Morning fog clung to the school yard like a thin veil, softening the edges of everything—trees, benches, footsteps. It made the world look gentler than it felt.
Inside 1-A, however, the softness ended.
Sayaka entered first.
Her steps were quiet, controlled, but something in her presence felt… muted. Not dimmed, but deliberately contained, like light wrapped in cloth to keep it from spilling out.
She placed her bag down, organized her pens, straightened the stack of council papers the way one straightens their heartbeat.
Then she sat.
And stared at her notebook without opening it.
Rin and Manami exchanged a look immediately.
That isn't normal Sayaka behavior.
Sayaka always opened her notebook.
Always began her day with precision.
Not today.
Her hands remained still in her lap—stillness so intentional it drew attention.
Eadlyn Observes
He entered a minute later.
Saw her.
Stopped mid-step.
Something in her posture compelled concern—shoulders slightly raised, spine too straight, gaze unfocused with quiet calculation.
She didn't greet him.
Not out of coldness.
But because she was wrestling something inside her mind that he couldn't see.
She only lifted her head when she sensed him sit down beside her.
"Morning," she said softly.
Too softly.
The volume of someone who didn't want her voice to vibrate with the wrong emotion.
"Morning," he replied.
She didn't smile.
And that small missing gesture felt heavier than a slammed door.
Manami's Internal Commentary
Manami narrowed her eyes.
She's thinking too much again.
A dangerous thing.
When Sayaka overthought, she didn't break—she retreated into herself like a fortress closing its gates, leaving everyone outside confused and concerned.
Manami nudged Rin.
"Detect anything weird?"
"I detect everything weird," Rin whispered.
"But Sayaka-level weird is… I dunno… heavier."
Manami nodded gravely.
"When the calm one gets quieter, everyone should panic."
Ichigo, half-listening from his seat, muttered:
"Statistically true."
Naomi-sensei Adds to the Pressure
Naomi entered, clapping her hands.
"Alright, everyone sit up. Today we begin festival committee coordination."
Sayaka tensed—a barely noticeable shift, but Eadlyn saw it.
He always saw it.
Naomi noticed her too.
"Sayaka," she said, "I'll need the updated council tabs by lunch."
Sayaka nodded.
"Understood."
Her tone was calm.
Her eyes were not.
Naomi frowned subtly.
Something was wrong.
But she didn't press.
She trusted Sayaka's discipline more than her ability to open up.
The Classroom Exercise — and the Moment of Strain
Naomi assigned group formation.
"Groups of three. Sit with people you don't usually sit with."
Students groaned.
Sayaka stiffened.
She hated random grouping—not out of shyness, but because it disrupted her emotional equilibrium. Pairing with unpredictable classmates meant unpredictable conversations.
Naomi pointed.
"Sayaka, Hiroto, and Eadlyn. Group 3."
And the entire room froze.
Hiroto looked up.
Sayaka blinked.
Eadlyn inhaled quietly.
Naomi either miscalculated or deliberately wanted a maturity test.
"Get moving," Naomi ordered.
The Group Interaction — Subtle Sparks of Tension
They sat by the window.
Hiroto nodded politely.
Sayaka mirrored it.
Eadlyn… watched both of them with quiet caution.
Sayaka pulled out the worksheet with perfect professionalism.
"We need to propose three activities for festival coordination."
Hiroto cleared his throat.
"Our class usually does athletic contributions. Maybe—"
Sayaka cut in.
"Let's choose something less basic this year."
Hiroto blinked.
"Uh—okay."
Her tone was polite.
But slightly sharp.
Eadlyn touched the edge of the paper.
"Sayaka," he said gently, "it's okay to start simple."
Her jaw tightened.
"I'm aware."
Hiroto shifted uncomfortably.
Eadlyn tried again, calmer.
"You don't have to carry the weight of the whole school in one worksheet."
Sayaka's eyes flicked toward him.
It wasn't anger.
It was something closer to: Don't make me unravel in front of others.
Hiroto immediately sensed it too.
He sat straighter, ready to defuse tension.
"Sayaka," Hiroto said quietly, "we can follow your decision. Just… don't feel like you have to fix everything alone."
Sayaka froze.
Her breath caught—a small, fragile reaction she quickly buried.
But Eadlyn saw it.
And Hiroto saw that Eadlyn saw it.
Sayaka lowered her gaze.
"…I apologize. I'm just tired."
The understatement of the century.
Eadlyn wanted to say You don't need to apologize for existing,
but he held it in.
Sayaka wasn't ready for comfort.
She wasn't ready for softness.
She was barely ready for her thoughts.
Rin & Manami's Surveillance Operation
Across the room, Rin whispered:
"Oh no."
Manami: "Yep. She's in overthink mode."
Ken leaned forward.
"How can you tell?"
Manami gestured dramatically.
"Her voice dropped half a tone. Her eyes avoid Eadlyn's directly. Her shoulders are stiff. Classic emotional-overload-meets-self-repression."
Rin scribbled in her notebook.
"Documenting for future reference."
Ichigo didn't even look up.
"I already have those parameters logged."
Ken blinked.
"You're logging emotional patterns?"
Ichigo shrugged.
"Helps predict group meltdowns."
After Class — The Unasked Question
When the bell rang, students dispersed quickly.
Hiroto stood first.
"Sayaka, take care," he said softly.
She nodded once.
"Thank you."
He walked away.
Eadlyn stayed behind a moment, watching her pack her things with unnecessary precision.
He stepped closer, carefully.
"Sayaka."
She froze.
But didn't look up.
"You're not okay," he said quietly.
Not an accusation.
Not even concern.
Just truth.
Sayaka's grip on her notebook tightened—just slightly, but enough to betray the fight inside her.
"I'm fine," she whispered.
"That's the second time you said that today."
Her breath caught.
He lowered his voice.
"If you need space, I'll give it.
If you're worried, I'll listen.
If you're tired, I won't ask for explanation."
Sayaka finally lifted her eyes.
Her expression was unreadable—
A mix of restraint, fear, gratitude, and something else…
something she herself couldn't name yet.
"I just…" she whispered, "don't want to become someone you have to fix."
His chest tightened.
"Sayaka… I'm not here to fix you."
He paused.
"I'm here because I choose to be."
Her lips parted, barely.
Not to answer.
Just to breathe.
Something inside her trembled—not visibly, but in the way people tremble just before they decide whether to step forward or back.
But before she could respond—
Naomi's voice echoed from the hall.
"Sayaka, meeting in the council room!"
Sayaka inhaled sharply.
Closed her book.
Stood.
"Sorry," she murmured. "I need to go."
And she walked out.
Leaving behind everything she couldn't say.