In the early days of September 2015, a fourteen-year-old junior high student found himself trapped in a nightmare far beyond anything he had ever imagined.
Surrounded by a crowd of students in his school's cramped hallway, they glared at him with pain and hatred, their voices rising with impatience and disgust, demanding he open his locker. His hands trembled at his sides, clutching the strap of his randoseru so tightly that the veins in his knuckles began to bulge.
He tried to speak, to defend himself—but no one cared to listen.
They only wanted one thing: for him to unlock the door of his locker.
With no one left to stand by him and no other option, he was forced to comply.
At first, he had been certain of his innocence.
Gossip and baseless rumours were nothing new after all, especially in a school like his, where rumours spread through the halls quickly.
He had believed that the truth would protect him. But with each reluctant step he took toward his locker, that certainty began to crumble, replaced by an overwhelming and suffocating fear.
Just as he turned the key, the door swung open on its own, and the last shred of self-assurance he clung to shattered in an instant. What spilled from behind the door was exactly what the rumours had claimed.
"When I heard you were the deviant..." the blonde-haired student body representative muttered, his voice low, almost disbelieving, "I couldn't accept it. You were always so quiet. Kept to yourself. Never pushed beyond what was absolutely necessary. You didn't seem the type to do something so... degenerate—willingly."
He raised his voice so everyone could hear. "So, tell me, Kintarō... why did you stoop so low?!"
Okamura Kintarō slumped to the floor, unable to comprehend the mess of his locker, his life, his very existence.
"Kintarō!"
His eyes fluttered open, only to be met with the sharp streaks of light slipping through the creaks of his blinds, forcing them shut again.
For a moment, Okamura lay there, his heart racing, weighed down by the suffocating memories of his past.
"Kintarō!" the voice called out again, this time sounding more urgent. "Why aren't you down here yet?!"
With a long, drawn-out sigh, he dragged a hand across his face, forcing himself upright. The familiar clutter of his small room came into view: half-read books stranded on the floor, a jacket carelessly draped over a chair, jewel orchids perched in glass terrariums on the chest of drawers, and the soft chirping of bush warblers seeping through the curtains.
"Mom?! Is everything all right down there?"
"Get your slow ass down here. You got a guest waiting for ya'."
Okamura grimaced. Are you serious? You yelled my name for that?
He stood at the door, debating whether to respond sarcastically or just bite his tongue. He opted for the latter. "Mom, the neighbors really don't need another reason to complain to me," he muttered, exhaling through his nose. "I'll be down in a minute."
He made sure the door clicked shut quietly, avoiding the slam. A soft stretch followed, rolling his shoulders to shake off the remnants of sleep. At sixteen, Okamura Kintarō shuffled across the room, each step feeling like a slow drag under the weight of exhaustion.
Yesterday had been spent assisting patients at the local hospital as a part of Bluebelle, his school's social volunteering club. Now, the exhaustion had finally caught up with him.
He slid the blinds aside, and fresh air flooded the room. Okamura took a deep breath, relishing the fleeting tranquillity the spring breeze carried.
The world outside felt complex and convoluted, yet in its simplest times, Okamura he found an odd comfort. The distant cries of cicadas, the crispness of the air, the soft flutter of sakura petals drifting from the trees, and the gentle warmth of the sun slowly erasing the last remnants of winter—those were the things that kept him grounded.
But that peace was short-lived.
A slow, hesitant creak came from behind him—his door opening. And with it came the weight of his suffocating reality.
Okamura snapped in annoyance. "Mom, did I not say I'd be down in a minute?!"
"Hm?" came the soft, delicate voice.
He flinched. That wasn't his mother's voice. Almost immediately, he spun around, with surprise written all over his face, much to her amusement.
Minamoto Ai.
"W-Why are you here so early in the morning, Koyori-chan?" he stammered, fumbling over his words, completely caught off-guard.
"Early?" she echoed, tilting her head playfully. "I don't think 10 AM is that early. Mother said I could come over since I finished my chores and didn't have any homework."
His mouth hung slightly agape. He couldn't believe her mother had allowed her to leave the house dressed like that. Koyori was wearing a soft pale green dress, the same colour as her eyes. It had a cloth belt cinching her waist, cuffed sleeves, and a neat bow tied at the chest. The dress seemed to float around her, giving her an ethereal presence that left Okamura momentarily speechless.
It was clear she had an effect on him—more than he cared to admit. The awkwardness of the situation only deepened as silence stretched between them. Finally, Koyori broke it, twiddling with the hem of her dress absentmindedly.
"So, Kintarō," she began, teasing, "I'm guessing you just woke up?"
"And if I said I didn't, would you believe me?" he mumbled, rolling back onto the bed and sprawling out with an exhausted groan.
He sighed, staring at the ceiling. "Truth be told, I'm past the point of exhaustion," he admitted quietly. "My legs are sore, my arms are shaky, my chest feels like it's being ripped apart..."
He paused, his eyes shutting for a moment before continuing, "After everything we've done for Bluebelle, how could they not?"
Koyori, who had been patiently waiting by the door, crossed the room and settled beside him.
"After everything you've done, you deserve as much rest as possible..." she whispered, her voice softening with something more suggestive. "So, I will not complain this time."
Her words stirred something deep within him. Okamura lay there, trying to keep his composure as the weight of her proximity grew heavier.
In his moment of disorder, Koyori was quick to take advantage of it. She inched closer, little by little, and before he knew it, her lips were nibbling at his ear.
"Koyori," he stammered, his voice lower as if someone might overhear. "What... are you doing?"
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she leaned back, just enough for her emerald-green eyes to meet his, a sly and mischievous smile playing on her lips.
"Stop pretending like you don't enjoy this," she whispered, her voice teasing.
Her gaze held his for a moment before Koyori leaned in once more, pressing her lips to his neck in a fleeting kiss before pulling away. She stood without a word, leaving him there, still reeling from her presence.
Okamura remained, eyes unfocused, staring at the ceiling. His mind—heavy with exhaustion— struggled to process it all. What was he supposed to do with everything that had just happened?
「無知は幸福である.」