confusion—and something darker.

He scoffed.

“Is this some transfer stunt? Looks like some wannabe trying to play dress-up.”

I opened my mouth but couldn’t find the words.

Daichi stared harder. “You gonna say something, pretty boy? Or just keep pretending you’re someone important?”

I stepped back slightly. The way he looked at me—it was like history had been erased. He didn’t see the kid he used to shove into lockers or mock in the halls.

Someone whispered from behind him, “Isn’t that… Hikaru?”

“No way,” Daichi snapped. “I know Hikaru. This guy—he’s not him.”

“Maybe it’s a makeover,” another student offered weakly. “He… kind of looks like him…”

“No. Hikaru’s a nobody. He’d never be in her limo.” Daichi jabbed a thumb toward Akane.

Akane turned her head slowly, like ice catching the sun.

She didn’t speak at first. She just stared at Daichi with a silent, suffocating stillness.

Then she stepped in.

“Hikaru doesn’t need to prove anything,” she said, voice smooth but lined with finality. “Especially not to someone who barely knew who he was to begin with.”

Daichi stiffened. “So, it is him? That’s—no. You don’t just turn into a different person overnight.”

Akane’s hand found my shoulder, and I felt the pressure behind it. Not gentle. Not harsh. Just firm.

“Some changes are overdue,” she said. Then to me, quiet enough that only I could hear, “Ignore him. He’s irrelevant.”

Daichi looked ready to retort, but Akane was already guiding me past the crowd, toward the building.

The students parted without protest.

Inside the hallway, the air was cooler—but no quieter.

We walked past rows of lockers and echoing footsteps, toward a classroom that I didn’t recognize.

“Wait,” I said, finally breaking the silence. “This isn’t my homeroom.”

“It is now,” Akane replied, not slowing down.

“You can’t just move me into your class. That’s not—”

“I already spoke to administration,” she said. “Your paperwork’s processed.”

“I didn’t even agree to this,” I muttered, struggling to keep up.

She stopped in front of the classroom door and turned to me.

“You’ll adjust.”

I wanted to argue, but the look in her eyes told me the decision had been made long before I stepped onto campus.

Akane opened the door.

The room hushed immediately. Dozens of eyes locked onto us—onto me.

The stares felt sharper here. Less curious. More guarded.

“He’s with Akane?”

“Who is he?”

“Wait… is he that guy who—no, it can’t be.”

Whispers flooded the space, spreading like ink across paper.

I took a step inside and felt the weight of every gaze press into me.

Akane walked to her desk as though nothing had changed. I stood near the entrance, unsure if I even belonged.

From outside, Daichi’s voice filtered faintly through the window.

“This is a joke,” he muttered. “Something’s off with that guy…”

The teacher entered, glancing at the class, then at me. His expression paused for a beat.

Akane leaned close and whispered, just above the hum of the murmurs.

“You don’t owe them an explanation. Let them talk.”

Her words were calm.

But the edge in her voice said what she didn’t:
She had no intention of sharing me with anyone.

I stood at the front of the classroom, awkward and exposed. Akane glided to her desk like she owned the moment, while I hesitated, searching for a place to belong.

The silence stretched.

Then—clap.

A sharp sound broke the tension. I flinched. A boy with athletic swagger grinned at me, effortlessly drawing the room’s attention.

"New guy, huh?" he said, his voice smooth and loud. "What’s your name?"

I swallowed. "Hikaru."

He tilted his head, giving me a once-over. "You look different. Hit the gym? Found your style?"

More voices joined in—

"You’re taller, right?"

"Did something happen over the weekend?"

"Your vibes totally changed!"

The questions buzzed. Smiles surrounded me, but each one felt like a spotlight. I gripped my bag tighter, heart racing.

The boy chuckled. "You're Akane’s friend now? You two look solid."

I looked at her. She stared out the window, detached. Her words from yesterday echoed:

The choice will be yours when the time comes.

I didn’t know what that meant—but now I was centre stage, no longer invisible.

"I’m Akira," the boy said, offering his hand. "Welcome to the chaos."

I shook it. His grip was firm. His ease was grounding.

"Nice to meet you," I murmured.

Students leaned in, their curiosity relentless. Compliments. Questions. Laughter. I was drowning in attention I’d never asked for.

Akira nudged me with a smile. "You the quiet type or just mysterious?"

Before I could answer—

"Give him a second, man."

A gentle voice called from the back. I turned to see a boy adjusting his glasses, neat but humble. He gave me a nod.

"Let the guy breathe before you start the interview."

Akira laughed. "Fair enough. But we’ll get your story soon, Hikaru. You're not hiding in plain sight anymore."

There was a genuine smile on his face, and his posture was relaxed—not confrontational, just open. Akira paused, then smirked toward the back.

"What’s up, Taro? You think I’m scaring him off already?" he teased.

Taro, adjusting his glasses, chuckled softly. "Not scaring. Just... blitzing him with ten questions before he’s even sat down might be a bit much."

He turned to me, eyes kind behind his lenses.

"Sorry about that. Akira’s our unofficial welcome committee. Loud, but mostly harmless."

Akira raised an eyebrow. "Hey! I’m deeply offended by that ‘mostly.’"

Taro ignored him, walking up beside me with a casual gait. "I'm Taro, by the way. Good to meet you, Hikaru. You’re looking different, sure—but I like it. Makes you feel more like you belong here."

I blinked, unsure how to respond. His tone wasn’t prying—it was genuine.

"Thanks," I said quietly. "It’s... been a weird weekend."

"No kidding," Akira chimed in, playfully elbowing Taro. "He shows up with anime protagonist energy and expects us not to be curious?"

"You’re the one turning it into a press conference," Taro replied smoothly.

Akira laughed, raising his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. I'll dial it back."

Taro turned back to me. "Don’t worry about it too much. You don’t have to explain anything right away. Just exist for now—that’s enough."

I nodded, letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

"I'm not good at sports like this guy," Taro added, gesturing toward Akira with a smirk. "But I’m decent at math and science. If you ever need help, or just want a quiet lunch spot, I’ve got you."

"I’ll keep that in mind," I replied, and for the first time, I really meant it.

Akira grinned, clapping me on the back. "Brains and brawn! The dynamic trio’s forming!"

I chuckled, and something in the classroom shifted. The whispers softened. The stares faded into scattered conversations. I was no longer a mystery, just... someone new.

Taro retreated to his desk as the teacher walked in. Akira slipped into his seat with a final thumb-up, mouthing, you got this.

The bell rang. I sat back, heart finally slowing.

I didn’t have answers yet. I didn’t understand what had happened to me. But with Akira’s chaotic warmth and Taro’s quiet sincerity—and Akane’s distant wisdom—I wasn’t alone.

Something was beginning, and I was no longer watching from the sidelines.

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History class moved with a surreal calm.

I’d always been wallpaper—never called on, never noticed. But now…

"Let’s see," Mr. Tanaka said, scanning the room, then stopping. "Hikaru. What do you know about the rise of the Sumerians?"

The room hushed. I felt my throat tighten, then remembered Taro’s words—Just exist for now. That’s enough.

"They were one of the first civilizations to use writing—cuneiform," I answered, voice clearer than I expected. "They also developed city-states and irrigation systems that changed how people lived in Mesopotamia."

Mr. Tanaka’s eyebrows lifted. "Well said."

A few students glanced at me, surprised. Akira gave me an approving nod from his seat, mouthing, Boom.

I exhaled. Something inside me felt different—not just my body or my presence, but the way my voice didn’t tremble this time. For once, I wasn’t fading into the background. I was part of the room. I was here.

When I finished, Mr. Tanaka gave me an approving nod, his gaze lingering for a moment before moving on.

“Nicely articulated, Hikaru,” he said, before turning back to the board.

A few heads turned my way. One of the boys near the window whispered to a classmate, “Did he always sound like that?”

“No idea,” the other replied. “But it’s kinda cool.”

For the first time, I felt like my opinion mattered.

The same thing happened in math. Mrs Ito, usually quick to call on the "top students," paused mid-sentence, then scanned the room.

“Let’s try a different approach today,” she said. “Hikaru—would you walk us through this equation?”

I hesitated, still getting used to the idea that I could do this now.

Akira leaned over and grinned. “Go on, smart guy. Show us what you've got.”

I stood and approached the board. Something clicked.

As I picked up the chalk, the numbers didn’t intimidate me—they invited me. I worked through the problem, explaining each step clearly.

“…Then isolate x, and from there, it simplifies to thirty-two.”

It was fluid, easy. And when I stepped back, the class was silent for a second.

Then came the whispers.

“Nice job, Hikaru,” someone said from the back.

Another murmured, “Didn’t think he’d be the brainy type.”

It wasn’t a groundbreaking moment. I didn’t win any awards. But it was something I’d never felt before—the acknowledgment that I was capable, that I was present. Teachers weren’t just looking past me anymore.

I was part of the class.

The early afternoon flew by, with each class feeling like a continuation of the first—everyone a little more aware of me, a little more curious. I couldn't quite shake the feeling that I was still adjusting to something far bigger than me, but I was slowly starting to understand that, just maybe, I could handle it.

By the time lunch rolled around, the atmosphere at school had shifted completely. It wasn't just the whispers in the hallways anymore. It was the laughter, the sideways glances, and the obvious stares. I could feel it in the air, like I was being scrutinized from every angle.

Akane and I had spent more time together than usual this morning, but it wasn't just that. There was something different about me—the way I moved, the way I held myself, the way my uniform fit. And now, everyone had an opinion about it.

In the cafeteria, I found myself surrounded by a group of girls. At first, I thought it was going to be more casual—just a few friendly conversations here and there.

But before I knew it, the girls had circled around me, each one asking the same questions, their eyes wide with curiosity and—at least to me—something more.

“So, Hikaru,” one of the girls said, leaning in just a little too close, her voice a little too sweet. “You and Akane seem pretty… tight lately. What’s going on there? You two dating or something?”

The question was direct, and it hit me harder than I expected. I froze for a second. It was like she had already made up her mind about what was going on between us. I hadn’t even realized how much attention Akane and I had been drawing—today, no less.

Another girl, quieter but equally curious, tilted her head. “You’re always with her. Did she make you lunch today too?”

Her voice was teasing, but there was something edged beneath it—expectation.

I opened my mouth to respond, but before the words came out, I felt a shift in the air. A sharp, cold presence behind me.

Akane's voice cut through the chatter like glass meeting silk.

“That’s enough.”

Her tone was calm but firm, and it carried a weight that stopped the girl’s mid-breath. They turned toward her, startled—like the room itself had tilted in her direction.

Akane stood there—posture perfect, expression unreadable. But beneath that calm exterior, there was a distinct edge. Not anger. Not disdain. Just something unmistakably protective, like a blade sheathed at her side.

She didn’t look at the girls. Her eyes flicked to me—brief, steady. A silent message: I’m here. I’m not letting this continue.

The girls hesitated. Their smiles faded just slightly, replaced by confusion. The air between us thickened; playful curiosity curdled into something heavier.

Akane didn’t wait.

She stepped forward, her presence like static against the skin. A hand—gentle but deliberate—rested on my shoulder.

“Come on, Hikaru,” she said in a voice both soft and firm.

I didn’t speak. I didn’t move on my own. She guided me out, past the crowd and through the buzzing cafeteria. Behind us, voices rose in confused murmurs, but they were distant. Akane had carved a path, and we were already walking it.

I glanced back just once—Emi met my eyes. Her curious smirk didn’t falter, but there was something behind it now. Something sharper. Envy. Intrigue. The story’s unfolding, her eyes seemed to say, and I want to see how it ends.

In the hallway, everything felt louder. Glances weren’t casual anymore—they lingered. People stared. Whispered. My name wasn’t just passing through lips—it was travelling.

I wasn’t invisible. Not anymore.

Girls from class drifted closer between lessons. Some bold, some shy—but all undeniably drawn in.

“You know,” one girl said, pushing her bangs behind her ear with practiced ease, “I barely noticed you before. But now? It’s like you… evolved.”

Her voice was soft, admiring—and far too direct.

“Yeah!” another added with a grin. “You were always that quiet type. But now you’ve got that mysterious thing going. Mature. Confident. Honestly hot.”

I froze. Their words were not subtle. They were not trying to be.

The most persistent was Emi. She circled me like orbit to gravity—always too close, always one step ahead of whatever I said or did.

“So, you and Akane are basically glued together now,” she teased one afternoon, leaning against my desk. “Pretty soon you’ll be her full-time boyfriend-slash-project.”

Her laugh was airy, but the sting was real.

It wasn’t curiosity anymore. It was possession. Comparison. Presumption.

The way she said project stung more than I expected. As if she was trying to claim a stake in whatever role I was playing in Akane’s world.

But Akane… Akane was different.

She didn’t analyse me. She didn’t whisper theories or cast me in a role. She saw me—even when I didn’t.

We stepped outside—the rooftop a refuge above the noise. The hum of the school vanished behind the door.

Akane laid out the lunch she had prepared with quiet precision.

For a moment, I could breathe again.

I glanced her way. There was a slight crease between her brows, a shadow in her otherwise serene face.

“Akane… are you alright?” I asked, hesitant. “You seemed… upset back there.”

Her gaze met mine. Soft. Then sharp.

“I don’t like it,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “The way they’re watching. Questioning. You’re not some spectacle.”

I blinked. “They’re just curious—”

“No, Hikaru.” Her tone deepened. “It’s different now.”

She looked past me, through me.

“You’re not the same. And I won’t let them turn you into something you’re not. Their new obsession. Their next distraction.”

Her words cut deep—not in malice, but in care. Fierce, quiet care.

For a moment, I felt something shift.

She saw something in me I hadn’t fully accepted. Not just transformation. Not just presence.

Value.

We sat together in the stillness of the rooftop. Akane unfolded lunch with practiced grace, and for once, I let go of the storm below us.

Even if I wasn’t ready for what came next… with Akane beside me, I didn’t need to be.

We ate in silence for a while. The rooftop breeze was a welcome contrast to the stuffy classrooms below. Akane’s lunch—simple, comforting—eased the tension I hadn’t realized I was carrying.

“I’m sorry about all the attention,” I said, finally. “I didn’t think it’d get this intense.”

Akane looked up, her chopsticks pausing. “It’s not your fault,” she said quietly. “But people will talk. Gossip. They’ll try to turn you into a trend.” Her gaze flicked toward me, steady. “I won’t let that happen.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. The quiet life I used to cling to felt miles away—even gone.

Below us, students passed through the courtyard. Some glanced up. Their voices drifted like threads caught on the wind.

“Is that Akane and Hikaru?”

“They have been together all day. You think they’re a thing?”

I glanced at Akane. She didn’t react—didn’t even look up. But the smallest smile touched her lips as she handed me another container.

“I don’t care what they say,” she murmured. “But I care about you. Don’t let their noise get into your head.”

I lowered my gaze. Rumours would keep swirling. The spotlight wasn’t going away. But if she was willing to sit beside me through it… I could endure it.

Later that afternoon, unease crept in again. Every glance in the hallway felt weighted—less like curiosity and more like evaluation.

I walked past Room 2-C and paused.

Daichi was there.

Leaning against the doorway, his eyes locked on me. No words. Just that stare—sharp, angry, calculating.

We held eye contact for barely a second.

But it was enough.

His frustration boiled behind narrowed eyes. Not explosive—but waiting. Watching. Judging.

I quickened my pace, ignoring the burn in my chest.

He wouldn't let this slide. That much was certain.

The limo ride home felt surreal—quiet streets blurring past, as if we were drifting through a sealed pocket of calm.

Akane sat beside me, fingers rhythmically tapping the window frame. Her usual poise softened into something quieter, more thoughtful.

“You’ve been quiet,” I said gently. “Are you... okay?”

She turned, her gaze meeting mine. It held something I wasn’t used to—uncertainty. Vulnerability.

“I’ve just been thinking,” she replied. “About everything. And... about you.”

Her voice dropped. “You’ve changed. I know I said it before, but... today, it really hit me. You are different. The chaos at school today made me take a proper look at you—for the first time in a while.”

I swallowed. Her words left me exposed in ways attention from classmates never could.

“I don’t know how to handle all of this,” I admitted. “The stares. The gossip. It’s like I woke up in someone else’s story.”

“You didn’t ask for it,” she said, “and I hate seeing you treated like a spectacle.”

She turned fully toward me. “Especially when they don’t know the real you.”

That stopped me cold. The warmth in her voice, the protective edge—it settled in my chest like something permanent.

“I’m glad it’s you I’m going through this with,” I whispered. “I don’t think I could do this alone.”

Akane leaned back, her gaze never wavering.

“You won’t have to.”

Then—softly, like the moment might break—her hand touched my arm. “I’m glad you’re here, Hikaru.”

I looked up—and she kissed my cheek.

Fleeting. Gentle.

But it struck with the force of everything left unsaid.

She pulled back; cheeks tinted with faint colour. Her eyes dipped, then found mine again.

“I... I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I couldn’t speak. I could only nod.

The limo slowed.

My house came into view—and with it, the weight in my stomach.

Akane gave me one last smile. It lingered—quiet, meaningful.

“Goodbye, Hikaru.”

She stepped out before I could answer.

I sat frozen, the warmth of her kiss still lingering.

But the moment shattered when my eyes settled on the house.

He was back.

Kenta.

The thought twisted in my gut.

His voice. His presence. His judgment.

I hadn’t seen him in weeks—but it didn’t matter. He never changed. Never softened.

He'd made me feel like an afterthought for as long as I could remember.

And now?

The confrontation was inevitable.

The limo pulled up to the curb. I stared at the door—familiar, yet somehow more daunting than ever.

I wasn’t ready.

But I didn’t have a choice.