Lyra Hayashi's alarm went off at 5:47 AM.
Not 5:45. Not 5:50. Exactly 5:47, because that gave her thirteen minutes to get dressed, eight minutes to make breakfast for herself and Kaito, twelve minutes to help her little brother with his homework (he always forgot something), and twenty minutes to walk to school before homeroom.
Math was comforting. When you had a formula, you couldn't fail.
She rolled out of bed, pulled her hair into a ponytail, and padded down the narrow hallway of their apartment. The living room light was already on. Her mother's nursing uniform was draped over the couch—she'd gotten home at 4 AM and would sleep until noon.
Lyra made rice, tamagoyaki, and miso soup on autopilot. Muscle memory. Kaito stumbled out of his room at 6:03, rubbing his eyes.
"Morning, Kai-kun."
"Mmph."
She slid a plate in front of him. "Did you finish your kanji practice?"
"...Most of it."
"Kaito."
"I got stuck on number seven!"
Lyra sighed, pulled out his workbook, and leaned over his shoulder. "Okay, this one is 'bright.' See? Sun radical plus moon radical. What makes light?"
"The sun and moon?"
"Exactly. Now you try."
While Kaito wrote, Lyra checked her phone.
47 unread messages.
She scrolled through them:
Akane (theater club): Can you help paint sets after school?Daichi (student council): Need someone to proofread the newsletter. You're good at that, right?Mei (chemistry partner): I don't understand the homework. Can you explain?Unknown number: Hi! I got your number from Sato-san. Can you tutor my cousin in English?Her thumb hovered over the screen.
I should say no to at least one of these.
But which one? Akane's sets needed to be done by Friday. Daichi's newsletter was going to print tomorrow. Mei would fail the quiz without help. And the tutoring—well, that was income. Her mom's hospital shifts barely covered rent.
She typed the same response to all of them:
Sure! What time?
By the time they left the apartment, Lyra had scheduled herself into a seventeen-hour day.
School was a gauntlet of hands reaching for her.
"Lyra! Can you—"
"Lyra, quick question—"
"Hayashi-san, do you have a minute?"
She had seventeen minutes before first period. She gave away twenty-three.
When she finally collapsed into her seat in homeroom, her phone buzzed with the group project assignments.
Partner: Nakamura Jiro
Lyra blinked.
Jiro Nakamura. Quiet. Smart, probably—he tested well despite never studying. Always sitting in the back. Always leaving early. Always...
...alone.
She tried to remember if she'd ever had a conversation with him.
No. Because Jiro Nakamura never asked for help.
That should have been refreshing.
Instead, it felt like a challenge.
[Time Skip: After the partner meeting]
Lyra walked home under the orange glow of streetlights, her backpack heavy with textbooks she'd borrowed for other people.
"You really don't care, do you?"
She'd said it without thinking. But the moment the words left her mouth, she'd regretted them.
Because Jiro's answer—"You'll make sure we pass"—was the most honest thing anyone had said to her in months.
He was right.
She would make sure they passed. She'd do his half of the project and hers. She'd send him the outline, the template, the bibliography. She'd do it because that's what she always did.
And he knew it.
"Because you're Lyra Hayashi."
What did that even mean?
Lyra the Helpful. Lyra the Reliable. Lyra the Girl Who Never Says No.
When she got home, Kaito was asleep on the couch, homework half-finished beside him. Her mother's bedroom door was closed.
Lyra set down her bag, made dinner, woke Kaito, helped him finish his homework, cleaned the kitchen, and finally sat down at her desk at 11:34 PM.
She opened her laptop.
Seventeen unread emails. Twelve more messages. A Google Doc full of other people's problems.
She started typing.
At 1:15 AM, she sent Jiro the project outline. Perfect formatting. Color-coded sections. Three potential thesis statements to choose from.
His reply came thirty seconds later:
Looks good.
That was it. Two words.
Lyra stared at the screen.
She should've been annoyed.
Instead, she laughed—sharp and bitter and surprising.
Because Jiro Nakamura was the first person all week who hadn't asked her for anything.
And somehow, that felt worse.