The room was silent. Dust particles danced in the shafts of sunlight pouring through the narrow window, like little ghosts reminding me I wasn't really alone — just forgotten.
I sat behind the mountain of unused desks and chairs in the storage room, eating my lunch in silence. Every bite tasted like cardboard. My taste buds didn't die — they just gave up.
I laughed weakly.
But the chuckle did nothing. Not to the ache in my chest, not to the trembling silence inside me. It echoed off the walls, empty.
"I just want someone beside me… someone I can say, thank you for being with me."
But that was just a dream — the kind that dies quietly in the morning light.
I've been dragged into a cold cave where warmth never enters. Now, even when I see a rainbow… it feels black and white. When I pass flowers in bloom, I don't feel anything.
Everyone around me… they seem like they're basking beneath a sakura tree, sunlight kissing their faces, laughter carried on the breeze.
And I…
I'm the boy watching from afar.
Always watching.
Always alone.
Even Mom can't stand being near me anymore.
I stood slowly, brushing off the crumbs. I didn't want to go back to class.
Here, in this room, at least it was quiet.
It wasn't warm — but it wasn't cold either.
Just… still.
But the bell rang, so I opened the door.
The hallway was buzzing. Bodies brushed past me like I wasn't even there. The tide of students flowed toward their classrooms. I kept my eyes low and walked quickly, turning the corner toward the stairs.
That's when I collided with someone.
A wall of muscle — tall, broad-shouldered, maybe a second-year — stared down at me. His blazer was messy, shirt half untucked, with an empty juice box crumpled in his hand.
"S-sorry," I said quickly, bowing. I turned to leave.
"Hey."
His voice was low, like gravel grinding on metal.
I stopped. I didn't want this. I didn't need this.
"Where do you think you're going?" he said, walking up to me slowly. "You think that's enough?"
I turned back. My stomach dropped.
His white shirt… stained.
Crimson-red juice ran down from his collar like blood.
"I-I didn't mean to spill it," I stammered.
He scoffed. "Didn't mean to? You think I care?"
People had started to gather. Watching. Whispers growing.
"Pay up," he said, hand outstretched.
"I… I don't have any money," I whispered.
He raised an eyebrow. Then smiled.
"Then I'll take this instead."
THUD.
His foot slammed into my gut.
I collapsed.
The hallway spun around me.
My ribs felt like glass. I couldn't breathe.
I clutched my stomach, gasping, curled up like paper in a storm.
People laughed.
No one helped.
I wasn't invisible now — I was a spectacle.
His voice rang out again.
"Next time, watch where you're going."
He walked off.
I stayed there for a while, the ground cold against my cheek, the stares still burning holes into my back.
Somehow, I dragged myself to the infirmary.
The nurse was kind — she wrapped the bruises gently and offered to call a doctor.
I shook my head.
"I'm fine."
Lie after lie after lie.
Back in the classroom, everything stopped when I opened the door.
Eyes. All on me.
"Where were you?" the teacher asked.
"Infirmary," I replied.
He nodded, told me to sit.
As I limped to my seat, I caught Ayane's gaze.
She wasn't smirking.
She wasn't cold.
There was something else in her eyes —
Worry?
Regret?
I didn't know.
Maybe I was imagining it.
Maybe I just wanted to believe it —
That someone, anyone, still had a heart.
The classroom faded into a blur — a dull, colorless blur. My ribs still ached beneath the bandages, but the ache inside my chest was louder.
I rested my head on the desk. The distant laughter, the shuffle of feet — it all melted into silence.
And in that quiet…
I thought of them.
Ayane Hanekawa.
The storm behind the curtain.
She always walked like the world owed her attention — proud, bold, unshaken. The others followed her lead, and she knew it.
She was the first to accuse me. The first to act. Her words were sharp, but her actions sharper.
Yet even in her fury… her eyes trembled.
She hides something — I don't know what — behind all that strength. Something she's afraid to let anyone see.
Maybe that's why she's always in control. Maybe she's terrified of what would happen if she lost it.
Yuzuki Kurobane.
The girl who smiled when she sentenced me.
Not with cruelty, not exactly.
Her smile wasn't mocking — it was… empty. Practiced.
Like someone who's been smiling for so long, she forgot how to stop.
"For the rest of the year… do whatever I say."
Those words still echo.
And yet, she didn't shout. She didn't threaten.
She just… gave orders. Calmly. Beautifully.
Like she was reading lines from a play she'd memorized long ago.
There's sadness beneath that calm, I can feel it.
She's not heartless. She just learned how to bury her heart deep enough no one could find it.
I wonder if she wanted me to see that pain… or if she hoped I wouldn't.
Reika Aoi.
The cheerful breeze in the storm.
She laughs a lot — even during the worst moments.
The way she jokes with Yuzuki, the way she teases Ayane… it doesn't seem fake. It's real.
There's no darkness behind her eyes. No secrets stitched into her voice.
She's just… Reika.
Bright, loud, and endlessly curious.
I don't think she bullies out of cruelty. She just follows where the others go, without thinking about where that road leads.
Maybe she doesn't even realize the damage that's being done.
But even so… sometimes, I wonder:
Would she smile the same way… if she truly saw me?
I stared down at my fingers, stained with pencil smudges and trembling slightly.
"They're all different," I thought, tracing my name into the dusty floor,
"But they each carry something. And I… I keep carrying it all."
The pain.
The silence.
The weight of everything I'm too scared to say.
And still, a part of me…
A foolish part…
Hoped one of them might look at me — really look at me — and see more than the quiet, broken boy sitting alone in the dark.
The final bell echoed like a fading heartbeat in the hollow room.
Students laughed and chatted as they rushed out, footsteps fading into distant noise. But I sat there — still, quiet — like I didn't belong in this scene at all.
I wanted to disappear with them… but disappearing never came easy.
Just as I stood to leave, I heard it.
"Haruki."
Her voice was firm but not loud — like a command hidden in concern.
I turned. Ayane stood a few feet from me, arms crossed tightly against her chest, brows furrowed, but… her eyes held a flicker of something else — not cruelty, not anger — but confusion. Conflict.
Beside her stood Yuzuki, reserved, unreadable as always, her eyes resting on me — not cold, not kind, just… watching.
Reika stood on the other side, her fingers twitching nervously at her side. The usual sparkle in her eyes was dimmed, replaced by something quieter, softer. She looked like she wanted to say something but didn't know how.
"Why were you in the infirmary?" Ayane asked. Her voice had an edge — not like a blade, but like a question that wanted to be softer but didn't know how to be.
I looked down.
"It's none of your concern," I muttered and brushed past them, barely brushing Ayane's shoulder.
But she stepped in front of me again.
Her voice rose — "Hey!"
I stopped. My hands trembled at my sides.
"What's with you? Why are you acting like this?" she barked, her tone cracking slightly. "You're not the only one with problems, okay? You think you're the only one hurting?! That the world revolves around your pain?!"
I didn't respond. Her words rang louder in my chest than in my ears.
My head stayed low. I couldn't bear to look her in the eyes — not when I knew she might see something real there.
Finally, I whispered.
"I know."
I looked up.
My lips curled into a smile. A hollow, broken, bitter smile.
"This is just who I am," I said quietly. "I don't know how to talk to people… I don't know how to be liked. Even when someone tries to reach out, I mess it up. I get nervous. I say the wrong things. I shut down. And they walk away."
My voice wavered. But my smile didn't.
"So yeah… sorry. I'm like this. It's easier if people hate me."
Ayane's lips parted slightly. Her breath hitched.
Something shattered in her gaze.
"You idiot…" she whispered. "You absolute idiot."
She stormed toward me, grabbed my collar — not with rage, but desperation.
"Stop saying that! You think you're some kind of cursed person? You think you're better off alone? That's not what life is about, Haruki!"
I flinched.
The pressure on my collar, her voice — everything hit at once. My vision blurred. My knees weakened. My heartbeat exploded in my chest.
Something cold and panicked welled up inside me. My body stiffened.
"Put your hands off me."
My voice was small, barely above a whisper.
"What?" Ayane blinked, confused.
"Put your hands off me!" I yelled, stepping back, eyes wide in fear.
She dropped her hands instantly, her expression collapsing into one of concern. She finally saw it. The fear in my eyes. The trauma in my reaction.
Reika gasped lightly, stepping toward us.
"Ayane… I think he's—"
Ayane's voice softened, trembling.
"Haruki… what happened to you?"
I couldn't answer. I didn't want to. I turned on my heel and ran, ignoring their voices.
The hallway fell silent as Haruki's footsteps vanished down the corridor — like a ghost fading into the walls.
Ayane stood still, her hand slowly dropping to her side, trembling. Her breath was shallow. The echo of his words — "put your hands off me..." — kept ringing in her ears.
"I… didn't mean to scare him," she murmured, eyes blank. "I just—"
She didn't finish. The weight in her throat was too heavy.
Reika stepped closer, her usual cheer dimmed like a cloud had passed over her. "Ayane…" she whispered, concerned. "Are you okay?"
Ayane didn't answer right away. Her eyes remained fixed on the hallway where Haruki had disappeared — as if trying to understand the pain she had only now glimpsed.
Yuzuki stood just behind them, arms gently folded, her expression unreadable — not because she didn't care, but because she cared too deeply to let it show.
"…He looked so scared," she said softly. "That wasn't anger or annoyance in his voice… it was fear."
Reika blinked. "Fear…? Of us?"
Yuzuki nodded faintly. "Maybe not us. But… something we reminded him of."
Ayane's lips parted slightly. Something cold pressed against her spine.
She remembered the way Haruki had backed away, his shoulders tensed like he'd been hit before. The fear in his voice. The sweat, the tremble.
She had seen that expression before — but not on him. On herself. In the mirror. A long time ago.
Her eyes fell to her own hands. The very hands that had grabbed his collar.
And in that moment, she hated herself a little.
She hadn't wanted this.
Not really.
Not… this reaction.
Reika gave a soft sigh, her tone uncertain. "Maybe he's… just always like that? Sensitive, I mean."
But Ayane wasn't listening anymore. Her thoughts ran deeper than the voices around her.
She didn't speak.
She didn't cry.
But for the first time since that cruel prank weeks ago, Ayane's fierce pride wavered.
And deep within her — where even she rarely looked — something small and quiet began to shift.
Not guilt, exactly.
Not yet.
But maybe… a strange kind of ache.
The kind you feel when you hurt someone you didn't mean to break.
Yuzuki said nothing more. She only looked toward the empty corridor, thoughtful.
And for now — they all stood there in silence.
Not knowing what to say.
Only feeling what they couldn't.