Chapter 1: Crossroads

The world ended on a Tuesday.
Which is annoying, because Tuesdays are supposed to be forgettable.

Not with fire, not with earthquakes, not even with one of those weird sky glitches from "The Matrix".
It just… stopped feeling relevant. Like someone quietly unplugged something important and didn’t bother telling me.

Everything still looked normal.
Same classroom. Same desks with carved initials and hearts that probably belonged to couples who already broke up. Same teacher who smelled like chalk and existential dread. Same classmates pretending they weren’t counting the minutes until freedom.

But to me, it all felt hollow.
Like I was walking through a set after the actors left.

Because of her.

I kept replaying it in my head, the way you replay embarrassing moments at 3 AM except this one didn’t fade. Her standing there. My mom smiling like she’d just found the daughter she always wanted. And then the words. The timing. The way she said it so easily, like she was talking about weather.

My mom had always liked her.
She brought extra snacks “just in case she visits.”
She asked about her more than she asked about me.
She once said, “If you ever date her, I’ll approve immediately.”

And she knew all that.

So why did she choose that moment?
Why in front of my mom?
Why like it didn’t matter?

I stared at my desk, half expecting it to give me an explanation.
Spoilers: It did not. It only gave me pen marks and a tiny crack shaped like my self-esteem.

I stared at the crack on my desk a bit longer than necessary. Not because it was interesting. Just because looking at it felt easier than thinking.

“Kouya.”

Something hit my shoulder.

Not hard, but enough to snap me back.

“…Yeah?” I muttered.

“Dude, you’ve been whispering to yourself for like five minutes,” Taku said, leaning over with his usual grin. “You okay or are you rehearsing your villain monologue?”

“I wasn’t whispering.”

“You absolutely were. I heard ‘why would she—’ and then you just shut down like a sad NPC.”

“…Shut up.”

He laughed and sat on my desk like personal space was just a myth waiting to be busted on YouTube. “So? Who’s ‘she’ this week? Or is this the same ‘she’ you’ve known since forever?”

“I didn’t get rejected.”

“Then why do you look like you got emotionally sued?”

I hesitated, staring back at the desk. “…Just thinking.”

“That’s suspicious. Your brain doesn’t function before lunch.”
“It does.”
“When?”
“…Sometimes.”

He nodded like he was convinced. “So. About her.”

“There is no ‘her.’ ”
“There is always a ‘her.’ You literally sighed her name yesterday.”
“…I didn’t sigh.”
“You did. It was dramatic. I felt secondhand embarrassment.”
I pressed my fingers to my temple. “It’s nothing.”

Taku tilted his head. “…Family stuff?”

“…Kind of.”

He paused. Like, actually paused. That almost scared me more than his jokes.

“…Ah. Yeah, that kind of stuff sucks,” he muttered, then immediately ruined the moment. “But hey, at least your mom likes me more than you.”

“That doesn’t help.”

Before he could say something worse, the classroom door slid open with that awful squeak.

Our homeroom teacher walked in, carrying a stack of papers and the aura of someone who hated mornings as much as we did.

“Settle down,” he said, even though no one was standing.

He put his bag down, wrote something on the board, then turned around.

“We’ll be having a transfer student joining our class today.”

The atmosphere instantly shifted. Chairs creaked. Everyone whispering to each other, “No way.”

“She’ll be joining us from the United Kingdom.”

The room froze for half a second. Then exploded.

“…Huh?”

“UK?”

“British?”

The whispers kept on multiplying.

Taku leaned over again. “British girl. Imagine the accent.”

“Don’t,” I muttered.

He smirked. “She’ll call you ‘bloody idiot’ and you’ll fall in love instantly.”

“I will not.”

“You absolutely will.”

The teacher turned toward the door. “Please behave yourselves.”

The handle clicked.

For some reason, my stomach tightened.
Not excitement-tightened.
More like teacher remembered yesterday’s homework exists tightened.

The door started to open.

And in walked a disruption.

She had hair the color of sunlight filtered through glass, tied loosely so a few strands escaped like they didn’t believe in rules. Her eyes scanned the classroom, cautious but curious, like she was stepping onto a stage she didn’t ask for but somehow owned anyway.

For a moment, no one breathed.

Then reality resumed, but awkwardly.

She walked to the front, heels soft against the floor, and stood beside the teacher. He cleared his throat, already defeated by teenage attention spans.

“Introduce yourself.”

She nodded, hands clasped in front of her.

“Hello. I’m Charlotte,” she said, her accent gentle, like words had been dipped in honey first. “I moved here from the UK. I like chocolate cake… and my little sister.”

A pause. Then a small smile.
“I hope we get along.”

That was enough.

Several boys died on the spot. Not physically. Spiritually.

The teacher pointed at an empty seat.

“…You can sit there.”

There.

Next to me.

Of course.

She walked over and sat down, placing her bag neatly under the desk. For a second, she glanced at me and gave a polite nod. I returned something that might have been a nod if you squinted.

Then the class descended on her like seagulls on fries.

“Your hair is natural?”
“Is the UK really that rainy?”
“What makeup do you use?”
“Is your sister cute?”
“Do you have LINE? Instagram? TikTok? Literally any form of contact that validates my existence?”

Boys hovered on one side. Girls on the other. Someone offered snacks like a peace treaty.

I remained seated, watching the social hurricane unfold.

Haku leaned over, eyes glittering with narrative ambition.
“Bro. You realize you’re the Brotagonist now, right?”

“…What.”
“Transfer student, blonde, next to you. Bro, the algorithm chose you.”

I glanced at him. “What do you think this is, a rom-com web novel?”

He shrugged. “Whatever. Just don’t forget me when you marry into British royalty.”

“…She’s not royalty.”

“Yet. For all you know her dad owns Big Ben.”

I sighed. “Go bother someone else.”

He grinned and stood up. “Fine. I’m going to learn how to say ‘bloody hell’ properly and secure diplomatic relations.”

He vanished into the crowd, immediately asking if everyone in the UK says “innit” and if they actually drink tea when stressed.

Charlotte laughed. The class loved her more.

I didn’t move.

I just turned my head and stared out the window.

The sky was stupidly blue. The kind that pretends nothing complicated exists.

By the time school ended, it had burned into orange, the kind of orange that looks warm from far away but somehow still feels empty up close. Like the world was trying too hard to look peaceful.

Classes ended. People laughed. Charlotte got surrounded like a celebrity cameo. Taku launched himself into the chaos like a moth into a British-flavored campfire.

And I walked home.

Because that’s what you do when you don’t know what else to do.

People lose interest eventually.

That was just how things worked.
Friends, crushes, promises, entire worlds. They all eroded quietly, like sand being carried off grain by grain. No explosions. No drama. Just… gone.

Maybe that’s why today felt so stupidly loud.

I kicked a pebble on the sidewalk and watched it roll ahead of me, then fall into a crack and disappear. Felt about right.

The crossroad came into view.

Red light.

Cars idling. Pedestrians waiting. Ordinary life doing ordinary things.

Then I noticed her.

A small girl standing at the corner, clutching the strap of an oversized backpack that looked like it was trying to drag her into the ground. Blonde hair tied loosely, a little messy like someone had tried and failed to tame it in the morning. Her shoes had light-up soles. They blinked when she shifted her weight, one foot to the other.

She looked… tiny.

Like the kind of kid who still believed traffic lights were absolute laws of the universe and teachers were minor gods. The kind who probably still had stickers on her notebooks and a pencil case with cartoon animals.

I frowned.

“Parents just letting their kid wander around like that now?” I muttered under my breath.

The pedestrian light turned green.

She stepped forward, a bit hesitant, like she was counting the stripes on the road as she walked.

I moved too, crossing to the left, not really paying attention. Just another day, another walk, another—

Then I heard it.

An engine.
Not the normal slow rumble of someone approaching a red light.

This one was wrong.

Too fast. Too loud. No deceleration. No hesitation.

My head snapped up.

A car was tearing through the intersection, the driver’s face pale, hands jerking at the wheel. The light was red. Everyone else had stopped.

This one didn't.

For a second, my brain refused to process it.
Then everything clicked at once, ugly and clear.

The brakes are gone.

My chest tightened.

The girl was already halfway across, counting stripes like the road was a math problem. She didn’t notice. Of course she didn’t.

I didn’t think.

Didn’t weigh the odds.
Didn’t imagine headlines or funerals or dramatic speeches.

I just turned left and ran.

“Hey—!”

My hand caught the strap of her backpack and shoved.

She stumbled, shoes flashing in panic, body tipping sideways like a knocked-over signboard. She hit the pavement, hard, but out of the lane.

Good.

That was all I managed to register before the world folded in on itself.

The impact didn’t feel like getting hit by a car.
It felt like the sky collapsing into my ribs.

Sound vanished first. Like someone pressed mute on a remote.
Then pain arrived, not sharp, not clean. Just everywhere. In my legs. My chest. My head. My fingers. Places I didn’t even know could hurt.

My vision exploded into white static, then red sparks. The ground rushed up, or maybe I dropped down. Gravity felt optional at this point.

Did I push her far enough?

That thought repeated, looping like a scratched record.

I heard screaming. Someone yelling. My name? Her name? It dissolved into noise I couldn't quite understand.

Footsteps. Fast. Panicked.

A blur of bright hair entered my vision. Gold? White? Sunlight poured into human shape. I couldn’t focus on her face, but I knew she was shouting something.

Her voice sounded far away, like it was coming from underwater.

My fingers twitched. My eyes refused to cooperate.

Please tell me I saved her.

That was the last thing that mattered.

The lights slowly dimmed, colors draining like spilled ink. The orange sky collapsed into black, the shouting into silence.

And just like that, Tuesday finished what it started.