Morning light streamed into the classroom as Akihiro sat by the window, chin resting on his hand. The unease from last night hadn't left him. Every reflective surface — the glass windows, the polished floor — felt like it was watching him.
He forced his gaze outside, pretending not to notice.
Across the room, Sola Hoshikawa's arrival turned heads as always, her golden aura drawing whispers from the other students. Akihiro ignored her too, though her eyes lingered on him longer than usual.
By afternoon, the noticeboard announced the Annual Sports Meet. Excitement buzzed through the campus, but Akihiro remained detached — until his friend's prank forced his name onto the runners' list.
And just like that, the day that had started with unease ended with something he could not ignore — not only whispers of the mirror, but the first crack in the quiet life he had tried so hard to protect.
After the race, the college buzzed with whispers of the white-haired boy who had nearly broken the champion's record without even trying. Coaches spoke his name in disbelief, students filled the halls with gossip, and soon, word reached beyond the campus. Akihiro Tsukihara was unexpectedly chosen to represent in the World Running Championship.
At first, he wanted to refuse. Fame and attention meant nothing to him. But Ayame Shirakami and his aunt encouraged him, and even the golden-eyed Sola Hoshikawa, as team captain, insisted he should at least try. Against his own instincts, he allowed himself to be pulled into training. Day after day, he ran, pushed his body, and for the first time in years, he felt the faint rush of life stirring in his chest. The world no longer seemed so empty—he was starting to see it in a different way.
But one night after practice, something happened that shattered that fragile sense of peace.
The locker room was quiet, emptied of voices and footsteps. Akihiro Tsukihara stood at the sink, washing the sweat from his face. Cool water dripped down his skin, grounding him after the day's drills. He lifted his head, staring at his reflection in the mirror.
At first, it looked normal—his red eyes, his white hair, the same detached face he saw every day. But then… the edges of the glass seemed to ripple, like water stirred by an invisible hand.
The overhead light flickered once. Then again. A sharp chill crept into the air. Goosebumps prickled across his arms, his breath tightening in his chest.
He leaned closer. The ripple grew stronger.
Without warning, a thin, bony hand pushed out of the mirror. Black as shadow, its twisted fingers clawed toward him.
Akihiro Tsukihara's breath caught. He stumbled backward, the stool behind him screeching against the tiles. His heartbeat roared in his ears as the hand reached further, brushing the edge of the sink—then vanished. The mirror stilled, flat and perfect, reflecting only his wide-eyed stare.
For a long moment, the restroom was silent. Only the drip of water echoed in the stillness.
Akihiro Tsukihara stepped closer, fists clenched, scanning the glass for cracks, for anything that could explain what he'd seen. But there was nothing—just his own reflection, staring back.
The light buzzed faintly, flickered one last time, then steadied. The air remained heavy, pressing down on him.
His aunt's words rushed through his mind. "The mirror is a gateway…"
Tightening his jaw, he grabbed his bag and left the restroom quickly, his footsteps echoing against the hall. He didn't tell Ayame Shirakami. He didn't tell anyone. But as he stepped into the night air, one truth gripped him cold and unshakable—whatever had just reached through that mirror, it was real.
And the world he thought he knew was no longer the same.