All content in this novel is for fictional and entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. This story may include emotionally heavy or distressing themes. Reader discretion is advised.
The door clicks softly behind me—
a small, polite sound that feels too loud in the quiet office.
I don't turn around right away.
Principal Sakamoto remains seated behind his desk; fingers folded neatly atop a stack of untouched papers. The afternoon sun slants in through the tall window behind him, casting his silhouette in pale gold. When he lifts his gaze, his glasses catch the light—slow, assessing, but not unkind.
He studies me for a moment. The kind of look adults give when they want to say something important without frightening you.
"If there is anything you need, dear," he says carefully, voice measured, "my office is always open for you."
I bow before I even think about it. Back straight. Hands at my sides. The motion is automatic—something drilled into me long before today.
"Thank you."
He nods once, satisfied, and doesn't stop me as I reach for the door.
The hallway feels too bright the moment I step out.
The walls are white. The windows are tall. The sunlight reflects off the floors that have been polished until they look almost wet. My reflection walks alongside me as I walk down the hall—dark skirt, blazer buttoned neatly, ribbon tied just right. The perfect mirror of the perfect student.
My mother always gives me a big-ass lecture even if my sleeves are rolled up. To me, these uniforms are suffocating. Some see a perfect student. Some see a perfect daughter. But all I see is a perfect lie.
My shoes tap softly against the floor—one, two, one, two—each step echoing down the empty corridor. The sound follows me, proof that I exist, even when all I want is to fall sleep.
I keep my eyes forward.
Halfway down the hall behind me—
Slap. Slap. Slap.
Hurried footsteps rush up behind me.
"Sh–Shirasaki-san! W–Wait!"
I stop—barely—and turn just enough to see Assistant Principal Tanaka jogging toward me. His tie hangs crooked, loosened like he forgot to fix it after standing too fast. A strand of hair clings to his forehead with sweat. He bends slightly, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.
"Man, you walk fast," he pants. "I called your name like three times."
"…Are you following me, sir?"
My voice is flat. Disinterested. Not accusing—just stating a possibility.
He freezes.
He freezes.
His mouth opens, then closes. His hands hover awkwardly at his sides.
"W–What? No! I just— I wanted—" He gestures vaguely down the corridor, as if that explains anything.
I cross my arms.
"You know," I say lightly, "people could misunderstand. Chasing after a high school girl like that."
His face turns red instantly. "No—no, absolutely not," he rushes out, eyes snapping away. "That's not what I meant. I didn't mean it like that."
"Uh-huh."
I let the silence stretch. Just long enough to make him uncomfortable.
He exhales sharply and runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back where it immediately falls again. "It's just—" he sighs. "I wanted to apologize. If the meeting felt overwhelming. But… you handled it well."
I looked away, gaze drifting to the sunlight spilling across the floor.
"It's nothing," I say. "I'm used to it."
"You shouldn't be," he says quickly, like he's afraid I'll shut down if he hesitates. He straightens his tie at last. "You shouldn't brush it off like that."
"There's really nothing I could do," I reply, staring out the window. "Even if I tried."
Mom was always demanding. No was never an acceptable answer. Sometimes I wonder how Dad puts up with it.
"But I think you can," he says. "You're strong. More capable than you realize."
My eyes widen slightly. I wasn't expecting that.
I let out a quiet chuckle. "Thank you."
He blinks, then smiles. "You laughed. That's a good sign."
Then, more hesitantly, "You know… you remind me of a close friend of mine."
I tilt my head. "Oh? How so?"
"She worked hard," he says slowly. "Didn't give up no matter the circumstances. Even when things were… messy at home." He pauses, then adds quietly, "That's what I see in you."
My fingers curl faintly at my side.
I glance down at the floor, watching my reflection blur beneath my shoes. A strange warmth creeps into my chest—small and unfamiliar. For just a moment, I let myself feel it.
Then I press it down. Locking it away.
No one has ever said something like that to me.
"I… see," I say softly. My smile doesn't reach my eyes.
He nods, relieved, and adjusts his tie again out of habit. "If you ever need someone to listen," he adds, scratching the back of his neck, "I'd be happy to lend an ear."
I lift my gaze just long enough to meet his.
"…Thank you." I said smiling, "I might take you up on that one day—if the chance ever comes."
The bell rings sharply somewhere down the hall, echoing through the corridor.
I turn away. "…I should get back to class."
"Of course!" He grins—too wide, too eager. "Good luck! I know you can do it—so give it your all!"
He waves far too enthusiastically. I stand there for a moment longer.
Then I exhaled, releasing a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
My footsteps echo as I continue down the corridor.
The quiet reminds me of the dream I always have, the one that begins in darkness, where my body refuses to move but always ending before I can understand who she is or why she feels so close.