The morning bell had just rung.
The hallway was still shaking itself awake—shoes squeaking, lockers clanging.
Masashi, still half-asleep, walked next to Seiji.
"I swear," Masashi muttered, rubbing his eyes, "my brain hasn't loaded yet. Why do teachers think we can think before nine?"
Seiji gave a quiet huff. "You're awake enough to complain."
"That's muscle memory, bro."
They slowed near the windows outside their class. Students clustered in loose groups, killing time before heading in.
That was when a hand shot out and hooked Masashi's backpack strap.
Masashi yelped, stumbling back a step. "H—hey—!"
Kengo, a bully from another third-year class, leaned against the window frame, grinning. Beside him stood Tatsuya, taller, louder guy, looking amused. Both the kind of guys who treated boredom like an excuse.
"What's the rush, little buddy?" Kengo said, already digging into the unzipped bag. "Relax."
"Don't—" Masashi reached out uselessly.
Too late.
His notebook was out.
Masashi froze.
He guarded the notebook like a secret—thick, neat, absurdly tidy. His handwriting alone made Masashi a target for ridicule.
Tatsuya whistled. "Damn. This is art. More than art. You sure this isn't a love letter?"
Kengo flipped pages lazily. "Whoa, whoa—hold up."
He stopped, eyes lighting up.
"Yo. Masashi."
Masashi's face drained of color. "Please give me back my notebook..."
Kengo turned the notebook outward, letting a few nearby students see.
Written small in the margin—half erased, clearly not meant to be seen—was a name.
Ayame.
Even Seiji was caught off guard.
Did Masashi actually write her name? I thought he was always so put off by her.
Tatsuya laughed. Loud. "No way. You're in love with The Ice Queen? You serious, Casanova?"
"Ohhh," Kengo said, drawing it out. "So that's how it is. You sure are aiming high, bro."
Masashi shook his head frantically. "It's not—! It's nothing like that! I was just—!"
"Just what?" Tatsuya cut in. "Practicing writing her name?"
A few students clustered around. Not a crowd. Just enough to matter.
Kengo glanced down the hallway. "You think she's seen this yet?"
Masashi looked like he might actually disappear.
Seiji felt something drop in his chest.
He looks like I would've looked a few days ago. Am I back to that old me? Who is just standing by while this happens?
Blood rushed to his head.
"Give it back," he said.
Quiet. Flat. No heat.
But inside, he was boiling.
For once, I wish this would turn into a fight. I'd probably lose, but—shit—I really want to fight.
Neither of the bullies heard Seiji—or pretended not to.
"Hey," Tatsuya continued, raising his voice just enough, "maybe Ayame will think it's cute. Right, Masashi? Do you think she'd go on a date with you?"
Suddenly, the air shifted.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
But everyone felt it.
Ayame Hanazawa was walking down the hall toward them.
She didn't rush.
She never did.
Her blazer fit perfectly, like it had been tailored. Hair pulled back neatly, posture straight, steps measured. She looked like someone who belonged somewhere quieter and more sophisticated than this hallway.
Students parted without realizing they were doing it.
Ayame's gaze flicked briefly to the notebook held up like a trophy.
Then—briefly—to Seiji.
And moved on.
No expression.
No interest.
Just distant, cool detachment.
Kengo reacted instantly. "Hey, Ayame—"
She didn't stop.
Tatsuya nudged him. "C'mon, man. Louder!"
Seiji felt his stomach twist.
She probably thinks we're all the same. But I'm not—I'm not that boy anymore.
Seiji stepped forward and took hold of the notebook.
"Enough," he said.
Kengo blinked. "What? Did I hear something?"
"Give it back."
Tatsuya scoffed. "Wow. Look at you. Are you actually talking, midget?"
Seiji didn't raise his voice.
Didn't look at Ayame.
"This isn't funny," he said firmly. "You're done."
Kengo tugged the notebook once. Seiji didn't let go.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then Ayame stopped.
Not completely.
But enough to turn her head.
Seiji felt that she looked at him.
Not all of them.
At him.
Kengo cleared his throat, suddenly awkward. "We're just messing around. Reading a love letter to—"
Seiji shook his head. "No. You're not."
The hallway had gone quiet in that specific way—everyone pretending not to listen while listening very closely.
Seiji could tell that Ayame was still next to them.
Assessing.
Then he heard her voice.
"Just give it back," she said.
Two words.
Calm.
A verdict.
That was all.
Kengo released the notebook, deflated.
Seiji passed it to Masashi, who grabbed it and hugged it to his chest.
"Jeez," Tatsuya muttered. "What's the big deal."
They backed off, looking indifferent, swagger gone.
Seiji turned and noticed Ayame looking at him.
Still. For a second longer than necessary.
Then she walked on.
No words.
No smile.
But she hadn't dismissed him either.
The hallway noise returned in pieces.
Masashi exhaled shakily. "I thought… I thought they were going to—"
"They're gone," Seiji said.