The air smelled faintly of fresh rain that morning, though the streets were dry. Seiji stood by the school gates, bag slung over one shoulder, watching the sky. The clouds were pale and thin, the kind that promised a clear day.
Tanaka spotted him first.
"Oi, Seiji!" he called, jogging over. His hair was as messy as ever, and he carried his bag in one hand like it was about to slip.
"You're early," Seiji said.
"You're just late most days," Tanaka shot back with a grin.
Seiji chuckled softly, the sound easing some of the heaviness that had been sitting in his chest these past days. "Fair enough."
The bell rang soon after, drawing them both in.
Classes passed in a blur notes on the board, the steady murmur of teachers, the shuffle of pages. Seiji listened, but his mind wandered more than usual, as though something beyond the windows kept calling to him.
When school finally ended, Tanaka caught up with him before he could slip away.
"Don't tell me... You're not running home right away, are you?"
Seiji hesitated. "I was going to…"
Tanaka frowned, then grabbed Seiji's sleeve. "Nope. You've been acting weird all week. Come on, let's take the long way. I heard the new taiyaki shop's giving free samples today."
Seiji blinked. "Free?"
"Yeah. And you know free food's the best food!~"
Despite himself, Seiji smiled. "Alright. Just for a bit."
The streets were lively near the station. Shopkeepers stood outside their stalls, calling out deals. The smell of fresh bread and grilled meat hung in the air.
Seiji and Tanaka each grabbed a taiyaki from the stall and sat on the low wall near the park to eat.
"You know," Tanaka said between bites, "I genuinely thought you were gonna collapse in class today. You kept zoning out like some guy in a drama staring at ghosts."
Seiji laughed softly. "Sorry. I guess I've just had a lot on my mind."
"Like whattt?? School stuff?? maybe romance??~"
"Not exactly.." Seiji stared at the half-eaten pastry in his hand. "It's hard to explain. It's like… I'm here, but I'm not. Like something's tugging me somewhere else."
Tanaka tilted his head. "You're not dying, right?"
Seiji choked back a laugh. "No. I don't think so."
"Good. 'Cause I'd hate to lose my free homework help."
Seiji shook his head, amused despite himself.
When they finally parted ways, Seiji took the long road home. The late afternoon light stretched shadows across the pavement, and a quiet breeze carried the smell of wisteria from a nearby yard.
Mrs. Tanaka was standing by her gate when Seiji passed. She looked up, smiling warmly.
"Seiji-kun," she greeted. "Could you help me for a moment? The latch on this fence is loose again."
"Of course."
He knelt down, inspected the latch, and adjusted it until it clicked back into place.
"You're such a dependable boy," she said with a nod of approval. Then, her expression softened, and she looked at him more closely. "But you look tired lately. Are you sleeping well?"
Seiji hesitated. "I've been… thinking a lot."
Mrs. Tanaka nodded slowly. "That happens as you grow. But remember, strength isn't just about swinging a sword, Seiji. It's about enduring what you can't run from."
The words settled into him like stones dropped in still water.
He bowed slightly. "Thank you."
She smiled again. "Go home and rest. Don't carry too much alone."
Night fell quietly.
Seiji finished his chores, then stood outside for a moment, watching the street. A stray cat darted across, pausing to hiss toward the empty alley before vanishing.
He frowned. The air felt strangely heavy.
Inside, his parents were chatting in the living room. He excused himself and went to his room, sliding the door shut behind him.
His journal waited on the desk.
He opened it and read the previous entries lies and hopes, strung together like someone trying to convince the universe of something.
He took the pen and wrote:
I helped today. I smiled. The world feels light again.
But the words felt hollow as soon as they left his pen.
Seiji set the journal aside and lay on his futon, staring at the ceiling.
Tanaka's laughter echoed faintly in his head. So did Mrs. Tanaka's words.
Strength isn't just about swinging a sword.
He gripped the edge of his blanket, as though bracing against something unseen.
And somewhere outside, far beyond the quiet houses, thunder rumbled faintly though the sky had been clear all day.
Seiji closed his eyes, trying to convince himself it was just distant weather.
But deep down, he knew.
Later that night, The house was quiet, unnervingly so. Dinner had ended hours ago, but Seiji lingered in the kitchen, absentmindedly stacking the plates. The clink of ceramic against ceramic was almost soothing until it wasn't.
His fingers tightened around a plate.
Crash!
For just a heartbeat, shards glittered on the table like sharp snow, crimson dripping and spreading into a pool. Blood his blood. he could feel it warm and wet against his hands.
He blinked.
The plates were fine. Neatly stacked. No blood.
Seiji's breath hitched. He stumbled back, bumping into the counter so hard it rattled a glass. His pulse hammered in his ears.
"…What the hell was that?"
No one heard him. His parents were in the living room, talking softly about tomorrow's errands, the TV humming faintly in the background. The world was moving as it always did except for him.
Seiji wiped his palms on his pants and forced himself to finish cleaning up, his movements stiff and mechanical.
That night, he sat by the window, knees drawn to his chest. The world outside was wrapped in a thin, silver mist that hadn't been there before. The streetlamps glowed hazily, like distant stars.
Sweat trickled down his temple. His chest felt too tight, every breath loud in his own ears.
"Why does it feel like something's pulling me…" he muttered, fingers clenching the fabric of his blanket. His voice was barely a whisper. "Like I'm about to be dragged out of my own skin?"
The thought lingered, heavy and electric.
He swallowed hard, closing his eyes.
"It's like a world is… waiting for me to move."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Then—
Scratch.
Something faint brushed against the outer wall, like nails tracing the wood.
Seiji snapped his head toward the sound, every hair on his body standing on end.
Nothing.
The street was empty. The mist had thickened, curling around the lampposts like pale fingers.
He turned back toward his desk lamp just in time to see it flicker. Once. Twice. Then steady again.
His reflection in the window was ghostly pale, the glow from the lamp cutting a sharp line across his face.
"…Get a grip, Seiji." he told himself under his breath.
He stood up, pacing the room once, twice. His journal lay on his desk, the words from earlier that evening staring up at him:
Today felt strange again. I don't know how to explain it, but it's like everything is waiting. Like even time is holding its breath.
He hesitated, then added another line with shaky handwriting:
If something is coming for me… I wish it would just come already.
The moment he finished writing, the lamp flickered again.
This time it didn't stop.
It stuttered, flaring and dimming in quick pulses, throwing his room into a chaotic dance of light and shadow.
Seiji's breath caught. His instincts screamed at him to run but where? He backed toward the window, his shoulder brushing the curtain.
The flickering stopped.
Everything went still.
Even the mist outside had frozen, hanging like a painted backdrop.
His heart pounded as he slowly sat back down at his desk, gripping the pen so hard his knuckles whitened.
For a moment, he thought he heard something not outside, but inside. A voice.
Soon.
He whipped around.
No one was there.
Seiji squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands over his ears.
When he opened them again, everything was normal.
The lamp glowed softly. The mist outside drifted again. His parents' voices from the living room were faint but comforting.
Maybe he was losing it again.
He blew out a shaky breath and laid his head on the desk. The wood was cool against his cheek, grounding him.
It's fine. It's just my head. Just my head messing with me.
His thoughts slowed. The tension in his body eased just enough for exhaustion to seep in.
As he drifted toward sleep, the journal page fluttered though no wind had entered the room.
And somewhere far away, almost too faint to hear, a bell rang once.