"Falling in love… holding hands. It always seemed so dreamy. That kind of love belongs in fiction. In reality, love stings."
This story is about me, Kenta Miyabi, a third-year high school student.
[Kenta's POV]
The classroom halls buzzed with chatter as usual…
"Ah, Kenta! You're so lucky—dating the princess of our grade."
"Hey—how far have you gone with her? Have you... You know?"
I forced a laugh, shifting uncomfortably under their curious stares. "N-no, we haven't... It's not like that." My words felt hollow, even to me. The teasing snickers echoed around me, yet inside, a small pride lingered—I liked her. She was kind, funny, and somehow, she made me feel like I mattered.
I guess I should introduce myself properly—if anyone's even paying attention. I'm Kenta, just your average guy. Nothing special—no crazy talents, no striking looks. Except, apparently, I'm dating the "princess" of our grade, Shiroi Akiyama. Sometimes it still feels like a miracle. How the hell did someone like me end up with someone like her?
And yeah... I won't lie. I want to do more. Not what everyone's whispering about in the hallways, but genuinely closer—more than just words and glances. I want to make her smile, make her happy, and be someone she can trust completely. But… life has a way of throwing you off track, doesn't it?
However, everything changed on that fateful day.
She didn't call me. She didn't smile like she used to. When I finally saw her, it wasn't my eyes she was meeting—it was someone else's.
I decided to ask her.
"...Hey Shiroi, is there anything bothering you?"
She looked at me, her eyes flickering like a shadow passing over sunlight—but then she smiled, that kind of smile that made everyone think everything was perfect.
"No, Kenta… everything's fine," she said softly, her voice almost too casual.
But something in my chest tightened. I knew that smile. I knew that tone. It wasn't the truth. And for the first time, a tiny seed of doubt planted itself in my mind—even as I tried to believe her.
I always took the same route home after school—past the train station, the rusted vending machine that never worked, the narrow alley behind the convenience store. That's where I first saw her.
Yumi Kurobane.
A girl from our class, sitting alone by the fence, a cigarette glowing between her fingers. Her uniform was rumpled, her eyes half-shut—like she hadn't slept in days. People gossiped about her—cruel things. Rumors she sold herself, would do anything if asked the right way.
But when our eyes met—even for that brief moment—none of that seemed real. She didn't look dangerous or dirty. Just… tired. Lonely.
I wanted to say something. Maybe I should have. But I didn't. I just kept walking, pretending not to notice how her gaze lingered on me longer than it should have.
After that day, everything started to feel… different.
Maybe it was just me, but Shiroi's smile didn't reach her eyes anymore. Her messages got shorter—sometimes just a word, sometimes hours late. When I asked if she wanted to hang out after class, she always had a reason: "Club practice," "Helping a friend," "Feeling tired."
At first, I believed her. Of course I did. She was Shiroi—the girl everyone admired, the girl I thought I knew.
But one evening, I waited outside the school gate, watching her walk away in the opposite direction. Not home. Not mine either. Her phone pressed to her ear, she was smiling—really smiling—for the first time in weeks.
I didn't follow her. I just stood there, staring, until the crowd swallowed her up.
And for the first time, I felt something crack quietly inside me.