The classroom was loud—too loud. Laughter, desks scraping, the squeak of sneakers against the polished floor. It was the usual chaos of homeroom, the kind that teachers pretended not to hear because silence in high school was a myth.
And in the back corner, sat me.
Haruto Kurogane. Resident wallflower. Professional observer of teenage stupidity.
If the world is a stage, then high school is the most tragic comedy ever written. And I? I'm the poor fool who got stuck in the cheap seats, forced to watch everyone else pretend they're the main character.
I leaned back in my chair, eyes half-closed, pretending to nap. Not because I was tired—though I was—but because people were less likely to bother someone who looked unconscious. It was a strategy. My strategy.
Across the room, I could hear the center of attention: Aoi Hoshizora. She wasn't the loudest, or the most popular. But somehow, the moment she smiled, people gravitated toward her like moths to a flame. She had that aura, the kind that made others think she was approachable.
People like her… they're dangerous. Not because they're bad, but because they shine too brightly. And people like me don't belong anywhere near that kind of light.
I shifted my gaze toward the window, letting the sunlight burn my eyes instead. It was easier to stare at the sun than at her.
Then, fate did the one thing I never wanted it to do.
"Haruto-kun!"
The voice. Her voice.
I froze, every neuron in my brain firing red alerts.
Why is she talking to me? Did I drop something? No, impossible—I've mastered the art of leaving nothing behind. Did she mistake me for someone else? Please let that be it.
But no. Her shadow fell across my desk. When I looked up, there she was: Aoi Hoshizora, smiling like spring itself, as if the classroom wasn't a jungle of noise.
"You're Haruto, right? I'm Aoi. Nice to meet you."
I stared at her. Blankly. If silence was an art form, then I had just painted a masterpiece.
Nice to meet you? In April? We've been in the same class for two weeks. That's like greeting someone at their funeral and saying, 'So, how's life treating you?'
But she didn't flinch. Didn't back away. She just… kept smiling.
And that was the beginning. The day the light knocked on the door of my carefully built darkness.