"Um… Makoto-kun?"
Kotonoha's voice is soft enough that it almost disappears under the sound of chairs scraping and bags being zipped. She stands beside his desk, fingers twisting together, cheeks pink, eyes refusing to meet his.
Makoto looks up.
For a second, his face gives nothing away — no surprise, no annoyance, no curiosity. Just that calm, empty stillness that always makes people unsure whether he heard them at all.
"Are you… busy after this?" she asks, the words tumbling over each other.
Makoto finishes packing his bag. He shakes his head once. No.
Kotonoha's eyes widen, just a little — like a light being turned on in a room that's been dark for too long.
"I-I just arrived here, so… I don't really know the town yet. I was wondering if you could… maybe… show me around?"
She finally looks at him then, hopeful and terrified all at once.
Makoto studies her. Not in the way boys usually do — not searching, not weighing, not wanting. He just looks. Registers. Stores the moment away like a photograph.
His expression doesn't change.
He shrugs.
"Sure."
That's it. One word. No smile. No hesitation.
But to Kotonoha, it's everything.
Her face brightens so suddenly it almost looks like she might cry. She bows her head quickly, murmuring thanks, her voice shaking with happiness she didn't expect to be allowed to feel.
Makoto doesn't comment.
He doesn't need to.
His mother will be late again tonight.
And his father — that man — has custody of his little sister now, which means the house will be quiet in the way Makoto both hates and understands too well.
He has nowhere to be.
Behind them, Sekai Saionji watches the scene unfold, jaw tightening, fingers curling into fists at her sides.
"Tch…" she mutters, barely audible.
Setsuna Kiyora notices immediately. Of course she does. She leans in, voice low, careful.
"It's nothing, Sekai," she says gently. "He just said yes."
Sekai doesn't answer. She keeps staring at Makoto's back, at the way he doesn't even seem to notice the effect he has.
Makoto slips his headphones over his ears. The familiar weight settles against his chest, the old music humming to life like a curtain being drawn closed.
He gestures once for Kotonoha to follow.
She does.
They walk out of the classroom together — one silent, one glowing — and none of them realize it yet, but this is the first step.
Not toward romance.
Not toward tragedy.
Just toward movement.
And for Makoto Itou, that alone is already dangerous.