Kurono's Dream:
A thin shaft of golden light pierced through the gap in the curtains, dancing over the bridge of Kurono Mao's nose like a wand trailing soft fire. The warmth kissed his face and gently tugged him upward from the velvet depths of sleep.
His first thought was vague, cottony, and pleasant — something about staying under the covers just five more minutes. The bed felt impossibly warm, as if enchanted to trap dreamers forever in its cozy folds. His legs were wrapped like burritos in the duvet, one arm limply flung over his head, the other tucked beneath the pillow that smelled faintly of laundry detergent and safety.
He sighed contentedly, on the edge of slumber once more when—
"Wake up!"
The voice sliced through the stillness like a cold wind on a spring morning. And a second later, the actual cold wind followed, for the blanket had been ruthlessly yanked away.
"Uoaaaah! Enemy attack?!" Kurono blurted, arms flailing as if he'd been launched from a catapult.
"Who on earth are you fighting with?" came a drier, amused voice — just faintly tinged with exasperation.
Standing at the foot of his bed, in all her magnificent, imperious glory, was his mother.
The sleepiness drained out of Kurono's body like water from a cracked basin. He sat up, blinking, heart still hammering from the adrenaline. The world sharpened quickly, and in the mild clutter of his room — books stacked unevenly on the desk, a pair of trousers hanging from a chair, and posters clinging to the walls like half-forgotten dreams — she stood like a character from a different story.
She was tall, nearly statuesque, with a curtain of glossy black hair falling to her waist. Her eyes were sharp, alert — the kind of eyes that missed nothing and forgave little. Her apron was neatly tied around her waist, and somehow even that domestic symbol couldn't soften the force of her presence.
Kurono often thought that if she ever stepped onto a catwalk, half the audience would fall in love and the other half would kneel in worship. She was the kind of beautiful that didn't seem real — until she opened her mouth and reminded you that she could still tell you to scrub the dishes or mop the floors.
"Morning, Mum," he mumbled, running a hand through his bed-flattened hair.
"Morning. Breakfast's ready. Everyone else is already at the table," she said crisply before turning on her heel and disappearing down the hall. The door swung open in her wake, letting the cold in like an uninvited guest.
"At least close the door," Kurono muttered, swinging his legs off the bed and shivering. The watch on his wrist read 6:50 AM, which to any normal high school student without early practice or unreasonable ambition, felt like an act of war.
Still, with his mother awake and breakfast on the table, there was no use pretending he could crawl back into dreamland.
"Oh well, let's get on with it," he sighed and began the reluctant business of getting ready.
Downstairs, the house was already alive. The smell of grilled fish and miso soup lingered in the air. Sunlight spilled through the windows, warming the wooden floors, and somewhere in the kitchen, a radio was humming a tune from two decades ago.
Kurono washed up, brushed his teeth with bleary resignation, and finally stepped into the dining room, still adjusting the collar of his uniform.
"Morning," he called.
Two heads turned to greet him.
"Morning," said his father, smiling behind a newspaper.
Kurono had often thought his father must be cursed — or blessed — by some kind of time-stopping magic. He looked impossibly young for a man nearing his thirties. With his soft brown hair, gentle eyes, and frame that barely seemed larger than Kurono's own, he could easily pass for someone in university — or younger, if you weren't paying attention.
It was almost criminal, Kurono thought, how unfairly youthful both his parents were. In fact, he sometimes wondered if by the time he graduated, he'd look older than his dad. The idea both amused and mildly terrified him.
----------------
"Oh, by the way," he thought to himself as he slipped on his coat, "I'm somewhat tall — nothing like my short-figured father."
In fact, Kurono looked nothing like his father.
Where his father was small and unthreatening, all boyish charm and soft features, Kurono was tall — imposingly so, brushing just past 183 centimeters, with the kind of frame that cast long shadows in narrow hallways. He had inherited his mother's sharp eyes, eyes that could slice through excuses and lies like knives through silk. But unlike her, whose beauty carried both steel and grace, his gaze had none of the warmth. Cold. Intimidating. Demon-like — or so others often said behind their hands.
He didn't blame them, not really. His face, no matter how neutral, always looked like it was preparing for a duel. Villainous, one classmate had once whispered. He hadn't even been angry that time.
And so, Kurono lived with the awkward contradiction of being seen but never approached. Respected from a distance. Misunderstood by proximity.
"Morning, Mao."
A delicate voice broke the spiral of his thoughts. He turned slightly, and there she was — Mana, his younger sister, the exact opposite of everything he was.
If Kurono was a brooding shadow in a storm, Mana was sunlight glittering off dew. She had inherited their father's charm in its entirety — petite, soft-featured, with a vulnerability that made even stray cats want to protect her.
Twin tails framed her pale cheeks, and her black hair shimmered in the kitchen light as she looked up from her rice bowl.
"Are you making bento today too?" Kurono asked, watching her cheeks turn just faintly pink.
"Ah… yea," she answered, her eyes tilting downward in a way that suggested shyness — or perhaps excitement barely restrained.
Kurono's lips twitched into the ghost of a smile. For all her deadpan expressions, Mana had recently become very expressive — in her own quiet way. It didn't take a divination class to guess why.
She had a boyfriend now. Her first, in fact.
Kurono wasn't sure what to think of it. Part of him felt a pang of protectiveness — irrational, unnecessary, older-brother-instincts bristling to life. The other part, quieter and deeper, felt something akin to envy — not of the boy, but of the connection. The affection. The warmth that bloomed in others like spring flowers while his own heart remained... winter.
"Oh well," he thought, brushing the feeling aside like crumbs from his sleeve. "Someday the day I'd get a girlfriend will come too. Maybe. Most likely. Probably. Hopefully."
Breakfast tasted a bit more like salt than it had before.
Still, he finished it, stood, and carefully scraped his dishes clean. The rice had been soft. The miso had something extra in it — mushrooms maybe, or a faint spice. It was easy to forget the taste when your thoughts chewed louder than your mouth.
"You going now?" Mana asked.
"Yeah. It's raining, so I'm taking the bus."
He tried not to groan at the thought of it. The bus stop was almost a journey in itself — tucked away behind the old shrine and halfway up the hill, where umbrellas turned into kites and shoes soaked through before the second turn.
"I see. It's quite far," Mana nodded, her voice laced with sympathy.
Kurono zipped up his coat, checked for his umbrella, and was halfway to the door when—
"Hey, don't forget this bento," his mother called, holding out the neatly wrapped lunch.
He accepted it with a quiet "Thanks," and slipped it into his bag with the sort of care usually reserved for rare spell ingredients. She'd wrapped it in the patterned cloth again — navy blue with white cranes. His name was stitched into the corner. A small thing. But it felt like home.
"I'm going."
The words echoed through the corridor as he stepped out, umbrella unfolding with a soft shunk.
Rain fell in gentle sheets, whispering over rooftops and soaking the morning air in cold. As the door clicked shut behind him, Kurono pulled the collar of his coat higher and started down the familiar path.
The smell of petrichor filled his nose. The sky was dull, almost too quiet. And though his family's warmth lingered behind him like a spell not yet broken, something in the air — in the deepening hush of the rain — felt different.
---------------
The bus jolted to a halt with a wet hiss, spraying water from its tyres as it pulled up to the stop across from the school gates. I stepped off carefully, my worn sneakers splashing into a shallow puddle, the cold bite of early rain immediately reaching through my socks. Above me, my large black umbrella bloomed open like a cautious shield, the rain drumming against it in steady rhythm.
Before I could reach the school grounds, there was still one more obstacle — the long crossroad that separated the sleepy residential district from the large open courtyard of the school. And at that very moment, the traffic light blinked red, its warning unwavering in the thick downpour.
I joined a small gathering of students waiting under a patchwork canopy of umbrellas. Raindrops pattered off the colourful tops, splashing boots and bags alike. We huddled like mismatched mushrooms around the crossing. More students trickled in behind me, their voices hushed beneath the roar of the rain, each of them silently calculating how late they could afford to be without being noticed by the gatekeeper.
That was when I saw her.
Amidst the sea of grey uniforms and sagging backpacks, she stood out like a lone candle in a dark corridor. Her figure was slim, delicate almost, and the dark-blue umbrella she held seemed absurdly large in her small, gloved hands. Where others blended into the wet, colourless crowd, she stood apart — not because she tried to — but because she simply was different.
Her hair, flaxen-gold and impossibly long, spilled over her shoulders like threads of woven sunlight, clinging gently to her back and glistening softly in the morning drizzle. It shimmered like something from another world. Even in a crowd, she had that rare, quiet presence — the kind that turned heads without ever asking to.
She was speaking with another girl — likely a classmate. Their steps were in sync, their quiet conversation warm and familiar. But then they stopped, right beside me, their words dying mid-sentence. I realised, too late, that I was the one blocking their path — or rather, the red light had placed me directly in their way.
"Ah."
"Uh."
Our eyes met.
It wasn't deliberate. Just an accident of timing. But in that brief second, the world around me slowed as if someone had cast a charm of stillness.
Her eyes were large, almost too round, framed by lashes that looked like they had been hand-painted by the gods themselves. There was no exaggeration in them — they simply were beautiful. The kind of eyes that could rewrite your mood with a glance. They seemed to peer gently into me — not judging, not questioning, just seeing.
Her skin was pale, almost translucent, with a porcelain purity that didn't look fragile but rather untouchable. A straight nose, soft pink lips, and a face that seemed untouched by the awkwardness most of us bore at this age. She looked like someone who had wandered out of a painting and gotten lost on her way to somewhere far more elegant.
She wore the school uniform immaculately — not in the stiff, overly formal way that screamed for attention, but with the kind of unconscious grace that said she didn't need to try. Even the ribbons in her hair sat perfectly, obedient to some hidden charm.
Of course I knew her. Shirazaki Yuriko. A fellow member of the Literature Club. We weren't friends — not quite — but we knew each other, the way quiet people tend to recognise each other in busy places.
I swallowed, the words catching like thorns in my throat before finally escaping.
"Good morning, Shirazaki-san."
She blinked once, caught by surprise, then offered a soft reply.
"Ah, good… good morning, Kurono-kun."
It was enough. It should have been enough. We had fulfilled the social contract. A brief exchange, courteous and polite — and now we would go our separate ways. Her friend, who had been watching me with the kind of suspicion usually reserved for strange men on night trains, would turn her away and they'd resume their conversation.
But Shirazaki didn't turn.
She stood there, under her umbrella, her lips parting as if to speak again. Something hung in the air — an invisible thread stretched between us, fragile and delicate, threatening to snap or hold, depending on what came next.
"...."
She said nothing.
And I said nothing.
The silence was… unbearable. I towered over her — nearly thirty centimetres taller — and though I shifted slightly to make the distance less imposing, the effect was the same. It looked like I was looming, questioning, intimidating.
Great, I thought bitterly. From the outside, this probably looks like I'm grilling her for a confession.
Then, just as she took a breath, just as her lips shaped the start of a sentence—
"Let's go, Yuriko!"
Her friend pulled her sharply by the arm, dragging her away with the force of someone yanking a friend out of a bad date. Shirazaki glanced back once — her expression unreadable — before being swallowed up by the tide of students now surging across the green-lit crosswalk.
I remained rooted to the spot, still under my umbrella, staring after her like a boy who had just seen something precious slip through the cracks of an ordinary morning.
"…What, are we going to do something different for today's club activity?"
The words escaped me in a mutter, more to fill the silence in my head than anything else. My breath misted in the chill air, curling beneath the edge of my umbrella as if even it was unsure of where to go.
There was no reason — no reason at all — that Shirazaki Yuriko would go out of her way to speak to me unless it concerned our shared responsibility in the Literature Club. She wasn't the type to indulge in idle chatter. Every word she offered in our meetings was weighed and chosen with the precision of a poet. Calm. Reserved. Detached, almost. A girl built of careful pauses and perfectly measured replies.
If she had something to say earlier, it was probably about the club. Maybe today's meeting was cancelled. Or maybe the time had changed. Or maybe she needed help with something, and then — when her friend appeared — she lost her chance to say it.
"…Oh well," I said aloud again, forcing a shrug that fooled absolutely no one — least of all myself. "I'll know when I go later."
But the thought clung to me, heavy as the damp sleeves of my school blazer.
What I couldn't shake — more than the half-formed conversation, more than Shirazaki's silence — was the look her friend had given me. Not the usual curious glance, not even a dismissive flick of the eyes that some girls used as a shield. No, this was something else entirely.
That look had teeth.
Her expression had held such clear-cut hostility it was almost impressive — like she had decided, somewhere between brushing her hair and zipping her bag this morning, that I was an enemy of the state and she was the secret police.
It cracked something inside me. Just a small thing. But it cracked nonetheless.
A dull ache settled behind my ribs, where confidence was supposed to live. It wasn't unfamiliar — I'd felt it many times before, in crowded rooms where people passed me like furniture, in conversations I wasn't invited into, in the clubroom when I spoke and she politely nodded, never really meeting my gaze.
But this time it felt more final. More… real.
Because Shirazaki herself had barely looked at me. Not even the barest twitch of eye contact. Not the usual slight bow of acknowledgement, the tiny nod of shared club-member camaraderie. Just an awkward, stammered greeting, spoken like a spell she had to cast before turning away.
And that — that was the part that hurt the most.
It wasn't the coldness. It was the fact that it had never been warm to begin with. That I had imagined a closeness where none existed. That maybe, all this time, I'd been projecting the light of friendship onto a blank wall.
"I guess…" I whispered, the words like old paper tearing, "she really does hate me."
The truth of it struck with quiet precision.
No dramatic sting, no gasping realization.
Just a quiet, dull understanding — like discovering your favourite book had a missing last page, and it had always been that way.
-------------------
To say that today's lesson wasn't boring would be, perhaps, a controversial opinion. But I, Kurono Mao, stand by it. There was something oddly comforting about the scratch of chalk on the board, the soft drone of the teacher's voice, and the smell of old paper and rain lingering in the air like a memory.
If one paid close attention — and I mean really listened — the structure of classical literature unfolded with the steady elegance of an ancient dance. With enough sleep and a decent breakfast, it wasn't impossible to keep up. In fact, it could even be — dare I say — enjoyable.
However, this ideal scenario crumbled swiftly if you entered the room running on fumes. Then, no matter how inspired the lesson, every word that slipped from the teacher's mouth seemed less like instruction and more like an incantation — one designed to lull students into sweet, oblivious slumber.
And today, the one who succumbed wasn't me.
"Hey, Kurono, lend me your notes," came a voice from behind, followed by a yawn and the unmistakable crinkle of a just-unwrapped convenience store onigiri.
I turned to face the source: Saika Youta, the proud owner of the most casual grin in the room and, regrettably, the laziest set of eyelids.
"I don't mind," I said, sliding my notebook over my shoulder, "but you know you really shouldn't be sleeping all the way through to fourth period."
My tone was half-chiding, half-resigned. I'd copied the board diligently, even managing to underline important lines and add a few margin notes. He, meanwhile, had mastered the noble art of desk-napping.
"Thanks! But I was up late last night, so I couldn't help it." His sheepish laugh — not quite apologetic, not quite ashamed — ruffled the air between us.
Saika Youta was a peculiar creature. Neither tall nor short, not thin nor broad — the very definition of average at a glance. But speak with him for more than five minutes, and you'd realize he was as far from average as one could get. A connoisseur of galge (dating simulation games), he possessed encyclopedic knowledge of virtual heroines, obscure late-night anime references, and plot twists no one else had even heard of.
"So," I asked as I opened my bento, "did you at least finish it last night?"
He brightened. "Well, not exactly. It's actually kind of hard to get into the heroines' routes. At first, I thought I could just max out one girl's affection points, but apparently, if you neglect the others, they get jealous and wreck your chances."
By now, I had stopped wondering if I should be surprised. The moment the phrase 'heroines' routes' entered a conversation, you knew exactly where it was heading.
"Then there's this one sub-route where the tsundere actually softens up by episode four if you give her the parfait and—well, anyway, I spent more time than I thought, and then I stayed up watching Mystic Echoes: Refrain of Dawn. Couldn't miss it. I mean, you have to watch it live to feel the magic."
"You do know you can record it, right?" I said, chewing on a piece of tamagoyaki.
Saika recoiled as if I'd insulted his family. "Record it? No, no, no. You have to experience the anime in real time! It's like being connected to every other fan across the country. The tension, the heartbreak — it's sacred!"
I merely nodded. Some battles weren't worth fighting.
Then, as if remembering a delicious piece of gossip, Saika leaned in, lowering his voice but not his enthusiasm.
"Oh yeah, by the way. I heard about this morning."
I paused mid-bite. "Heard what?"
"You came to school with Shirazaki."
"No, no, definitely not like that," I said quickly, perhaps a little too quickly.
"It's fine, Kurono. You don't have to keep that 'thick character' act with me." His smirk was practically vibrating with imagined drama.
"Who the hell is acting?" I snapped. "I'm not polishing some mysterious protagonist persona here."
"I saw it. Right there at the crossing. You two, gazing into each other's eyes like a scene straight out of Heartstrings of Sakura Hill. I'm so jealous I could die. Why don't I ever get eroge-style encounters in real life?!"
"Because real life isn't an eroge," I said flatly. "Shirazaki and I just happen to be in the same club, that's all."
"Oh really?" Saika drawled, narrowing his eyes with the dramatic suspicion of a detective in a soap opera.
Honestly, the way he looked at me, you'd think I'd been hiding a love triangle and a family curse.
I could almost see the swirly black vortex spiraling behind his back, like some cursed aura from one of those shows he stayed up to watch.
"Saika," I sighed, stabbing a pickled plum with more force than necessary, "you're beyond saving."
"That's exactly what the protagonist always says, isn't it?" Saika Youta leaned forward in his chair, a wide grin plastered on his face, his hands waving animatedly as if trying to illustrate a point in the air. "They're always like, 'I'm just a regular high school student, unpopular, I don't have that kind of relationship with her,'" he mimicked in a high-pitched voice. "No matter how you look at it, it's so obvious the heroine's affection level is at 100%!"
I couldn't help but roll my eyes, but even so, his words caught me. Saika always had a way of distilling life's little awkwardnesses into something that made them sound absurd. He was always pulling comparisons from dating simulation games, calling my existence an "eroge" event, and frankly, I was getting a little tired of it.
"I already told you, calm down," I said, trying to brush off his enthusiasm with a wave of my hand. "Don't mix fantasy with reality. Let me tell you this: I am not her childhood friend. I never made any kind of important promise with her. She doesn't come to my house every day to wake me up. We don't meet for lunch at the rooftop every noon break. Those kinds of eroge scenes aren't happening at all."
Saika's eyes lit up, his grin widening. "Oh, shut up, Kurono! You got to have a two-shot scene of walking to school together with a beauty like Shirazaki. Isn't that, like, the best thing that ever happens to guys like us?! If you tell me you don't feel anything about that, can you even call yourself a man? A random high school guy would never get an eroge-event like that with a girl!"
I hesitated. His words made a lot of sense, more than I cared to admit. And, despite my efforts to downplay it, I did find it hard to ignore the significance of those brief moments when I exchanged a simple "good morning" with Shirazaki. Those few words, that fleeting interaction, were more precious than anything I could have imagined just a few months ago.
"Well, that's…" I trailed off, rubbing the back of my neck, suddenly unsure of my stance. Maybe he had a point after all.
But even then, I couldn't let myself believe that something as simple as a friendly greeting meant anything more than it was. Shirazaki was just being nice. She wasn't interested in me that way. After all, she was Shirazaki—the brilliant, kind, almost unreachable girl in the Literature Club. People like her didn't get involved with people like me.
"Hang on," I said, trying to refocus the conversation. "If you put it that way, then you should have a chance to talk to girls too, right? Aren't you in the Soccer Club? That cute manager of yours, didn't you chat with her a few times?"
Saika's face turned red, his usual carefree demeanor shifting into one of exaggerated indignation. "You fool! That girl's dating the club captain! And it's not even the first boyfriend; it's the third! I don't want to hear about real girls' love stories!" His voice became a dramatic whisper, as if the very concept of real-world romance was a violation of his fragile otaku sensibilities.
I raised an eyebrow, not sure whether I should be amused or worried for his mental well-being. "Don't be so picky. Isn't it fine as long as she's cute?"
Saika's gaze became severe, his hands clutching his desk like a soldier about to face the battlefield. "Fool! There's no way that girl, who's been through three boyfriends already, is a heroine! She should only exist in those brutal-genre eroge or midday dramas! The ones where nothing good ever happens!"
I shook my head, a smile tugging at my lips despite myself. "Okay, okay, I get it! I understand what you're saying, so calm down, alright? First, sit down. If we keep going at this rate, we'll have half the class eavesdropping, and trust me, this isn't the kind of conversation I want to share with them."
Saika pouted for a moment, but then he slumped back into his chair with a dramatic sigh, looking more like a defeated villain than a friend.
"Fine, fine!" he muttered, crossing his arms. "But if you say a girl with a boyfriend is a no-go, then Shirazaki should be off limits too, right?"
I stared at the window, letting my thoughts drift to Shirazaki. Her image, quiet yet kind, filled my mind. She wasn't like other girls. Her kindness wasn't an act. She wasn't playing a role like those heroines I read about. But then again, who was I to say what she truly felt?
"Shirazaki is a good, kind girl," I murmured, my voice softer than I meant it to be. "She wouldn't show a displeased face even if someone like me talks to her."
I caught myself then, realizing how much I had been thinking about her. She never made eye contact with me, but she didn't avoid me either. In her own way, she was respectful—polite, even. But that was all. Just polite.
"Well, you do look scary," Saika said, breaking my reverie. "And, you know, big."
"I know," I muttered, my mood darkening slightly. "But I'm a bit sensitive about that, so let's not make it a thing, alright?"
"Okay, okay," Saika conceded, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "But still, do you think such a good girl doesn't have a boyfriend? She's not just being kind to you, Kurono. People like her—people who are as nice as she is—they have someone. That's how it works. You think she's treating you special? She's probably just being nice to everyone."
I frowned at the thought, my gaze drifting back to the window, where the faint hint of the sky's afternoon colors started to bleed into the horizon. What if Saika was right? Shirazaki was…different. Too different to just be nice to me for no reason.
"Yeah," I muttered, more to myself than to Saika, "I've heard a few rumors. Some ikemen type stories about her."
Saika looked triumphant. "See? I told you. You're just one of the people she knows at school. There are plenty of others who probably get along better with her than you."
I sighed. Reality really had a way of ruining dreams, didn't it?
"Yeah, reality's a cruel thing," Saika murmured, but the words felt hollow, even to me. "Pretty girls like her? They're just people too. They have their lives, their stories. If there's a nice guy around, I suppose it makes sense she'd fall for him."
"Sounds right," I said with a sigh. "People like Shirazaki? They probably have a boyfriend already…"
"No, I don't."
The voice that interrupted me wasn't Saika's. I could feel my heart rate spike as I registered the smooth, melodic quality of the voice—one I couldn't mistake, though I desperately wished I could.
It couldn't be.
"I really don't have a boyfriend."
My stomach lurched. There she was—Shirazaki. Of all the moments—why did she have to show up right now? Out of all the scenarios where this could go wrong, this was the one that would haunt me.
I blinked, trying to process the reality of the situation. Here I was, sitting in a messy classroom with my best friend, talking about her—albeit, rather carelessly—only for her to suddenly appear at the door. Of course, this would happen.
My mind raced, frantically trying to settle on some coherent response, but nothing seemed to come to me. What was this? A terrible coincidence or some kind of divine joke at my expense? I had to resist the urge to throw my hands up in despair.
"I—uh—Shirazaki-san…" My voice came out a little weaker than I intended. I could feel my throat tightening in a mix of embarrassment and panic. How long had she been standing there? Was it only a moment, or had she heard every word of my blundering, naive speculations?
Her presence was suddenly so overwhelming, and the sound of my own heartbeat was deafening in my ears. She had never come to my class before. Hell, we didn't even eat lunch together on the rooftop like some idealized high school romance. There was no sudden, melodramatic reunion.
This was different.
I could already feel the cold sweat beginning to bead on my forehead, and a faint blush crept up to my cheeks. Was it possible to melt into the floor from sheer mortification? Because that was precisely how I felt.
Wait—no. I needed to calm down. This wasn't like some drama where I had been caught in a lie. I hadn't said anything that cruel, right?
"I… sorry about that. We were just talking about you, and, well, it's not like we meant anything bad by it," I stammered, my voice filled with that awkward unease that came with accidentally saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.
She didn't look angry. That was a small relief, but it didn't change the fact that my heart was pounding so loudly I thought the entire class might hear it. Was this some new form of torture, or was I just being dramatic?
"Oh, it's not like I'm mad or anything. I'm sorry too," she said, her voice light and almost reassuring.
She wasn't mad? Was this some form of self-restraint on her part, or was she genuinely fine with the awkwardness? I couldn't read her face. She kept her head lowered, her hair a curtain that shielded her expression from view. I had no idea what was going through her mind. The silence between us stretched like an uncomfortable void, but it was better than her being angry, I supposed.
"Well, um… that's good to know." I sighed, trying to find some solid ground in this strange encounter. I couldn't believe this was happening.
Saika, of course, had completely checked out. His face was frozen, as if the conversation didn't concern him at all. Typical. He was looking at me with that don't drag me into this expression. Great. Thanks, Saika.
"So, uh, what brings you here?" I asked, trying to get the conversation back on track, though it was a hard task. My brain was still spinning from the surprise.
She looked up slightly, just enough for me to see a hint of her face—still avoiding my eyes. I could almost feel her hesitance as she spoke. "I just wanted to tell you something... from this morning."
I blinked in confusion, trying to shake myself from the whirlwind of thoughts still clashing in my head. Why now? Why couldn't this have happened before the whole accidental confession discussion with Saika?
She continued, almost hesitantly, "There's an important meeting today, for the club."
A club meeting? That was it? That was why she was here—she could've just passed me a note, or heck, even texted me. I frowned, not because I didn't appreciate the effort, but because I couldn't help but feel like there was something more to this interaction. Then again, I was probably just overthinking it.
"Meeting? Okay, got it," I replied, as calmly as I could manage, despite the boiling confusion in my chest.
The truth was, I hadn't heard anything about a meeting yesterday during our club activities. But if she was coming all the way to my class to tell me, it must have been urgent—or at least important enough to warrant this personal visit.
"I'll see you there," she added softly, turning towards the door. Her words lingered in the air as she stepped out, leaving me there to stew in my own thoughts.
I could feel the strange, disconcerting sensation of being caught in some middle ground—neither here nor there. It wasn't like we were talking about deep, life-altering topics, but something about this exchange felt too significant, too strange for me to easily let go of.
As the door clicked shut behind her, I exhaled sharply, trying to shake off the knot in my chest. This was the same conversation I had with her every time, nothing different… right?
But something in the air felt different now.
------------------
"Whew, pretty girls are really something!" Saika finally exhaled, snapping out of his previously frozen state. His voice, now unburdened by the weight of the tension, seemed to echo louder than it probably should have.
I shot him a glare that could've cut through steel. "Saika, how could you? You should've helped me earlier."
He raised both hands in a mock defense, his grin widening mischievously. "No, no, there's no way, man. She doesn't even know me. Well, it ended up just fine, isn't that good?" He leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the aftermath of the whole thing.
Fine? Fine? There was no way it ended up fine. I could already feel the weight of Shirazaki's impression of me sinking like a stone in my chest. I had just embarrassed myself in front of her, and now I was left to stew in the consequences.
"She said she doesn't have a boyfriend. Isn't that good news? You still got a chance now, Kurono!!" Saika was now practically bouncing in his seat, as if he had just uncovered the secret to winning a lottery.
I groaned, feeling my face heat up at the thought of starting this all over again. "Really? We're gonna start this over again?"
Saika's eyes gleamed with that manic excitement only a hopeless romantic could have. "High school life is all about the love events!"
I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "Huh, didn't you just say you have no interest in real girls?"
"Okay, okay, I think the motivation just hit me now." He slammed his hands on the desk, making an exaggerated show of enthusiasm. "Kurono, introduce Shirazaki to me next time, okay?"
"Are you gonna support me or do you want to date her yourself? Make up your mind!" I couldn't believe it. Saika's personality was like a tornado—he never seemed to settle on one thing for long.
He shrugged nonchalantly, clearly indifferent to the confusion he was causing. "Well, you never know, man. Maybe I'll support you and date her. You know, just in case you need backup."
I leaned back in my chair, exasperated. No way. There was no way I could introduce Shirazaki to him. I barely knew her myself, and besides, she'd never even give someone like Saika the time of day. That kind of connection was just out of my reach.
"Enough of these," I said, waving my hand dismissively. "Let's just eat."
Saika sighed dramatically, looking at the clock. "Yeah, I know, but afternoon break is too short. I wish we got two hours for it."
I glanced down at my bento box, still sitting untouched on the desk. A wave of relief washed over me as I thought about food—something normal, something familiar. I was sure it was just going to be the usual, simple meal my mom made. After all, she always packed something quick but satisfying. It would help me settle my nerves.
But as soon as I opened the lid, my heart sank.
"What the hell is this…"
On top of the white rice was an unexpected sight: a swirl of pink-colored flakes, strategically placed in the shape of a heart. I could almost hear the dramatic music playing in the background. My face flushed as I blinked in disbelief. This wasn't right. This wasn't my usual lunch.
"Oh, what's this? Your bento? Kurono, what's up with this love-filled bento that only exists in games!?" Saika's voice held that familiar teasing tone, but it made me want to bury my face in my hands.
I sighed, staring down at the heart-shaped flakes. "Ah, I get it now…"
My stomach churned a little at the realization. There's no way my mom would make a bento with that kind of heartfelt love. The cute, overly-adorable heart-shaped decoration? That was straight out of some romantic comedy, not my regular lunch routine.
"Mom gave me the wrong bento box," I muttered, the words falling out like I was confessing a crime.
This bento box—the one adorned with all these saccharine, lovey-dovey pink flakes—had to be my sister's. There was no way she had mistaken the box for mine. It was definitely the one she'd made for her boyfriend. And here I was, stuck with it, wondering if her boyfriend was now eating the sad, plain lunch my mom had packed for me.
Saika's eyes lit up with delight, and I could hear the suppressed laughter bubbling up in his chest. "Wow, this is amazing! It's a heart shape! A heart shape! Ahaha! So epic!!"
I tried to ignore him, focusing on the bento in front of me as if pretending it wasn't there could make it go away. But the discomfort in my chest refused to budge. My sister... this is way too much. What kind of love is this?
I forced myself to eat the bento, the entire time fighting the weird feeling that settled in my stomach. This wasn't just any lunch. This was a bento that belonged to my sister's secret love life—a life that didn't include me. As I choked down the rice and the heart-shaped flakes, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was in the middle of some strange, twisted family drama.
When I finally finished, the clock had ticked away, and class was about to resume. I sighed, brushing off the weirdness, trying to focus on the lessons ahead. But one thing was clear: this was one afternoon break I wouldn't be forgetting anytime soon.
------------------
I finished my cleaning duty without much trouble, my mind occupied with thoughts of the upcoming club meeting. I didn't particularly mind it, though; it was routine, something I had gotten used to over the past few months. The hallways of the school had grown quieter as the afternoon dragged on, and by the time I entered the club room, the familiar squeak of the door was almost comforting.
As I stepped inside, the room didn't quite feel the same. There was an unusual stillness in the air, one that made me pause mid-step. My eyes scanned the room, half-expecting the usual sight of bustling members preparing for the meeting. But instead, my gaze landed on a lone figure.
"Hmm?" I couldn't help but mutter, instinctively startled. The only person present was Shirazaki.
It was odd. The Literature Club wasn't exactly brimming with members, but there should have been a few people milling about—perhaps the president or some upperclassmen, chatting or preparing for the important meeting I'd heard about. But no, only Shirazaki, sitting alone with her back to the door. The sight was almost... unsettling.
"Ah, Kurono-kun," she greeted softly, her voice calm and distant.
"Shirazaki-san, alone?" I asked, the words leaving my mouth before I could stop them. I felt a slight tension in the air, the awkwardness creeping up on me.
"Yeah..." she replied, her voice trailing off in a manner that almost made it sound like she was lost in thought, far removed from the situation.
The conversation ended there. Silence settled over the room, heavy and thick. I wasn't sure what else to say, and Shirazaki didn't seem interested in offering any more words either. I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I should just leave. But then, I decided to take a seat at one of the nearby chairs, my mind still buzzing with the confusion of the moment.
As I sat there, the silence stretched on, neither of us breaking it. My eyes flicked around the room as I tried to think of something to fill the void. She was reading a book—some cute little thing with a pastel-colored cover—and I realized I had my own book with me. A light novel I had written myself.
I pulled it from my bag, the cover worn and familiar. The Legend of Hero Abel, the title boldly printed on the front in simple, straightforward text. It was the first story I had ever written back in middle school, and to be honest, it was exactly what you'd expect from an amateur—nothing particularly creative, just a hero named Abel battling a demon king. The plot was as predictable as they come, but back then, I had poured all my enthusiasm into it, convinced it was the best thing I had ever created.
The writing was clumsy, the pacing uneven, but I couldn't help but feel a little fondness for it. I'd been thinking about revisiting it today, maybe even writing a sequel. But as I flipped through the pages now, I realized I couldn't focus. The awkward atmosphere in the room was suffocating, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't make sense of the words on the page.
Shirazaki was still quietly reading her own book, the only sounds in the room being the soft rustling of pages turning. The school grounds outside were filled with the distant chatter of students, but inside, it felt like we were in a completely different world. A world of uncomfortable silence.
Why is no one coming? I thought, growing increasingly restless. There's supposed to be an important meeting today, isn't there? Where is everyone?
I couldn't stand it anymore. The silence was driving me mad. I had never been alone with Shirazaki before. There was always someone else around, always some noise to fill the gaps. But now, it was just the two of us, and I didn't know how to break the tension.
I could feel the awkwardness clawing at my insides, making it harder to breathe. Alright, I told myself, I have to say something. Anything. She and I were both part of the Literature Club, right? We both read books, and that's something we could talk about. There had to be something—anything—that would ease this unbearable quiet.
I can do this. I thought, trying to summon some confidence. Just a little conversation. Until the others arrive, I can at least make this better.