The fragile calm cultivated under the sakura tree shattered like glass the moment the whispers began. They slithered through River Valley High on Tuesday morning, carried on hushed, trembling voices and wide, fearful eyes. They weren't about Haruna Miyamoto anymore.
"Did you hear...? About Fujisawa High?"
"No... What happened?"
"A student. Third year. They... they jumped. From the roof. Last night."
"Eh?! Honto?! Why?"
"The rumor... the strong rumor... is that he was in the early stages. The sickness. The Ratio. Someone found out. Spread it. Bullied him relentlessly. Called him... things."
"Oh god... maji ka?"
The news hit the crowded hallway outside Room 2-B like a physical blow. Sora froze, her cheerful greeting dying on her lips, her face draining of color. Riku stopped mid-stride, his usual boisterous energy evaporating, replaced by a stunned silence. Ren's jaw tightened, his knuckles whitening around the strap of his bag. I felt the familiar, icy dread coil in my stomach, colder and sharper than ever. The image wasn't abstract: a desperate boy on a dark roof, the crushing weight of fear and hatred, the terrifying unknown within his own body pushing him over the edge. It could have been Ayato. It could have been... anyone.
"Fujisawa..." Sora whispered, her voice trembling. "That's... that's only two stations away."
"Early stages?" Riku echoed, his voice uncharacteristically small. "How do they even know? Nobody knows until..."
"Fear," Ren spat, his voice low and venomous. "That's how they know. Fear makes monsters out of kids. Makes them point fingers, whisper poison." He slammed his fist softly against a locker, the metallic thud echoing in the sudden hush that had fallen over our group. His eyes met mine, and the shared understanding was terrifying. This was the real horror of the Phenomenon. Not the change itself, but the societal cancer it spread.
The first period was a blur. The usual drone of the history teacher felt distant, meaningless. Haruna, sitting beside me, seemed unusually subdued. Her usual serene focus was fractured; her pen hovered over her exquisite notebook, not writing. Was she aware of the rumors? Had she heard the fragmented whispers? Her gaze occasionally flickered towards the window, her expression unreadable but heavy.
At lunch, the courtyard beneath the sakura tree felt different. The sunlight seemed harsher, the chatter forced. Sora picked listlessly at her bento.
"It's like… like back when everyone was terrified of HIV," she murmured, staring at her rice. "Remember learning about it? People wouldn't share cups, wouldn't touch anyone they thought might be… tainted. They thought you could get it from toilet seats, from air."
Riku nodded grimly. "My uncle told me stories. Said friends just… vanished. Hospitals wouldn't treat them properly. Families disowned them. All because of fear and ignorance."
"And now?" Ren's voice was flat, hard. "Same damn story. Different monster. 'Don't share drinks with someone who looks peaky, you might catch the Emergence!' 'Don't touch their stuff, it might warp your mind!'" He mimicked the panicked whispers with savage accuracy. "It's bullshit. It's genetic. It's dormant. It's not contagious! But try telling that to a mob scared shitless."
"It's worse," I found myself saying, the words feeling thick. My encounter with Aya gave the fear a terrifyingly personal dimension. "Because it's invisible. Because anyone could be next. Because the 'sickness' phase… it looks like flu, like stress, like…" I trailed off, unable to voice the personal dread, the memory of the chill, the dizziness. "It makes everyone suspicious. Everyone a potential threat. Or a victim."
A notification buzzed loudly on Riku's phone, shattering the heavy silence. He glanced at it, his brow furrowing. "Huh. News alert. 'Gov't Panel Concludes: No Evidence of Environmental "Trigger Zones" for Ratio Phenomenon. Dispels "Cluster" Fears.'" He snorted. "Fat lot of good that does now. Try telling that to the kid who jumped."
Afternoon: Shifting Currents
The pall cast by the Fujisawa suicide lingered, but life, stubbornly, pushed forward. The Student Council announced nominations for Class Representatives. Ayame Kurosawa, ever the composed and capable figure in the front row, was an immediate favorite. But then, a quiet murmur started.
"I nominate Miyamoto-san," a voice piped up from the middle – Kenta, usually shy. "She… she helped me find my lost calculus homework this morning. Knew exactly where the lost-and-found box moved to." He blushed. "She seems… really on top of things."
Another hand rose. "Seconded. Miyamoto-san handled that mix-up with the library books for our group project smoothly yesterday. Very efficient."
Ayame, instead of looking threatened, turned and offered Haruna a warm, genuine smile. "I think Miyamoto-san would be an excellent choice. She brings a fresh perspective."
Haruna looked genuinely surprised, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "I… I am honored. But Kurosawa-san is clearly experienced—"
"Experience isn't everything," Ayame interjected kindly but firmly. "Organization, calmness, a willingness to help… those are crucial. I see that in you. I'd be happy to serve alongside you if the class wishes."
The vote was decisive. Ayame remained Class Rep. Haruna Miyamoto was elected Assistant Representative. As the results were announced, Ayame leaned over and whispered something to Haruna, who smiled back, a look of tentative relief and gratitude passing between them. A new, unexpected friendship seemed to be quietly blooming amidst the tension.
Thursday: Strength on the Court
The pall of fear momentarily lifted on Thursday afternoon during the first Sports Club recruitment drive. The gymnasium buzzed with activity – volleyballs thudding, the squeak of basketball shoes, and the rhythmic thwack of a shuttlecock. Ren was naturally drawn to the soccer trials, Riku to basketball. Sora flitted between the dance club display and the kendo demonstration. I lingered near the bleachers, my shoulder still a dull reminder of Kaito, watching the controlled chaos.
Then, a hush fell over one corner near the tennis courts. Haruna Miyamoto stood holding a borrowed racket. She'd changed into pristine white tennis shorts and a collared shirt, her hair tied back in a practical ponytail. She looked focused, athletic, a different kind of elegance from her classroom persona.
The tennis captain, a lanky third-year known for his competitive streak, was smacking balls hard towards her. Haruna moved with astonishing grace and power. Not flashy, but incredibly efficient. Her footwork was precise, her swings compact and powerful. Thwack! A backhand down the line, perfectly placed. Thwack! A forehand crosscourt winner. She returned his hardest drives with calm control, her expression one of intense concentration.
"Sugoi..." Sora breathed beside me, appearing out of nowhere, eyes wide. "She's… amazing!"
Ren paused from juggling a soccer ball, watching with grudging respect. "Huh. Didn't see that coming. Looks like she could knock Kaito's block off with a serve."
Riku whistled low. "Bet those fancy shoes have actual grip. Who knew the Tokyo princess had game?"
Haruna finished the rally with a delicate drop shot that died just over the net, leaving the captain flat-footed. A smattering of applause broke out. Haruna offered a small, humble bow to the captain, then a shy wave to the small crowd that had gathered. She caught Ayame's eye near the refreshment table; Ayame gave her a thumbs-up and a proud smile. Haruna's responding smile was radiant, free from the usual layer of reserve. In that moment, she wasn't the untouchable transfer or the potential victim of whispers; she was Haruna Miyamoto, a seriously good tennis player.