On the Edges

Kaito walked down the school hallway with his shoulders slightly hunched, his eyes fixed on the floor as if the tiles made less noise than the rest of the world.

Laughter. Footsteps. Voices cutting through the air.

“Minamoto didn’t turn in his chemistry assignment again…”

“Yamada got first place in history. Didn’t even really study…”

He heard them.

But nothing really stayed.

He sat down, and the chair creaked under his weight.

The classroom was already divided into invisible territories. Claimed desks. Defined groups. Silent alliances.

Why do I always feel out of place here?

Maybe it wasn’t cynicism.

Maybe it was just exhaustion.

Conversations overlapped. Laughter a little too loud. Agreements a little too quick.

Kindness.
Friendship.
Or exchange.

You give attention so you’ll be remembered later.
You laugh along so you won’t be left out.

It’s not cruelty.

It’s fear of not being chosen.

He rested his hand on the back of the chair before fully sitting.

Maybe I’m overthinking it.

He looked around again.

No one else seemed to be thinking about this.

Or maybe they were… and just better at pretending.

“You always make that face when you’re judging the world?”

The voice came from beside him—too close.

Kaito turned his head slowly.

A girl leaned toward him, chin resting on her palm. Her eyes were sharp. Persistent.

“Impressive,” he said. “I didn’t know my expression came with subtitles.”

She didn’t look offended.

“It doesn’t. It’s just easy to translate.”

He looked away.

“Relax. The world survives just fine without my approval.”

“Maybe. But you still look disappointed.”

He studied her tone for half a second.

It wasn’t teasing.

It was curiosity.

“I just don’t find most things that amusing.”

A brief silence.

She didn’t leave.

“Do you always listen in on conversations that aren’t yours?” he asked.

“Only the interesting ones.”

“Then I’d suggest trying somewhere else.”

She didn’t move.

That was irritating.

He opened his notebook, but before he could say anything—

The classroom door slid open with force.

“Everyone to your seats. Now.”

The teacher entered.

Kaito closed his mouth, straightened up, and arranged his materials on his desk.

But he could still feel her eyes on him.

“You’re just going to leave it there?” she murmured.

He flipped to a random page.

“I didn’t have anything important to say.”

“Funny. It didn’t seem that way.”

He looked up.

She was waiting.

And that was more uncomfortable than any insult.

The cafeteria buzzed with noise. Trays sliding. Chairs scraping. Voices competing.

Lunch always felt too competitive for something so ordinary.

He grabbed rice, vegetables, and meat. Movements automatic.

He turned, looking for a quieter corner—when someone stepped in front of him.

Akira.

She held her tray with both hands, as if that somehow justified being there.

“Sato… can we eat together?”

She tilted her head slightly.

Direct.

Kaito glanced around. Every table was full. Groups already formed.

She looked slightly displaced from her own circle.

People are selfish enough to ask someone like me just so they don’t feel left out.

“If you’re trying to avoid someone, that corner’s perfect,” he said, subtly pointing. “No one pays attention over there.”

She followed his gaze.

“Hey! I’m not running away.”

“Then you don’t need me.”

Simple.

He walked past her without adding anything else.

The noise faded as he climbed the first steps of the outdoor staircase. The concrete was cold even under the midday sun.

He sat on the third step. Balanced between shade and light.

He placed the tray beside him.

Silence.

Much better.

He took his first bite.

And for some reason, the feeling of being watched didn’t go away.

And then he understood why.

“Kaito, I figured I’d find you here.”

The voice came from behind him—far too energetic for the quiet.

He turned.

teacher Hayama.

Crooked tie. One sleeve rolled up. A smile that always looked like it knew something no one else did.

He stood with his hands on his hips, like he’d just won an invisible bet.

“Most students head to the cafeteria,” he continued. “But you… you always choose places like this.”

“I didn’t realize anyone was looking for me.”

Hayama tilted his head, smiling like that was exactly the response he expected.

“I wasn’t looking.”

He stepped down two stairs and sat beside Kaito without asking.

“I just happened to find you.”

That didn’t make sense.

“You know,” Hayama went on, “sometimes when someone who prefers the edges starts to move, the center panics. It’s like picking eggs randomly from a carton—no one knows which one’s next.”

Silence.

The wind passed through the stairwell.

“Did you need something?” Kaito asked.

Hayama didn’t leave.

He stood there for a moment, looking out at the courtyard as if he hadn’t finished.

“Do you think I became a teacher because I enjoy grading papers?” he asked casually.

Kaito didn’t answer.

Hayama gave a faint smile.

“I used to be like you.”

Silence.

It didn’t sound rehearsed.

It sounded remembered.

“Always on the edges. Watching. Calculating. Thinking distance meant clarity.”

He crossed his arms.

“I could see conflicts before they started. Knew exactly where someone would slip up in an argument. Could predict when a friendship was about to fall apart.”

“And that’s why you became a teacher?” Kaito asked.

“No.” Hayama chuckled quietly. “I became a teacher when I realized observing didn’t make me immune.”

The wind lifted the edge of his crooked tie.

“Staying on the edges doesn’t stop chaos from reaching you. It just makes you think you’re safe.”

That landed heavier than it should have.

“The club started as something simple,” he continued. “If I could spot cracks before they turned into fractures… maybe I could step in before the fall.”

“That sounds inconvenient,” Kaito replied.

“Extremely,” Hayama agreed. “But effective.”

Now he looked at him directly. No smile.

“You think you don’t care. But you react. And you react precisely.”

Kaito looked away.

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means you’re already involved. Even when you try not to be.”

Hayama stood and took a step up.

Then paused.

“Want to know the most unexpected part?”

Kaito waited.

“Helping others wasn’t what changed me the most.”

A short pause.

“The one who was helped the most… was me.”

Silence filled the space again.

Hayama tilted his head slightly.

“Maybe that could be you too, Kaito.”

There was no mockery in his voice.

No superiority.

Just quiet certainty.

“Think about it.”

Then he climbed the stairs, his footsteps fading.

This time, the silence felt uncomfortable.

Kaito looked at his tray.

The steam had stopped rising.

The word “helped” echoed in his head.

And then—

A memory struck without warning.

A small playground. A new toy in his hand.

“Can I play with you?”

Laughter.

Not cruel enough to be unforgettable.

Just enough.

“You’re weird.”

The next day, he didn’t bring anything.

No toy.

No invitation.

The breeze pulled him back to the present.

He stood.

Not because he agreed.

But because he wanted to prove it didn’t matter.

The hallway was emptier now.

As he turned the corner near the old building, he heard voices—too low for casual conversation.

A confession.

He’d recognize that tone anywhere.

She spoke quickly, trying to outrun her fear.

The boy kept his shoulders stiff.

“Sorry.”

Simple.

Insufficient.

Her expression changed for half a second.

She tried to smile.

Failed.

Turned away before anyone noticed.

Kaito walked past them as if he hadn’t seen.

“Selfish…”

People call it love.

But most of the time, it’s just the desire not to feel invisible.

Class 3-B.

Door closed.

His hand hesitated for a moment.

Not out of fear.

Out of recognition.

Maybe helping others was just an elegant excuse to understand why, at some point, he decided it was better not to need anyone.

He knocked twice.

And waited.

Not for them.

For himself, to decide if it was worth going in.

The door opened…

End of Chapter 1
On the Edges