Chapter 16: The Girl Who Stayed Standing

Chapter 16: The Girl Who Stayed Standing
“If someone has to endure it anyway, I’d rather it be me.” – Ellie

Ellie woke up because the room felt wrong.

Not loud. Not cold. Just empty in a way that pressed against her ribs.

She lay still for a moment, eyes open, staring at the faint stain on the ceiling. It had been there for years. She used to imagine it was a cloud. Lately, it just looked like damage that never quite spread or healed.

Beside her, Yuta slept on his stomach, blanket twisted around his legs. His hair was flattened on one side, sticking up at the crown. He breathed softly, unevenly, like he was always half-prepared to wake up.

Ellie turned toward him.

She hesitated, then reached out and pulled the blanket higher over his shoulders. Her fingers lingered there for a second.

“You’re okay,” she whispered, more to herself than to him.

Yuta shifted, muttered something incoherent, then relaxed. His shoulders loosened.

Only then did Ellie sit up.

Her wrist twinged as she pushed herself upright. She frowned slightly and glanced down at the bandage. It was clean. It barely hurt anymore.

She tightened it anyway.

In the living room, the curtains were half open. Morning light crept in at an angle, pale and unforgiving. The couch was empty. No shoes by the door. No noise from the bathroom.

Her mother had not come home.

Ellie did not react. She had learned not to.

She changed quietly and slipped outside.

The air was sharp, cool enough to wake her fully. She started jogging, feet hitting the pavement in a steady rhythm. She did not push herself. Running was not about speed. It was about control.

As she ran, thoughts surfaced without permission.

Her mother’s voice, years ago.
Why are you always so serious?
Lighten up, Ellie.

Serious was just another word for unattended.

By the time she returned, her breathing had evened out. Sweat dampened her collar. The sun was higher now, warming the concrete.

She washed her face in the sink, letting the water run longer than necessary. When she tied her hair back, her reflection looked composed. Capable. Someone people relied on.

In the kitchen, she cracked eggs into a bowl. Salt. A quick stir. The pan heated with a low hiss. Toast popped up darker than she preferred. She scraped the edges clean without complaint.

A sound behind her.

Bare feet on tile.

She stiffened for half a second before arms wrapped around her waist. Light. Careful. Like the person hugging her was afraid she might disappear.

“Morning,” Ellie said softly.

Yuta pressed his forehead against her back. He stayed quiet for a moment.

“You ran again,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“You always do.”

She turned, gently taking his wrists so she could face him. He looked sleepy, hair messy, eyes still adjusting to the light.

“Did you sleep okay?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I dreamed I missed the bus.”

“You won’t,” she said. “You never do.”

She slid a plate toward him and watched him climb onto the chair. He did not touch the food right away. He stared at it, hands folded in his lap.

Ellie noticed. She always did.

“Eat,” she said, not unkindly.

He nodded and started slowly. Too slowly for an eleven-year-old. Like he was checking whether it was allowed.

Ellie leaned against the counter.

“You have school,” she said.

“I know.”

“Math test.”

“I know.”

She paused. “You studied.”

“…Yeah.”

“You’ll be fine.”

He looked up. “You always say that.”

“And you’re always fine.”

That earned a small smile. Quick. Almost shy.

As he ate, Ellie’s thoughts drifted back, uninvited.

The first time she had cooked for him, he had stood in this same kitchen, thinner, quieter, watching the pan like it mattered more than anything else.

She remembered not offering food right away.

Remembered realizing too late that he was hungry in a way that went beyond appetite.

When she finally handed him bread and an omelet, he had eaten too fast. Like tomorrow was uncertain.

“My dad locked me out on the balcony,” he had said casually, as if talking about the weather.

She remembered freezing.

“All night,” he added. “It was cold.”

That was the moment she stopped waiting for adults to do better.

In the present, Yuta finished eating and pushed the plate away.

“…Thanks,” he said.

Ellie nodded. “Get your bag. I’ll walk you partway.”

He hesitated. “You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

That was the end of the discussion.

As he padded down the hall, Ellie rested her hands on the counter and closed her eyes briefly.

She did not think of herself as strong.

She just knew this.

If she ever fell apart, no one would be there to catch him.

So she stayed standing.

-

The street was already awake by the time they stepped outside together.

Cars rolled past at an unhurried pace, store shutters half lifted, the smell of fresh bread drifting from a bakery down the block. Ellie adjusted the strap of her bag as Yuta walked beside her, his backpack hanging a little too low on his shoulders.

She noticed. She always did.

“Your bag’s slipping,” she said.

Yuta stopped immediately and tugged at the straps, fumbling with the buckles. “I fixed it.”

She stepped closer and adjusted it properly, fingers quick and practiced. “There. It won’t bother your shoulders now.”

He nodded. “Thanks.”

They walked on.

Yuta kept his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, gaze fixed on the pavement ahead. He didn’t like mornings much. Too many people. Too much noise. Ellie slowed her pace without mentioning it.

At the corner, the pedestrian signal blinked red.

They stopped.

Yuta shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Ellie?”

“Mm.”

“Do you think… school gets easier?”

She thought about it. About how school never really got easier, but people learned where to stand.

“It changes,” she said finally. “You learn what matters and what doesn’t.”

He considered that. “Does it stop being scary?”

She glanced down at him. His expression was serious, honest, waiting.

“No,” she said. “But you get better at it.”

The light turned green. They crossed together.

As they walked, Yuta kicked a small stone along the curb, keeping it moving with careful taps. Ellie watched him out of the corner of her eye.

“If something bothers you,” she said, “you tell me.”

He hesitated. “Even small things?”

“Especially small things.”

He nodded, absorbing it.

They reached the intersection where their paths split. Yuta stopped, shifting his backpack again.

“You’re walking me again tomorrow?” he asked.

“Of course.”

He looked relieved. He stepped forward suddenly and wrapped his arms around her waist, quick and awkward. Not a hug meant to be seen.

Ellie stiffened for half a second, then rested her hand lightly on his shoulder.

“Go,” she said softly. “You’ll be late.”

He pulled back, nodded, and started toward the school gate. Halfway there, he turned and waved. She lifted her hand in return.

Ellie stood there until he disappeared inside.

Only then did she turn the other way.

The day had started.

-

School felt louder after the morning.

Ellie moved through the halls with the same steady pace she always had, but today the noise pressed in closer. Laughter bounced off lockers. Someone ran past with a shout. A group of first-years clustered around the noticeboard, whispering excitedly.

She didn’t look at it yet. She already knew what was there.

The student council room was quiet when she arrived.

That was one of the reasons she liked it.

She slid the door open and stepped inside, placing her bag neatly on the chair closest to the window. Sunlight spilled across the long table, catching dust in the air. The room smelled faintly of paper and old wood.

“Morning, Kasugano,” the vice president said cheerfully, already sprawled across her chair like the day was a personal challenge. “You’re early again.”

Ellie glanced at the clock. “You’re late again.”

“Ouch. Cruel.”

The president arrived shortly after, followed by the secretary and auditor. Papers were laid out. Tablets opened. Ellie pulled her files from her bag and set them in front of her with familiar ease.

“Festival expense breakdown,” she said calmly. “We stayed under budget.”

“That’s because you’re terrifying with numbers,” the secretary replied.

Ellie smiled faintly. She didn’t correct her.

They worked efficiently. Discussed funding. Approved reimbursements. Answered emails. Ellie spoke when necessary, listened when not. People trusted her judgment. They always had.

When the meeting ended, the president leaned back in his chair. “Honestly, I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

Ellie bowed her head slightly. “It’s just work.”

But as she gathered her papers, she felt that familiar hollow feeling.

Being needed wasn’t the same as being known.

Outside, the hallway was buzzing.

Ellie finally glanced at the noticeboard.

There they were.

Photos from the ads. Akane smiling brightly, polished and radiant. Another shot from the sports festival. Students gathered around, pointing, whispering.

“She’s really pretty.”

“That’s Hayasaka, right?”

“I heard she’s in another ad already.”

Ellie stood there, absorbing it quietly.

She felt proud first. That surprised her.

Then something softer followed.

Akane was standing a few steps away, talking with a group of girls who clearly wanted to be friends, or something close to it. She laughed, a little awkwardly, waving her hands as if trying to deflect the attention.

Ellie watched her struggle with it, and almost smiled.

Akane noticed her.

“Ellie!” she called, breaking away immediately.

The girls hesitated, then drifted off, interest momentarily redirected.

Akane reached her, cheeks faintly flushed. “Sorry. They keep asking weird questions.”

Ellie nodded. “You’ll get used to it.”

“I don’t want to,” Akane muttered, then brightened. “Do you have time?”

Ellie hesitated. Her schedule ran through her head automatically.

She closed it.

“Yeah,” she said. “I do.”

They walked together toward the courtyard. Students glanced at Akane as they passed. Some smiled. Some whispered. Akane leaned slightly closer to Ellie without thinking.

“Is it strange?” Akane asked quietly. “That people look at me differently now?”

Ellie considered her answer carefully. “It’s strange when they stop seeing you. That hasn’t happened yet.”

Akane looked at her. “You’re good at saying things like that.”

Ellie shrugged. “I practice.”

They sat on a low wall near the trees. Akane pulled out her phone, scrolling through messages she hadn’t answered yet.

“I miss normal,” she admitted.

Ellie watched the leaves move overhead. “Normal changes. But it doesn’t disappear.”

Akane smiled softly. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Ellie felt that familiar ache, quieter now.

“I am,” she said. “For now.”

Akane didn’t catch the weight of that.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the noise of school continuing around them. Ellie listened to Akane talk about her next shoot, about how Adam kept teasing her about memorizing lines in her sleep.

Ellie listened. She always did.

And for a moment, just a moment, it felt like middle school again.

Before things became complicated.

Before choices started to cost something.

-

The day thinned out slowly.

By the time Ellie finished her last errand for the student council, the corridors had emptied into something calmer. Lockers stood open and forgotten. Sunlight slanted through the windows at a lower angle, warmer now, softer. The kind of light that made endings feel gentle instead of abrupt.

Ellie checked the time.

Right on schedule.

She left the building and headed toward the elementary school a few blocks away, her steps unhurried. This part of the afternoon always felt different. Like the day had finally loosened its grip on her shoulders.

The school gate was crowded with parents and siblings, voices overlapping in small bursts of relief. Ellie stood just outside the fence, scanning faces automatically.

She spotted Yuta almost immediately.

He came out with his bag held tight against his chest, shoulders slightly hunched like he was bracing himself against the world. When he saw her, he stopped.

Then his face changed.

Not dramatically. Just enough.

He walked over, quicker now.

“You’re early,” he said.

“On time,” she corrected. “How was the test?”

He thought about it. “I think… okay.”

“That’s good enough.”

They started walking. At first, they kept a small space between them, steps falling into rhythm naturally. Ellie let the silence settle before reaching out.

Her fingers brushed his hand.

Yuta hesitated, then slipped his hand into hers. His grip was careful at first, then firmer, like he’d decided something.

They walked like that, side by side, hands joined.

A car passed. Someone laughed nearby. The world went on.

“Ellie,” Yuta said quietly.

“Mm?”

“…You’re coming tomorrow too, right?”

“Yes.”

“And the day after?”

“Yes.”

He nodded, satisfied.

They turned onto their street, the apartment building coming into view. The windows caught the light, ordinary and familiar. Ellie squeezed his hand gently.

“Dinner tonight,” she said. “Anything you want?”

He considered it seriously. “Omelet again.”

She smiled. “Of course.”

They climbed the steps together, hands still linked.

Ellie didn’t think about school, or councils, or the things she was supposed to feel conflicted about. She didn’t think about Adam, or Akane, or the future waiting impatiently ahead.

Right now, this was enough.

Just walking home.

Just not alone.

And for Ellie Kasugano, that was everything.