The weeks crawled by with a strange mix of noise and quiet. Classes went on as usual, though "usual" for Kimura Yuto meant drifting in and out like a ghost with a student ID. Most of the class had given up trying to understand him. He was the badminton guy, the soccer guy, the guy who vanished for days, the guy who didn't talk unless spoken to. A half-mythical creature seated near the window.
The only person still actively dealing with him was Miiko Minami, the class rep with enough responsibility wired into her soul to power the entire school's lighting system. She didn't nag him as much now; that phase had passed. But she hovered, watched him actually attend class for once, poked him during breaks to ask if he had eaten, and reminded him about assignments without sounding like a malfunctioning alarm clock.
And somehow, slowly, she ended up walking with him during breaks.
It started by accident. Shouta and Koda were on a mission to buy bread from the canteen before everything sold out, and Yuto happened to trail after them. Miiko joined because she wanted to ask Shouta something about class duties but ended up falling into step beside Yuto instead.
The conversation wasn't even important. Something about how Shouta still couldn't solve a math worksheet, Koda being dramatic about missing melon bread, Yuto mentioning a soccer drill he messed up, Miiko asking why soccer involved so much running. It was nothing, but it felt… comfortable.
They weren't a tight friend circle who shared lunches or hung out after school. More like a strange unit that didn't feel awkward existing in the same space. A group that clicked despite not trying to.
And Yuto found that Miiko was the first girl he could talk to without his brain setting itself on fire. She spoke clearly, asked simple questions, didn't tease him like Reina did, and didn't hover like the badminton gossip cloud around Masaru. She made him feel like a normal student. He didn't know whether he liked that or feared it.
Meanwhile, in the soccer club, things were different. Yuto felt grounded there, oddly enough. Captain Shoto Hashimoto looked out for him without hovering, tossing small words of encouragement his way or correcting his positioning with quick, precise gestures. The seniors joked around him more now.
"Kimura, you're too quiet. Say something before we forget the sound of your voice."
"He said something earlier," a midfielder replied. "I swear he did. It was like spotting a rare animal."
Reina, the manager, kept trying to talk to him, usually armed with a clipboard or towel. Yuto ran away from her with such consistent panic that the team declared it a training drill.
"New agility test!" someone shouted whenever she approached. "Escape from Reina!"
Reina herself just giggled. "Why does he react like I'm going to eat him?"
No one knew. Not even Yuto.
In his spare time, he still watched badminton positioning videos, replaying slow-motion footwork clips with the same quiet obsession he applied to everything he cared about. But soccer remained his main game. He had no intention of joining the badminton club. He just… wanted to get better at things.
As for Masaru and Tsukiko, they kept that disappointment to themselves. When Yuto didn't appear at the badminton club doors, Tsukiko merely exhaled and returned to practicing her footwork. Masaru shrugged it off in front of everyone, but the small dip in his brows said enough. They weren't the type to go chasing a first-year who clearly had his own priorities.
Then came the day everything shifted.
Masaru hurt his right knee during practice. It seemed harmless at first. A sharp twist, a faint wince, a pause in his movement. He brushed it off, tightened his grip, and continued practicing like nothing was wrong. That was his mistake.
Later, after practice, his knee ballooned. Swollen, burning, refusing to bend. By evening, he could barely walk.
Two months. That was the estimate.
Two months without the king.
The news spread through the badminton club like a cold gust of wind, and Tsukiko stood in stunned silence, her racket hanging limp at her side.
And elsewhere in the school, Yuto was showing Miiko how to perform a soccer feint using a pen and her notebook margins. She laughed, leaned over the desk, and tried copying the diagram while Shouta and Koda argued about snacks.
None of them knew yet how the badminton tournament would twist their paths. None of them felt the shift coming.
But the pieces had already started moving.