The Night That Revealed Too Much

As the room loosened into low murmurs, Haruto finally let himself lean forward.

He placed his head down on the table, forehead resting against the cool surface.

Amaya turned immediately.

"Haruto… are you fine?" she asked softly.

He didn't lift his head.

"Yes," he replied after a moment. "I'm fine."

There was a pause.

Then, more quietly, "I'm sorry. I stopped you from fighting… and then I got into it myself."

Amaya studied him for a second.

Then she smiled—small, understanding.

"It's fine," she said. "Just… don't get hurt."

She stood and moved away from her seat, giving him space.

Haruto didn't move.

His arm slid forward beneath his head, resting straight along the table. His palm lay open, fingers loose.

Blood covered his palm and fingers.

He didn't react.

Didn't stir.

From where he sat, Haruto looked still—
as if he wasn't awake anymore.

Ayame turned back instinctively.

Haruto was still seated, his head resting against the desk, just as he had been moments ago.

Then her eyes dropped to his hand.

Her breath stopped.

His arm lay stretched beneath his head, palm open on the tabletop.

Blood covered his palm and fingers.

"Haruto…" Ayame whispered.

She reached out and touched his shoulder lightly.

There was no response.

The quiet murmur of the break began to fade as Amaya noticed Ayame standing, frozen. Kaito turned. A few nearby students followed their gaze.

Ayame swallowed and looked toward the front.

"Sensei," she said, her voice steady but tight, "Haruto isn't responding."

Daigo was already walking toward them.

He stopped beside Haruto's desk and took in the scene in a single glance. He didn't touch him. He didn't speak immediately.

"Everyone step back," Daigo said calmly.

Chairs shifted as students moved away.

Daigo watched Haruto's breathing, the position of his arm, the stillness of his body.

Then he straightened.

"Do not move him," he said.

His gaze lifted and fixed on Riku.

"Riku," Daigo said firmly. "Go to the academy clinic. Tell them to send the medical team here immediately."

Riku nodded without a word and ran.

The classroom fell into complete silence.

Whatever had started as a fight had crossed into something else entirely.

The room stayed tense.

Haruki hadn't spoken again—but it showed.

His shoulders were stiff, his jaw tight, eyes fixed on the desk where Haruto lay unmoving. Every few seconds, his gaze dropped to the blood on Haruto's hand, then snapped away.

His breathing wasn't steady.

Misaki broke the silence first. "He wasn't bleeding before."

Souta nodded. "After the fight, he didn't get up."

Haruki swallowed.

"I didn't mean for this," he said quietly. "I don't even know when that happened."

No anger in his voice.

Just strain.

Yuna looked at him, expression unreadable. "That doesn't change what we're seeing."

Haruki's hands clenched slowly at his sides.

Blood wasn't something you argued against.

It meant reports.
Questions.
People drawing conclusions before answers existed.

Daigo raised his hand.

The class stopped immediately.

"This is not a debate," Daigo said evenly.

His gaze rested on Haruki—not accusing, but assessing.

"Remain seated."

Haruki nodded at once.

Too quickly.

His leg bounced under the desk, nerves finally breaking through his earlier bravado. He looked around the room, then back at Haruto—panic flickering behind his eyes.

Daigo turned slightly.

"Arashi."

Arashi straightened.

"Check Haruki's bag."

Haruki's breath caught.

He didn't protest this time.

He just watched.

Arashi opened the bag and paused.

Inside, among the usual supplies, lay a kunai.

The sight of it drew a sharp silence from the room.

Haruki's shoulders tensed.

"I won that," he said immediately. "At a village event. It's been in there since."

His voice wasn't defensive.

It was careful.

"I didn't take it out," he added. "I didn't use anything."

Raizo stepped forward before the tension could thicken further.

"Sensei," he said firmly. "Haruki fights. He pushes people. But he's not reckless with things like this."

Haruki nodded once, jaw tight.

Daigo listened.

He didn't respond right away.

His eyes shifted back to Haruto.

"Wait," Daigo said.

The word settled over the room.

The answers would come soon enough.

Haruto didn't wake.

The medical team worked around him carefully, movements practiced and quiet. One of them gently lifted the fabric at his side, just enough to see the source.

"Here," the medic murmured.

They didn't announce it.

They didn't explain it to the room.

They wrapped a bandage firmly around his stomach, layer by layer, secure but careful not to disturb him. Haruto remained still, breathing steady, unaware.

Another medic took his hand.

Slowly, they cleaned his palm and fingers, wiping away every trace of blood until his skin was clean again. His hand was placed back on the desk, relaxed, harmless-looking.

Nothing alarming left in sight.

Daigo watched once.

Then turned back to the board.

"You may continue," he said quietly.

The medical team stepped away, leaving Haruto exactly where he was—bandaged, stable, asleep.

Daigo picked up the chalk.

"Control," he said, resuming as if the interruption had never happened, "is also knowing when the body has already decided for you."

Chalk moved.

Pens followed.

The lesson continued.

Chalk moved across the board, steady and measured, as if nothing unusual had happened.
Daigo's voice stayed calm, controlled—exactly as he had been teaching.

Haruto remained asleep at his desk.
His breathing was slow. Even.
The bandage beneath his uniform was hidden from view.

No one spoke about it.

Some students kept glancing his way.
Others stared straight ahead, pretending not to notice.

When the final point was written, Daigo placed the chalk down.

"That's all for today," he said. "You're dismissed."

Chairs slid back.

Class 1 stood.

Haruto didn't move.

Daigo's eyes flicked toward him once before turning back to the class.

"Go."

The students filed out—quietly this time.

Ayame stopped near Haruto's desk and gently shook his shoulder.
"Haruto… class is over."

Kaito stood beside her, arms folded. "Hey. Wake up."

After a moment, Haruto stirred. He lifted his head slowly, eyes unfocused, then pushed himself upright.

"I'm fine," he muttered.

They waited until he was steady, then helped him to his feet.

At the front of the room, Daigo stood speaking with Renjiro in a low voice. Their expressions were serious, restrained.

The triplets paused, noticing them.

Daigo finished first and stepped away, leaving the classroom without another word.

Renjiro turned toward them, his expression softening.

"Let's go home," he said.

Ayame smiled.
Kaito's mood lightened instantly.
Haruto followed, quiet but present.

They walked out together.

And as they left the academy behind, the tension of the day slowly faded—
the three of them heading home with Renjiro, side by side, laughing softly as if nothing had gone wrong at all.

They reached home just as the sky began to dim.

The gate slid shut behind them, the familiar quiet of the house settling in.

Renjiro didn't stop.

The moment they stepped inside, he turned and walked straight toward the inner room.

"Akari," he called, voice low but urgent. "We need to talk."

Akari looked up at once. One glance at his expression was enough to tell her this wasn't ordinary.

Ayame noticed too.

She didn't linger.

She slipped into her room, changed quickly, and returned almost immediately.

Haruto and Kaito stayed behind—Haruto sitting on the edge of the futon, exhausted, Kaito unusually silent.

Ayame entered the room where Akari and Renjiro stood.

She took a breath.

"Something was wrong today," she said.

Akari's posture stiffened. "With Haruto?"

Ayame nodded.

"He wasn't himself," she continued. "When the fight started… it wasn't just anger. It felt like he didn't want to stop. Like he couldn't."

Renjiro's eyes sharpened.

Ayame hesitated, then went on.

"And his eyes… they turned red. Not for a second. They stayed that way."

Akari's fingers tightened slightly.

"He didn't react to anything around him," Ayame said softly. "Not voices. Not people pulling him back. It was like he was somewhere else."

She lowered her gaze.

"I've never seen him like that before."

Silence filled the room.

Renjiro exhaled slowly, controlled.

Akari didn't speak—but the worry in her eyes was unmistakable.

Whatever had awakened in Haruto today
wasn't just unusual.

It was dangerous.

And it hadn't gone unnoticed.

Ayame swallowed, then added quietly,
"And… he was bleeding."

Akari's head lifted at once. "Bleeding—where?"

"His stomach," Ayame said. "He didn't even react. He just… kept going. After that, he barely stayed awake."

That was enough.

Akari turned and moved down the hall without another word.

Haruto was still sitting where Ayame had left him, back resting against the wall, legs folded on the futon. His shoulders were slumped, eyes half-lidded. When Akari entered, he looked up slowly, as if it took effort to focus.

"Aka," he said softly. His voice was steady—but thin.

Akari knelt in front of him at once. Her movements were calm, practiced, the way only family could be. She carefully checked beneath his uniform.

The bandage around his stomach was still there. Clean. Secure.

No fresh blood.

But the tightness in his posture told her everything.

"You should've told me," Akari said quietly.

"I'm fine," Haruto replied without thinking.

Akari didn't argue. She placed her hand over his for a moment—warm, grounding.

"Stay here," she said gently. "I'll call you when dinner's ready."

Haruto nodded.

From the doorway, Kaito watched in silence.

Dinner was quieter than usual.

Plates were laid out. The food was warm. The house carried its usual, familiar comfort—but none of them relaxed into it.

Haruto ate slowly, carefully, but finished. Ayame kept glancing his way, saying nothing. Kaito barely touched his food, eyes distant.

Renjiro spoke little. Akari even less.

No one mentioned the academy.

But it lingered in the space between them.

When dinner ended, Akari stood.

"You're all exhausted," she said. "Go rest."

Haruto rose without complaint.

As he passed Ayame, she offered a small smile.

"Don't scare us like that again," she said, trying to sound light.

He paused. "I'll try."

Haruto sat quietly on the sofa, elbows resting on his knees, gaze lowered. The events of the day pressed on him heavier than the silence.

He lifted his head slightly and looked toward Akari.

"Aka… can I sleep in your room tonight?"

Akari didn't answer immediately. She crossed the room, studied his face, then gave a small nod.

"Okay," she said softly.

Haruto stood and followed her down the hall. The door to her room slid open, light spilling briefly into the corridor before closing again.

Behind them, Ayame paused, watching the door for a second longer than necessary. Then she turned and headed toward the triplets' room.

Kaito remained on the sofa, unmoving.

A moment later, Renjiro came in and sat down beside him.

He didn't speak at first.

Then, quietly, he asked,
"What happened?"

The room stayed still, waiting for Kaito's answer.

Akari returned to the kitchen and began washing the plates and utensils, the quiet sound of water filling the space. She worked slowly, listening more than moving.

On the sofa, Kaito remained still.

Renjiro glanced at him from the side. "You barely ate," he said. "That's not like you."

Kaito didn't answer right away.

Then, quietly, he spoke.

"I feel strange."

Renjiro turned fully toward him.

"Since today," Kaito continued, eyes fixed on the floor, "when I saw Haruto sleeping in class… not knowing what had happened to him." His fingers curled slightly. "It felt wrong. Like something slipped out of place."

Renjiro stayed silent, letting him continue.

"It feels like something is happening around me," Kaito said. "And I don't know why. I don't know the cause."

He hesitated, then rested a hand over his stomach.

"And here too," he added softly. "It feels… strange."

Renjiro's expression tightened, just a little.

Before he could respond, the sound of running water slowed.

Akari turned from the sink, eyes sharp despite the calm on her face.

The room felt heavier than before.

Whatever had started at the academy
had followed them home.

Akari turned off the tap and dried her hands, then walked back into the living room.

Kaito was still on the sofa—but now he was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, fingers locked together so tightly his knuckles had gone pale.

His breathing was uneven.

Before anyone could speak, he looked up.

"How did Haruto get hurt?"

The question landed hard.

Renjiro stiffened.

Kaito stood up slowly, eyes unsettled. "He was bleeding from his stomach," he said. "And no one even knows when it happened."

Akari's expression tightened.

"And two days ago," Kaito continued, voice rising despite himself, "he had bandages on his head too."

He shook his head, once. Then again.

"Why?" he demanded. "Why does this keep happening to him?"

The words spilled faster now.

"He didn't even know," Kaito said. "He didn't know he was hurt. He didn't know why he was bleeding. That's not normal."

Renjiro stepped forward. "Kaito—"

"No," Kaito cut in sharply. "Don't tell me it's nothing."

His hands trembled as he clenched them.

"First, that fight against Haruki. Then him collapsing," he said. "It feels like things are stacking up, one after another."

He pressed a hand to his stomach without realizing it.

"And I keep feeling this," he said quietly. "Like something's wrong inside me too."

The room felt heavy.

Kaito swallowed.

"I'm getting the same feeling," he said slowly, voice dropping, "that I felt four years ago."

Akari froze.

"That sense," Kaito continued, barely above a whisper, "that something is about to happen."

Something bad.

Something they didn't stop last time.

Renjiro reached him first, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. Akari stepped in front of him, her voice steady but serious.

"Kaito," she said. "Breathe."

He tried. Failed. Then tried again.

"You're not wrong to be scared," Akari said softly. "But you're letting the past pull you forward."

Renjiro nodded. "Nothing is happening tonight."

Kaito's shoulders slowly dropped. The tension didn't vanish—but it loosened.

"…Okay," he muttered.

Akari guided him toward the hallway. "Get some sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

Kaito didn't argue this time.

The house gradually settled.

But the questions he'd asked stayed behind—
hanging in the air, unanswered.

Kaito walked down the hallway and slid open the door to the triplets' room.

The lights were off.

Ayame was already asleep, turned to one side, her breathing slow and steady.

Kaito stood there for a moment, watching her, then quietly lay down on his futon. The tension in his body lingered, but exhaustion eventually pulled him under.

The house grew quieter.

Renjiro returned to his room and closed the door behind him.

Akari walked back to her own room.

She paused as she opened the door.

The light from the hallway fell softly inside.

Haruto was still awake.

He lay on the futon, staring up at the ceiling, eyes open, unmoving—just as before.

Akari stepped in and slid the door shut.

She stood there for a moment, watching him.

"…Haruto?" she said gently.

This time, he turned his head toward her.

"I can't sleep," he said.

And in the quiet room, Akari knew—

The night wasn't finished with them yet.

Akari slowly lowered herself onto her futon, settling beside Haruto, though still a little distance away. She lay on her back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, mirroring his posture.

"…What can you see up there?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Haruto didn't answer at first. His eyes stayed locked on the plain ceiling, but after a moment, he muttered, "Ceiling."

Akari turned her head slightly toward him, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Then why are you staring at it like… like it's holding secrets?"

Haruto's jaw tightened. "Maybe it is."

She tilted her head, studying him. "Secrets… from us?"

"No," he said after a pause. "Not from you. Just… from me."

The silence stretched between them. The quiet hum of the hallway clock and the soft rustle of the house settling were the only sounds. Akari let herself sigh, letting the tension of the day melt from her shoulders.

"You think too much," she said gently. "Sometimes it's okay to just… lie here. Even if your mind won't stop spinning."

Haruto finally turned his gaze toward her, his eyes reflecting a mixture of fatigue and something heavier—something he couldn't put into words. "And if I can't stop thinking?"

"Then I'll keep you company," she said simply. "Even if it's just… staring at the ceiling together."

A small, almost imperceptible smile brushed across Haruto's lips. He turned back to the ceiling, but this time, a little less tension was in his posture.

For a while, they stayed like that—side by side, eyes up, breathing in sync with the quiet of the night.

And though sleep had not yet claimed him, Haruto felt… less alone.

The ceiling held no answers, no secrets—just the steady presence of someone who understood.

The night lingered on, but for the first time, it felt a little less heavy.

Haruto's eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, but after a long moment, he finally spoke, his voice low.
"Do you think I can… get stronger?"

Akari turned slightly to face him, her expression soft but steady.
"I know you can, Haruto. You'll get stronger, step by step."

He was quiet for a moment, then asked again.
"Do you think I can… protect the people I care about?"

"You already try," she said gently. "And yes… you can. You'll find a way."

"Do you think I can… stop being scared?"

Akari reached over and lightly touched his hand.
"Not all at once. But little by little, yes. You can."

"Do you think I can… make the right choices?"

"You can," she whispered. "Even if you stumble, you'll learn and keep moving forward."

"Do you think I can… trust myself?"

"Yes," Akari said softly. "You just need to start believing in yourself like I do."

"Do you think I can… survive what's coming?"

"You can," she said firmly. "I know you can face it."

"Do you think I can… ever be happy?"

Akari's voice was gentle, but certain.
"Yes, Haruto. You deserve to be happy."

"Do you think I can… protect you?" he asked next, almost barely audible.

"You already do, just by being you," she said, smiling softly.

"Do you think I can… do all of this… and not break?"

"You won't break," she said. "Not with the people who care about you by your side."

For a long while, he stayed quiet, the weight in his chest easing little by little. Each question pulled something heavy out of him, and each answer from Akari made it lighter.

The ceiling held no answers, no guidance. But beside it, in the still darkness, Akari's presence said everything he needed to hear.

And for now, that was enough.

Akari shifted slightly on her futon, turning toward him with a soft but concerned expression.
"Haruto… tell me. If something's wrong… you don't need to take it all on yourself. I know you didn't sleep because something is bothering you. Just… tell me, okay?"

Haruto's gaze remained on the ceiling, his hands clenched loosely at his sides. His voice was quiet, almost strained.
"I… I don't understand how the world works."

Akari's brow furrowed slightly. "What do you mean?"

He let out a small, bitter laugh, one that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"The new book you bought me… Shizue's Adventures… it was terrible."

Akari blinked. "Terrible?" she repeated, confused but gentle.

Haruto's expression shifted, subtle but noticeable—more tense, more uncertain.
"Yeah… I don't know… it didn't make sense. Everything felt… wrong."

He paused, then continued, his voice heavier now, threading in something deeper.
"Who am I really? I'm just an academy kid… training to get stronger… to become a shinobi. But there are… monsters. Monsters bigger than mountains."

Akari's eyes widened slightly, her voice steady but soft.
"Haruto… those aren't monsters. Some of them… are Beasts sealed inside shinobies, and some… are summons. Not everything out there is as it seems."

Haruto's expression flickered, uncertainty mixing with frustration. His hands flexed at his sides.
"You said I could become stronger… but they're stronger. So much stronger than me."

Akari reached out, gently placing a hand near his arm, but not touching yet, her voice calm and firm.
"You don't have to carry all of that alone. It's okay to be scared. And it's okay to ask for help."

Haruto stayed quiet for a moment, his chest rising and falling. Then, quietly, he muttered:
"Can I… ask something?"

Akari gave him a small nod, encouraging.
"Of course. Anything."

"Why… aren't you going on missions?"

Akari froze. Her eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the question. She hadn't expected that from him—not now, not at this hour.

"I… what do you mean?" she said carefully, keeping her voice calm.

Haruto's gaze didn't leave the ceiling. His jaw was tight, his hands flexing at his sides.
"I mean… everyone else is training, fighting, going out there. Why aren't you?"

Akari blinked, a faint sigh escaping her. She hadn't expected him to ask so directly, so bluntly. Her heart beat a little faster, but she forced herself to stay composed.

"Haruto… it's not like that," she said softly. "There are things I have to do differently… things you wouldn't understand yet. But it doesn't mean I'm not fighting in my own way."

He turned his head slightly toward her, his expression tense but searching.
"Your own way…? Then why does it feel like… like you're avoiding it?"

Akari shook her head gently. "I'm not avoiding it. I just… choose what I do carefully. You'll understand one day. You're not alone in this, Haruto."

He stayed quiet for a moment, letting her words sink in, then muttered almost to himself,
"Still… it doesn't feel fair."

Akari reached out, brushing her fingers lightly against his hand. "Life isn't always fair. But it's okay to feel frustrated. Just… don't carry it all by yourself."

Haruto's chest rose and fell slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly—but the weight of the question lingered, heavy in the quiet room.

The ceiling above stayed blank, but in the dark, Akari's presence said what words could not: he wasn't facing the world alone.

Haruto's eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, but after a long pause, he finally spoke, voice low and uneven.
"I… I feel bad for Amaya."

Akari turned slightly toward him, sensing the weight behind his words.
"Why? What happened?"

He hesitated, then let the words spill out, like he'd been holding them in for too long.
"Sanae… she was mocking her. Saying she wasn't a Homura. I… I stopped Amaya from fighting her because… because Sanae was from Class 2. And it was only the second day our classes merged."

Akari's expression softened. "I understand… that was a hard situation. You did the right thing by stopping her."

He swallowed, his jaw tight, and continued, the words coming faster now.
"But… after that… I fought Haruki. He's from Class 2 too. I don't know why I did it. I don't even know what came over me. After stopping Amaya, after… that fight… I felt different. Angry. Confused. Strong… but also… wrong. I can't explain it."

Akari reached out, lightly brushing her fingers against his hand. "It's okay, Haruto. You don't need to explain everything perfectly. I know what you're feeling, and it's… normal to be conflicted. You're learning, and you're human."

Haruto let out a slow breath, a little of the tension leaving his shoulders. He finally turned his gaze toward her, eyes honest and unguarded.
"I… I just… I don't know who I really am sometimes. I don't know what I want, or… who I want to be. I don't know who I care about, or who I'm supposed to protect. Everything feels… too big."

Akari smiled softly, letting him see acceptance in her eyes.
"Haruto… it's okay. You don't have to have it all figured out right now. Just… tell me what's in your heart. Everything. No holding back."

He swallowed, then began again, slower this time, as if each word released some weight.
"I… I want to become stronger. I want to protect people. I don't want anyone else to feel like Amaya did… helpless, embarrassed. I… I like people, but… I don't know who exactly. I don't know who I'd choose… or even if I'd have the courage. I want to meet people who… inspire me. People who make me feel like I can do more. And I… I want to make the right choices, even if I fail sometimes."

Akari's hand moved gently to cover his. "That's… more than enough, Haruto. That's exactly what you should feel. You're honest, and you're thinking. That's how people grow."

Haruto let out a small laugh, soft, almost a relief. "I… I've never said any of that out loud. I thought I had to… hold it in. Keep it inside. But… saying it… it feels lighter."

Akari smiled warmly. "Good. That's why I'm here. And now… tell me more. What do you want to do? Who do you care about most? Who do you want to meet? Don't hold back."

Haruto's lips twitched slightly, a hint of a real smile forming. "I… I want to protect Amaya, and Ayame, and Kaito… and… I want to become strong enough that no one can hurt them. I want to meet people who can teach me, challenge me, and… make me feel like I'm actually moving forward. And… I… I don't know yet who I… like… but I want to figure that out too. I want… everything to make sense someday."

Akari's eyes softened further, shining in the dim light of the room. "And it will, Haruto. Step by step. You don't have to have it all figured out now. You're allowed to be unsure. And you're allowed to lean on someone when it's heavy."

Haruto exhaled slowly, finally letting himself relax, the tightness in his chest loosening. For the first time that night, he felt like he could breathe properly—like he'd shared his burden instead of carrying it alone.

Akari smiled gently. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

He let out a small, quiet laugh. "No… it wasn't. Thanks… Aka."

She squeezed his hand lightly. "Always, Haruto. Always."

Haruto lay back on his futon, eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling as if the answer might be hidden there. After a long pause, he spoke again, his voice soft but edged with curiosity.
"Aka… what's it called… someone who never gets hurt? Someone who can't die… no matter what?"

Akari tilted her head, thinking for a moment. "Someone who can't die… that's… immortal."

"Immortal…" Haruto repeated, the word rolling on his tongue. Then, almost as if testing the idea, he asked, "How… does it feel? To be immortal?"

Akari blinked, then shook her head gently. "I… don't know. I'm not immortal, Haruto. I've never been."

He let out a quiet laugh, a little rueful. "Oh… that's true."

Then, after a pause, he added, more softly this time, "But… any idea?"

Akari met his gaze, thoughtful. "I guess… maybe it's lonely. Maybe it's… always watching, always waiting, never really free to rest. I can't say for sure… I've only ever been… mortal."

Haruto fell silent for a moment, absorbing her words. He traced a line on the ceiling with his eyes, his expression thoughtful, distant.
"Lonely… huh."

"Maybe," Akari said softly. "But even immortals… if they care about something, maybe it isn't so lonely. That's just… my guess."

He let the silence settle around them. The ceiling held no answers, but for the first time that night, Haruto's mind wasn't spinning with fear or doubt—he was… thinking. Wondering. Imagining.

And beside him, Akari's quiet presence reminded him that he wasn't facing the world alone, mortal or not.

"…I'm getting sleepy," he murmured.

Before Akari could reply, his eyes fluttered shut. His body relaxed, the tension he carried all day finally loosening as sleep claimed him.

Akari smiled softly.

She shifted closer and gently brushed her fingers through his hair, slow and careful, as if afraid to wake him. His breathing evened out, quiet and steady.

"Good night, Haruto," she whispered.

She lay down beside him and closed her own eyes—but only for a moment.

Something moved.

Akari stiffened, her heart skipping a beat. She felt an arm slide around her, warmth pressing close. Her eyes snapped open, fear flashing through her—

Then she saw it.

Haruto, still fast asleep, had turned toward her, his arms loosely wrapped around her as if instinct alone had guided him.

She stared at him for a second.

Then she sighed in relief… and smiled.

"…Idiot," she whispered fondly.

Carefully, she adjusted the blanket around them both and relaxed. The fear faded, replaced by a quiet warmth.

Soon, the room fell completely silent.

Two steady breaths.
Two sleeping figures.

And outside, the night continued—unaware of the dreams it was about to awaken.

The house was silent, swallowed by the stillness of midnight. Even the faint tick of the hallway clock seemed to pause, as if time itself had frozen.

Kaito's eyes snapped open.

Something… was wrong.

His body felt heavy, stiff, as if the air around him pressed him to the futon. He couldn't move. He tried to call out, but his voice wouldn't come.

And then… he saw it.

A giant nail—twisted, dark, and impossibly sharp—was driven through his chest. Pain exploded, fiery and sudden, though he couldn't tell if it was real or some horrifying illusion. His vision blurred, black creeping at the edges.

"No… no…!" he choked, panic clawing at his chest.

His legs gave way beneath him. His arms shook violently. Every heartbeat thudded like a war drum in his skull. The world tilted, warped, spinning in on itself.

Kaito's breaths came in short, ragged gasps. His eyes rolled back, and the room seemed to stretch, to twist, to crush him…

And then everything went black.

He fainted.