When Comfort Stopped Being Enough

Today is February 27. My birthday has come. A celebration is expected, especially since I’ll be entering kindergarten soon. I am four years old now.

Honoka is disastrously overjoyed about my coming of age.

“Happy Birthday, Shinso!” my family greets me in chorus.

“Th-thank you!” I reply shyly.

“So-chan, what’s your wish?” she asks, her face lit up with a wide smile.

“I’m not telling!” I puff my cheeks and put on a smug face.

“That’s cruel!” she laughs. “Come on, tell me! Tell your nee-san!”

“You’re persistent, nee-san!” I protest.

My parents laugh along with us. Their smiles are warm—so warm it almost feels like something I could lean against. As I watch them, a quiet thought crosses my mind.

How long will this last?

“So-chan,” Honoka says more softly, “I wish I could be with you in school. But when you go to kindergarten, nee-san will already be in elementary.”

She really is earnest. I can feel how much she cares about me—about my well-being. Compared to what I experienced in my previous life, this feels like peak happiness.

And yet… the thought of school makes my chest tighten.

Socialization has never been my strength. I’m bad at it—awkward, unsure, always a step behind. After all, I’ve always been an introvert.

“So-chan!” Mom calls out as she brings something over. She opens a package and reveals my uniform.

“Isn’t it cute?” she asks, smiling brightly.

“It’s cute! It suits you so well, So-chan!” Honoka adds proudly.

“Shinso,” Dad says, “are you excited about starting school?”

I stare at the uniform in silence.

My mind goes blank, then suddenly starts racing. It feels like I’ve been flatlined and shocked back to life all at once. Things are going to change. I’ve grown comfortable here—and soon, that comfort will be gone.

I repeat my mantra in my head, as if clinging to it.

Everything will be okay.

“Shinso?” Dad calls again, concern creeping into his voice. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

I take a breath. Slowly, I calm myself down.

“Yes. I’m okay, Dad. Thank you,” I say. “I’m… excited.”

Honoka notices immediately.

“It’s going to be okay, So-chan,” she says with a smile that feels impossibly bright. “I’ll support you!”

She can’t be that sharp. She’s just being normal—right? Maybe I’m overthinking it. A kid couldn’t possibly see through me like that.

Still, something has shifted.

This comfort isn’t gone. Not yet. But it no longer feels permanent. And if I stay like this forever, I might lose something I haven’t even learned how to name.

So I tell myself it’s something to look forward to.

For now, that will be enough.

April arrives quietly.

My uniform is laid out neatly beside my bag. The smell of breakfast drifts up the stairs—warm, familiar. Mom is already cooking.

I don’t want to brag, but her cooking is good. In my previous life, I avoided vegetables whenever I could. Somehow, she makes them disappear into flavors I don’t mind.

When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I stop.

Honoka is there.

She’s wearing her elementary school uniform.

“Nee-san, you look pretty!” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

“Right?” she says proudly. “I know I am.”

She spins once, pleased with herself.

I smile, but my legs feel unsteady.

Going outside. Meeting people. A classroom I don’t know.

Excitement stirs somewhere in my chest—but the weight doesn’t leave.

“So-chan,” Honoka says, tilting her head. “Why are you looking down?”

“I’m not,” I answer too quickly. “I was just thinking… we won’t see each other as much anymore.”

Her eyes widen.

“So-chan is clingy!” she laughs.

I look away. Glad the lie works.

Maybe she really is sharp. Or maybe she’s just honest in a way I’ve forgotten how to be.

“Ho-chan, your bento!” Mom calls from the kitchen.

Honoka grabs it happily.

Then Mom turns to me.

“So-chan, get ready. We’re going to school.”

My chest tightens.

I nod anyway

I tie my shoes on my own.

Mom freezes.

“Oh—you know how to do that already?” she says, blinking. “I was hoping I could teach you first and beat your dad at it.”

She looks genuinely disappointed.

“Ah,” I say quickly. “I watched it on YouTube.”

That was the wrong answer.

Mom stares at me, quiet and searching, like she’s trying to look past my words and find something underneath.

Then she smiles.

“Anyway,” she says, clapping her hands lightly, “I prepared your bento. Let me walk you to school.”

Outside, the street feels familiar.

Houses I recognize. Corners Honoka once dragged me past. Nothing here is new—yet my steps feel heavier with every block.

I want to stop.
I want to turn back.
I want to run.

But I know better.

Everything will be okay.

I repeat it like a spell.

Suddenly, Mom squeezes my hand and kneels down in front of me.

“My little So-chan,” she says softly, brushing my hair back, “you look scared.”

She pats my head gently.

“It’s okay,” she continues, smiling. “The world out there is brand new. Everyone feels afraid the first time. That just means you’re growing.”

I nod.

“You’ll be fine,” she says.

I know.

But this isn’t a new world.

It’s the same one—just smaller.
And this is the beginning of everything I don’t want to feel again.

I don’t want to meet new people.

The school gate looks enormous from down here.

Children are crying everywhere—clutching sleeves, screaming names, refusing to let go. Parents crouch, coax, promise, lie. The noise overlaps into something almost physical.

My mom watches me closely.

“Mmm… so So-chan won’t cry?” she asks, tilting her head. “I was prepared for this after Hono-chan.” She taps her chin thoughtfully, then smiles. “My So-chan is brave!”

I blink, surprised.

I never said I was brave.
But I don’t correct her.

“Mom,” I say, trying to sound like a kid, “I’ll behave. Just cook my favorite food when I get home.”

She laughs softly. “I’ll think about it, So-chan. Do your best, okay?”

I nod.

The classroom is packed with small bodies and big emotions. I sit where I won’t stand out—near the middle. Close enough to look involved. Far enough to be left alone.

One girl has been crying nonstop for ten minutes.

I’m honestly impressed by her stamina.

The teacher is busy calming down three others, so I move without thinking. I crouch beside the girl and gently pat her head, just like I’ve seen adults do.

“It’s okay,” I say quietly. “Don’t cry anymore. Your parents will come back later. They love you.”

She hiccups.

“…Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

She sniffles hard, then nods.

“My name is Hisame Shinso. What’s yours?”

“Koharu,” she says, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “Yamamoto Koharu.”

The teacher notices us and smiles. “Oh! You did well. You made her stop crying.”

Pfft.
It feels like I just did your job.

“Koharu-chan,” I say, standing up and forcing my lips into a bright smile, “let’s go play with the others.”

“Okay!”

She runs off, already laughing, as if she hadn’t been crying at all a moment ago.

I sit back down.

I’m bored.

A tug on my sleeve.

“Aren’t you going to play, Shinso-kun?”

Koharu is back, looking at me expectantly.

“…What are we playing?” I ask.

Her face lights up instantly—completely different from earlier.

“This puzzle!” she says, dragging it over. “Can you help me?”

I nod and sit beside her.

The pieces click together easily.

Too easily.

Around us, children laugh, argue, cry, forgive. Everything is loud and honest and fleeting.

I help because it’s simple.
Because it works.
Not because I feel close.

Still, Koharu hums quietly beside me as we finish the puzzle.

I let the day pass. I am really looking forward to read novels or manga.

“So-chan! How’s school!” Honoka running to me and asking how it went.

“It’s okay! I guess, everyone is crying though.” I mumbled.

“So-chan didn’t cry? My lil’ bro is brave!” Honoka exclaimed while she pulled my hand up and down.

My mom cooked me my favorite food that time. It’s burger steak. Not really my favorite food. But I do really need to have it since I need to act like a kid.

“Hono-chan! You better prepare the plates now since we will be having dinner!” my mom says.

Suddenly, the door opened and my dad came through.

“I’m home!” My dad exclaimed.

“Welcome home dad!” Everyone yelled including me.

So we have dinner and everyone is expected to share stories at that point. I still remained quiet since Honoka is speaking regarding her experience as an elementary student. She says she made a lot of friends and some of them walk with her together. Which is definitely fun building socially.

Ah, that must be nice. I never really befriend much before. Since most of my friends actually live in a different city.

As we finished the food, there’s a lingering feeling that tells me that I’m bored. Is this much I can do right now? I kind of know now how will it go. Like having playmates in the play ground as we mostly do right now is just playing and knowing what’s right.

It doesn’t make any sense to me.

By the middle of the school year, I can walk properly now.

Koharu, meanwhile, has become a social butterfly. Which is actually nice.
Of course, that also means she pulls me everywhere she wants.

She’s too forceful.

I thought people here were more restrained, but she shows absolutely no restraint.

“Let’s go there, Shinsooooo!” Koharu exclaims, tugging my arm. “I want to show you something nice!”

She drags me over to a group of kids around our age.

Ishikawa Souta.

Even as a child, he gives off a popular air. It’s easy to tell—he talks easily, smiles naturally, and people respond to him without hesitation.

He’ll probably grow up charismatic. Maybe even cool.

…Stop that. I’m getting drawn in too.

Anyway.

Koharu leads me over to him—and another kid.

Saionji Shion.

She’s loud. A loud-mouthed ojou-sama type. The kind whose presence alone feels authoritative. You can tell immediately—her tone, her posture, the way she speaks without waiting for permission.

She’s filthy rich, too. Sometimes we play in the yard of her house. Not a garden—a yard. Wide, clean, almost excessive.

She’s one of those socialites.

“Oh! They’re making paper cranes.”

That’s… kind of cool.

“Look, Shinso! We’re making paper cranes. Won’t you join?” Koharu asks.

“You’re too quiet, Shinso. At least join us,” Souta says, smiling.

“Hmph. You’re quiet again today. I want us to play together,” Shion adds.

…What is she? A tsundere?

“Of course,” I say. “I’m just a little shy. But I’m really glad you invited me.”

They teach me how to fold paper cranes.

It’s impressive. You don’t realize what people can do with a single sheet of paper until you see it done properly. Origami is fascinating when it’s executed well.

This is where I belong—for now.

I understand who leads.
Who follows.
Who connects.

I understand these dynamics easily.

But even so—

I’m bored.

Sometimes I observe the people here and forget that these are children—honest to a fault. Yet I occasionally catch something in the teacher’s eyes. A tightness. A frustration carefully held back while they try to stay kind.

This must be what peak humanity looks like—when people still choose restraint.

When mistakes pile up, I expect an outburst.

But it never comes.

That surprises me, just a little.

The teacher praises me. Tells me I did a good job.

It still feels empty.

But the other kids light up when they’re praised. Koharu even brags about it later. She’s unbearably smug.

It makes me smirk. Then laugh.

I remember when she was a crybaby.

Now look at her—emotionally grounded. Still rough around the edges, but clearly growing.

Promising.

…I guess this is what growing up means.

Time passes, and before I realize it, I’m moving on to elementary school.

I’ve made some solid friends along the way.
The question is—will they stay, if I’m like this?

What would happen if they found out I’m not really Shinso?
That I’m someone different, yet the same to them.

My previous life feels distant.
And yet, uncomfortably close.

Sometimes, when my parents argue, I can see solutions so clearly. Simple ones. Easy ones. I want to say something—to step in.

But would they even believe a child?

“So-chan! We’re going to the same school?” Honoka says excitedly. “Hehe, I’m looking forward to walking with you!”

“Mmm… but Nee-san,” I say, tapping my chin, “I think my friends might want to walk with me when I start elementary.” I glance at her. “Don’t you have friends too, Nee-san?”

“That’s rude!” she exclaims. “Of course I have friends!” Then she huffs. “They just live in a different direction from our house. But I can walk you and your friends too!”

She smiles smugly.

I nod.

Relying on Nee-san from time to time doesn’t sound so bad. She’s surprisingly reliable. Sometimes.

There was even a time she tried to cook for me. She didn’t know how. She failed spectacularly. Mom scolded her while I laughed.

When I said “thank you,” she looked dejected for a moment—

Then smiled brightly.

I wonder now how long that honest smile will last.

This should be a day to remember.

Happy smiles fill the crowd. Parents take pictures, laughing, calling out names as their children step forward. Mine are no different. Mom and Dad are smiling brightly, cameras ready.

I smile back—big and wide, like a child should.

A child’s smile is easy to fake.
Lift the corners of your mouth just enough, and everyone is satisfied.

“So-chan! Smile!” Mom shouts.

Of course I smile and wave.

From a distance, we probably look like the perfect family.

“So-chan, so cool!” Nee-san exclaims.

I have a feeling she’ll become a doting sister later on. I hope not. There’s still room for improvement. I also hope she doesn’t go through a rebellious phase.

Names are called onstage, one by one. Cheers and applause follow each.

First is Koharu. She smiles brightly—natural and effortless, just like the perfect girl she is.

Then Shion. She smiles smugly, as if everyone around her is a plebeian. Annoying—but she’s not a bad person.

Next is Souta.

He’s promising. I remember how he led us during a game of Onigokko. He noticed my weak stamina and adjusted the plan without making it obvious. No one treated me like a burden.

What a cool guy.

…Ah. I’m getting drawn in again.

Then my name is called.

“Hisame Shinso.”

I step forward and receive something like a diploma. I bow.

“Congratulations, Shinso-kun! It’s going to be lonely without you!”

I nod.

I’m not sure what I did to earn that. Maybe I stopped fights before they escalated. Maybe I listened. Maybe I was just convenient.

Honestly, it feels like the teacher passed part of her job to me.

That’s frustrating.

I should get paid.

Anyway, I bow again and return to my parents. They take picture after picture—me alone, me with Honoka, then all four of us together.

Before we leave, Koharu, Souta, and Shion come over.

“We’re going to the same school!” Koharu exclaims. “It’ll be fun!”

“I agree,” Souta says. “I’m excited.”

“It’s not like I want to be with you guys,” Shion adds, smiling smugly. “But since we will be together… take care of me.”

This girl is definitely a tsundere.

I smile and nod.

We cheer together like children do, then return to our parents and go our separate ways.

“Are you excited about elementary school, So-chan?” Honoka asks.

“I am,” I say, smiling at her.

I’m still here with everyone—for now.

But I wonder.

Will they leave?
Or will they stay?

Maybe I’ll be the one who leaves.

I don’t know.

All I know is that something about what comes next unsettles me.