One Hour Later
The house stirred with sleepy footsteps and half-formed murmurs. But Kaito was long gone. He'd been the first to wake—something that hadn't happened in years. He usually slept through alarms, only rising when his mother dragged him out of bed. But today wasn't usual. Today, something in him had shifted.
7:30 AM – Inside the School
Riku stumbled into the kitchen, hair a mess, eyes still fogged with sleep. "Where's Kaito?" he asked, stifling a yawn.
"He already left," their mother said, sliding a plate of eggs onto the table.
"What? Seriously?" Riku blinked. "That's... not like him."
She paused, her expression softening. "He's been different lately. Ever since Sayuri's death."
The room fell silent. The name hung in the air like smoke, suffocating and unspoken. The boy who once filled the house with laughter was now a ghost of himself—quiet, hollow, unreachable.
Riku looked down at his plate. "I hope he's okay."
At School
The morning light filtered through the school's front doors as Kaito stepped inside. His shoes clicked against the tiles, the only sound in the empty halls. The world outside still clung to sleep, but something inside him had stirred too early—something restless.
He moved with purpose but no urgency, his hands buried deep in his pockets. His mind wasn't here. It hadn't been for a long time.
Classroom 2-B was empty. Of course it was—he was early. Kaito walked to his usual seat by the window and sat down, the cool desk surface grounding him. Outside, the breeze danced through the trees, brushing against the glass like a memory trying to break in.
His eyes drifted to the rooftop beyond the window. The place where everything changed.
He stood up.
The hallway was cold and quiet. Each footstep echoed like a clock ticking down to something he couldn't name. He climbed the stairs slowly, almost reverently, until he reached the rooftop door. His hand hovered over the handle. He took a breath.
Then he opened it.
The wind met him instantly, tousling his hair, whispering secrets he couldn't quite hear. The rooftop hadn't changed—but it felt different. Emptier. Like it was missing a piece of itself.
He walked to the railing and stared out at the horizon. This was where Sayuri had confessed. Where Koji laughed until he cried. Where hope used to live.
Now, only silence remained.
Kaito turned to leave—but something caught his eye.
Near the corner of the rooftop, half-buried in a drift of fallen leaves, was a small envelope. He crouched, brushing the leaves aside. A red heart was drawn on the seal. Childish. Honest.
A love letter.
His fingers trembled as he held it. He didn't open it. He couldn't. Not yet.
He slipped it into his pocket and walked back to the door. The wind pressed against his back as he stepped inside, and the rooftop door shut behind him with a soft finality.
Back in the Classroom
Kaito returned to his seat. The letter weighed heavy in his pocket. His thoughts heavier still. Outside the window, the world moved on. But inside, he remained frozen.
He didn't belong here—not in this classroom, not in this life.
8:15 AM – Outside
Koji walked alone, bag slung over one shoulder. The morning air was still, too still. He glanced around, expecting to see Kaito beside him. But the sidewalk was empty.
"That's weird," he mumbled. "Where's Kaito?"
He frowned, recalling the night before. Kaito had come home soaked in rain, as if the storm had followed only him. Something was off.
Koji reached the school gates and scanned the windows. His eyes landed on Kaito in the classroom.
He raised a hand and flashed a series of silent gestures—their private language.
Yo, why weren't you on the sidewalk?
Kaito looked up. His fingers moved in response.
Got here early. 7:30.
Koji blinked, then smiled—too wide, too bright.
Okay.
As he walked to his own classroom, his smile faded. Kaito was still Kaito. Still distant. Still broken. But he was here.
And for now, that was enough.
Kaito watched him leave, unsettled. That smile… it was off. Too cheerful. Too forced.
What's he smiling for? He looks like a lunatic.
The door opened, cutting through his thoughts.
Their homeroom teacher entered, setting her bag on the desk. "Alright, class, quiet down. We have a transfer student joining us today."
A girl stepped in.
She moved with quiet grace, each step deliberate. Her white hair, trimmed in a pristine hime cut, framed a porcelain face. Eyes calm but sharp swept the room—and paused ever so briefly on Kaito.
"My name is Airi Nakamura," she said, voice soft but sure. "I'm happy to be here."
Kaito stared at her, unmoving. His heart stuttered in his chest.
Something about her was wrong.
No—familiar.
Not Sayuri. Not exactly. But...
There was something in the way her gaze held his. Something ancient. Something knowing.
His chest tightened.
Why do I feel like I've met you before?
The class continued around him, chatter filling the space. But Kaito didn't hear a word. His eyes remained on Airi. She took her seat near the front, never glancing back—but he could feel it.
That quiet pull.
That echo in his soul.
And the letter in his pocket—unread, unopened—suddenly felt heavier than ever.