CH-15: Morning Light, Cracked Memories...

The first thin rays of sunlight slipped between the school buildings, turning the courtyard from deep indigo to soft gold. Dew glittered on the grass like scattered coins. The embers in the fire pit had gone cold overnight, leaving only a faint circle of ash. Sleeping bags rustled. Someone coughed. A yawn chain-reacted across the mattresses.

Saki woke slowly.

She lay on her side, cheek pressed against the thin fabric of her pillow, eyes still closed. For a heartbeat everything felt normal—the cool morning air on her skin, the distant chirp of sparrows, the low murmur of waking voices. Then memory rushed back in fragments: fog, a boy's back, the silent scream of a name she hadn't spoken aloud in years, the impossible pressure of a bullet that wasn't there.

Her hand moved instinctively to her chest. No hole. No blood. Just the steady thud of her heart.

She exhaled shakily and opened her eyes.

The courtyard was already stirring. Dave sat up first, hair a disaster, stretching his arms overhead with an exaggerated groan that made Michi mumble "Shut up" without opening her eyes. Yudashi was already folding his blanket with neat precision. Hensudo lay flat on his back, staring at the sky like it owed him money. Lily sat cross-legged a few feet away, braiding her hair with sleepy fingers and humming something soft under her breath.

Saki pushed herself upright. Her fingers brushed the small purple handkerchief tucked inside her sleeve—the one she had carried since she was small, the one she never let anyone see. She clutched it tightly for a second, knuckles whitening, then forced her hand to relax. No tears. Not here. Not now.

She pressed the fabric to her lips for one quick, hidden moment—long enough to swallow the ache in her throat—then slipped it back into place.

Dave noticed her movement anyway. He tilted his head, grin lazy but sharp. "Morning, sunshine. You look like you fought a ghost and lost."

Saki managed a small smile. "Just a weird dream."

"About me?" he asked instantly, waggling his eyebrows.

Michi cracked one eye open. "Dave. Five seconds. That's all you get before I throw something at you."

"Promise?" He winked.

Lily giggled quietly, finishing her braid. "You guys are always like this?"

"Pretty much," Michi muttered, sitting up and stretching. "You'll get used to it. Or you'll murder him. Either way."

Hensudo rolled onto his side, propping his head on one hand. "Hey, Lily-flower. Sleep okay? Not too cold?"

Lily's cheeks pinked just slightly. "It was fine. Thank you."

Hensudo beamed like he had won a medal.

Yudashi glanced over, caught Dave's eye, and mouthed: Third-wheel duty starts now.

Dave gave a tiny salute.

Saki watched the easy teasing ripple around her like warm water. For a moment—just a moment—the weight in her chest lifted. She let herself breathe it in: Dave pretending to faint dramatically when Michi flicked a blade of grass at him, Hensudo trying (and failing) to look cool while stealing glances at Lily, Yudashi quietly passing around water bottles like nothing had ever been wrong in the world.

She almost believed it could stay this way.

Almost.

Mr. Hoshino emerged from the center mattress cluster, tie already knotted, uniform somehow still crisp despite sleeping on the ground. He scanned the courtyard once—sharp, assessing—then clapped his hands twice.

"Up. Breakfast in the cafeteria in twenty minutes. Anyone late runs laps."

Groans rose like a chorus.

"But Sensei—"

"Laps," he repeated, voice flat. "Move."

The group scattered—some jogging toward the building, others folding blankets with theatrical slowness.

Dave slung an arm around Michi's shoulders as they walked. "You gonna carry me if my legs are tired, princess?"

Michi elbowed him lightly. "You'll carry me."

"Deal."

Hensudo fell into step beside Lily, hands shoved deep in his pockets like he was trying to look casual. "So... uh... you like school food? Cafeteria here's not bad. They do good curry rice on Fridays."

Lily smiled—small, genuine. "I like curry rice."

Hensudo's face lit up like a sunrise. "Cool. Coolcoolcool. Maybe we can—uh—sit together? If you want. No pressure."

She glanced at him sideways. "Okay."

Dave, walking behind them, stage-whispered to Yudashi, "Ten yen says he passes out before they reach the door."

Yudashi snorted. "I'm not taking that bet."

Saki walked a little behind the group, bag slung over one shoulder, purple handkerchief now folded neatly in her palm. She kept her head down, letting the chatter wash over her. Every few steps her fingers tightened on the fabric—clutch, release, clutch, release—like a heartbeat she was trying to steady.

She didn't notice Yudashi drop back until he was beside her.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

She startled, then nodded too quickly. "Yeah. Just... tired."

He studied her for a second—gentle, not pushing. "If you need to talk. Or not talk. Whatever. I'm here."

Saki's throat tightened again. She clutched the handkerchief harder. "Thanks."

He gave her a small smile and jogged ahead to catch up with the others.

In the cafeteria, the smell of miso soup and grilled fish hit them like a warm hug. Trays clattered. Voices bounced off the walls. The usual morning chaos felt surreal after the night in the courtyard.

They claimed a long table near the windows. Dave immediately stole a piece of tamagoyaki from Michi's tray. She swatted his hand. He grinned and fed it to her instead.

Hensudo sat across from Lily, trying very hard to eat like a normal person and not stare. He failed. Every time she smiled at something Michi said, his chopsticks froze halfway to his mouth.

Yudashi leaned over to Saki. "Think he'll survive breakfast?"

Saki huffed a tiny laugh—the first real one since she woke. "Maybe."

Dave caught it and pounced. "There she is. Smiley Saki. Missed you."

Michi rolled her eyes. "Don't scare her off."

"I'm nurturing," Dave protested. "Like a gardener. With love."

"More like a weed whacker," Michi muttered.

Lily giggled again. Hensudo nearly dropped his soup bowl.

The teasing flowed—light, easy, familiar. Saki let it wrap around her like a blanket. She ate slowly, listening more than speaking, letting the warmth of the moment push the dream's cold fingers further away.

But the purple handkerchief stayed clutched in her lap beneath the table.

Every so often her thumb brushed the soft edge—clutch, release, clutch—like a secret heartbeat only she could feel.

Outside, the sun climbed higher.

The courtyard waited—empty now, mattresses already cleared away.

And somewhere beneath the normal morning noise, a faint crack lingered in the air.

Not loud.

Not visible.

Just... there.

Waiting