"In you go," Takumi muttered, stuffing another stray comic book into the chaotic mess that was his locker. His voice was dry, barely above a sigh, matching the laziness in his half-lidded eyes.
Notebooks, tangled wires, loose pens, and a small collection of tools jutted out from the corners. An action figure of a cybernetic hero leaned sideways, nearly buried under a collapsed tower of gadgets. He looked at it. Thought about fixing it. Didn't.
Sunlight poured through the narrow windows above, splashing streaks of gold across the tiled floor. The early autumn wind pressed faintly against the hallway walls, and outside, leaves gave up their grip one by one, twisting lazily in the air.
Takumi blocked the sunlight with a raised hand, nudged the last stubborn item inside, and slammed the locker door shut with a metallic clang.
"Bang," he mumbled.
A soft clap echoed from down the row. "Dramatic as ever," came a familiar voice, amused and far too close.
Liene stood nearby, leaning on her own locker like she owned the entire hallway. Her elbow rested on the cool metal, knuckles brushing her cheek, a smirk tugging at her lips. Her cyan hair swayed gently from the locker's impact, but her expression stayed steady—calm, knowing, and a touch too pleased.
Takumi flinched slightly. "Can you not materialize out of thin air like you're some sort of spectre?"
"'Yo' works too, but sure," Liene said with a lazy wave, voice smooth. "Miss your favorite disturbance?"
"Oh, absolutely," Takumi deadpanned. "How else would I get my daily reminder that sleep paralysis is real?"
"Fufu~ My, oh my, flattery suits you," she grinned. "You're learning."
He held up a notebook like a shield. "Most people knock before trespassing."
"Where's the fun in that?" she stepped in with a catlike ease. "Besides, someone has to remind you you're not as mysterious as you pretend to be."
"Mysterious is just lazy with better PR."
She laughed. "Says the guy who declared war on a stapler."
"It jammed. Multiple times."
"I know. I watched."
Takumi sighed. "You really think this is getting to me?"
Liene leaned against the locker with a mock-dramatic flair. "Of course not. Watching you try not to react? That's the fun part, Ta-ku-mi~"
He blinked as she turned away, humming.
"…Weird woman," he muttered.
This time, though, the corner of his mouth betrayed him and twitched up.
"Right." He rolled his eyes and snapped his locker shut harder than needed. "Like how you love leaving your chaos for me to sweep up?"
She tapped his nose with a delicate finger; the scowl came instantly. "My, my, my organized chaos is a masterpiece. Unlike..." Her eyes flicked over his stuffed locker, feigning a worried gasp. "...whatever natural disaster you've got going on in there."
"Oh, forgive me for not meeting the unreasonable standards of Little Miss Perfect," he replied with a sarcastic bow. "Should I color-code my notes to match your weaponry now?"
"Mm, no need to be jealous." Liene purred, patting his cheek with that exaggerated affection of hers. "I keep things simple—one blade, precise, effective. None of that cluttered nonsense."
Takumi pinched the bridge of his nose, like her being there was a physical ache. "So what cosmic mistake dropped you here to bother me today?"
"Just savoring the spectacle of you spectacularly crashing and burning in class after that dramatic late entrance." Her smirk held the satisfaction of someone enjoying a private joke at his expense.
He straightened with a tired groan, annoyance folding into the memory. He'd convinced himself he'd slipped in like a ghost—silent, unnoticed—until the chalk hit his shoulder.
The teacher hadn't even glanced away from the board. Precise. Humiliating. Still stung.
"Take your seat, and don't be late again." That had been it. No pity. Just the classroom quiet exploding into muffled laughter behind him.
He shot Liene a look sharp enough to cut. She just grinned, clearly drinking it in.
"Fufu~ Oh, but wait, there's more~" she cooed, the teasing tone soft and sardonic. "You, passed out face-first in the middle of class. That was a look."
"I'm honored that you're so invested in my daily tragedies," he deadpanned. "Really. It's—comforting. In a deeply unsettling way."
Liene leaned her cheek on her hand, eyes fixed on Takumi like she was watching a rerun she'd never get tired of. He could practically feel the heat crawl back into his face—arms curled under his head like a mangled pretzel, snoring through half the class. The snap of the teacher's fingers, the gust of wind that yeeted him out of his chair without mercy...
The way his eyes had shot open—glassy, disoriented, like he'd woken up in another universe—sent the whole class into chaos. The teacher hadn't said a word. He didn't need to. That deadpan glare had done all the talking.
Liene chuckled to herself, covering her mouth in mock modesty. "Fufu~ The elegance of a man flying backwards mid-snore. Truly unforgettable."
"Glad I could provide today's entertainment," Takumi muttered, rubbing his temples. Annoyed? Yes. Embarrassed? Painfully. But actually angry? That required energy he didn't feel like wasting. He shot her a glance, tired and unamused. "You done?"
Liene gave an exaggerated hum, swinging her legs just slightly where she sat. "My, my. Someone's awfully grumpy today. Did the nap not help?"
Takumi didn't bother replying. But then he spotted it—her phone clutched awkwardly in one hand, while the ground around her looked like her bag had exploded. Books, pens, a half-folded jacket… and her locker still closed tight behind her.
He raised an eyebrow.
"…Don't tell me." He drawled, eyes sliding to the untouched locker. "The great Liene can't even open her own locker?"
Her hand twitched, nearly dropping her phone. She caught it—but not gracefully—and straightened up a little too quickly. "Ara ara, what makes you think—" she began, but a poorly timed cough cut her off.
Takumi stared.
Liene immediately looked down at her screen, tapping through random apps like they held the secrets of the universe. "I'm simply… taking my time," she muttered. "Pacing myself. Lockers are notoriously stubborn this year."
"Right," Takumi said, folding his arms. "Pacing yourself. For a locker. A worthy opponent."
"I didn't ask for your commentary," she huffed, swiping again—too fast, too aimless.
He watched her for a beat longer, then sighed. A slow, dramatic sigh, the kind reserved for saints and older siblings. "Give it here before you throw it or yourself across the hallway."
Her smile twitched. For a second, she looked like she might snap back with something clever—but instead, she paused.
Takumi tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. He said nothing—but the smugness in his expression said plenty.
"Just... fix it," Liene mumbled, brushing her bangs aside like it would shield her pride as she handed him her phone .
He tapped the screen once. Click. The locker door opened without a fuss.
He handed the phone back with an innocent smile that was anything but innocent.
"Wow," he said. "Really put up a fight."
Liene glared at him, snatched her phone back, and let out a quiet huff. "…It was stuck earlier."
"Mm-hm," Takumi said, already turning away. "Next time, maybe threaten it with your 'one blade that gets the job done.' Might scare it open."
"My, my. You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"
"I'm not not enjoying it."
He scratched his head, tousling his already-messy bronze-orange hair. The stubborn cowlick bounced right back into place, as always. His brown eyes remained half-lidded, his whole posture still screaming exhausted indifference under the slightly rumpled navy-blue academy jacket. Baggy pants streaked with yellow and white, brown vest half-buttoned, scuffed ankle boots, gloves bearing the school crest—Takumi looked more like someone dropped into uniform than someone who put it on. At his waist, the compact brick that was his folded scythe rested without ceremony.
"Fun fact," he drawled, stifling another yawn. "They actually explained how these things work. You know, during that thrilling presentation about how the lockers—" he air-quoted with visible effort, "—'dynamically relocate' to wherever you are. With just your phone."
He shot her a smirk. "Which is hilarious, considering you were the one taking notes while I was, you know… testing gravity with my face."
Liene's eyes widened—just for a second—before her composure snapped back in place. She quickly shoved her things into the locker with all the elegance of someone trying to hide a crime scene. The door clicked shut with a soft whir, the app confirming the lock as she glanced down at it.
She had taken notes. She remembered that feature. She just… forgot.
"Well, this has been fun," Takumi said, flashing his lazy grin again as he turned to go. "But I've got a date with more uncomfortable furniture to pass out on."
"Eh?" Liene blinked, caught off guard by how quickly he pivoted.
But he was already walking off, waving half-heartedly over his shoulder, hand slipping into his pocket as he moved with the energy of a sleep-deprived sloth.
Liene stood still for a beat, then sighed and rolled her eyes. Without missing another step, she unsheathed her kyoketsu shoge. The blade caught the ceiling lights as she swung herself forward, landing softly behind him—barely a sound. Weapon stowed, pace matching his, she trailed after him, an amused smile tugging at her lips despite herself.
Takumi trudged ahead, each step more exhausted than the last, as if gravity had a personal vendetta against him. His yawns grew progressively more dramatic, accompanied by groans that suggested consciousness itself was offensive. Just as he thought he might escape to find his next napping spot, a pair of shoes appeared in his path. His gaze traveled upward with painful slowness, his face cycling through the five stages of grief before settling on pure irritation.
Liene paused behind him, curiosity piqued by this new development.
"Sora," Takumi muttered like he'd just bitten into spoiled fruit.
"So, it seems we meet once again... Sato," Sora declared, puffing his chest slightly, his grin all too pleased with itself.
"We sit three desks apart," Takumi said flatly, already regretting breathing today. "What the hell are you on about?"
As the seconds ticked by, Takumi's desire to vanish grew exponentially. Sora's smug expression hovered like a mosquito that wouldn't buzz off, arms crossed in a stance that screamed "I'm cool!" and whispered "I'm not."
"As your rival—" Sora began with flourish.
"We're not rivals," Takumi cut in, monotone. "Unless we're counting who's more delusional."
Sora pressed on about passing the academy, his tone drenched in dramatic self-importance. Takumi's response was swift and dry.
"—seeing you pass along with me in this academy, I can't help but wonder just how far below me you really are," Sora finished, grinning as if he'd just delivered a verbal finisher.
Takumi exhaled a laugh through his nose. "Wow. Did that burn sound better in your head, or did you copy it from a cereal box?"
"I want to see just how far below me you are," Sora declared, puffed up with a confidence that hadn't quite earned its keep.
Takumi gave a slow, mocking clap. "Wow. You passed too? Honestly, didn't see that coming. Thought they just saw an empty seat and figured, 'Eh, throw it to the loud one before he throws another tantrum.'"
"You passed this academy by pure luck—" Sora started.
"And you passed by what? Daddy's checkbook?" Takumi shot back, deadpan. "Congrats. You're basically a walking participation trophy."
Sora scoffed, trying to stay composed. "You know, for someone who's supposed to be all great and powerful, you're about as interesting as a dull spoon. You blend into the background like wallpaper."
Takumi groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. "Did you seriously order a 'How to Insult' guide online? I've heard toddlers throw better shade. At least they have creativity."
His brown eyes, half-lidded, somehow managed to radiate both exhaustion and pure disdain. The bronze-orange cowlick drooping over his forehead wasn't helping the vibe — he looked like a guy forced out of bed just to be annoyed.
Trailing a few steps behind, Liene bit back a laugh. Watching Takumi dismantle Sora was like watching someone flick dust off their sleeve.
"You—" Sora tried again, but Takumi waved him off.
"Wow," he muttered. "That was almost a thought. You're getting there—maybe try again next century."
Sora opened his mouth, but before another word could crawl out, Takumi rolled his eyes so hard it was practically athletic.
"Unless you've got something new to say, I'll be over there—doing something thrilling. Like watching paint dry."
Just then, Liene appeared beside him, her voice lilting in amusement as her finger lightly trailed along his shoulder.
"My, my… what do we have here?" she cooed. "Is the great Takumi-sama actually mingling with the common folk? Should I light a candle, or maybe mark the calendar with gold ink? Fufu~"
Her eyes glittered, all playful venom and quiet mischief, like a wine glass with a crack no one noticed until it shattered.
Takumi didn't even look at her. "Sorry, my people-tolerance quota is full for the next decade. Maybe try again in hell."
He waved her off with a dismissive flick, the kind of motion you'd use to chase off a fly — if that fly was particularly loud and wore perfume.
She leaned in, not discouraged in the slightest. "No? My, oh my~ You almost sounded charming there. He seems quite invested in you, though. Rather... eager~"
Takumi groaned. "Don't remind me. He's like a hangnail that thinks it's your soulmate."
Sora puffed up nearby, clearly trying to assert presence. "I'm Sora, top mage of—"
"—of the 'try hard, fail harder' club?" Takumi muttered without missing a beat. "Go on. Impress yourself."
Liene's gaze flicked between them, her smile still teasing, though there was a glint of curiosity beneath. Sora—bronze eyes, overconfident grin, hair like he'd styled it by running through a wind tunnel—looked completely unfazed, which somehow made it worse.
To Takumi, Sora was the human equivalent of pop-up ads: flashy, loud, and annoyingly persistent.
Sora's outfit didn't help. It screamed wannabe protagonist—a stiff brown-collared shirt buried under regulation armor in blue, white, and yellow, like someone had tried to make him look heroic by committee. The end result was... beige.
"I see you've found yourself a companion," Sora said, voice straining under its forced friendliness.
"Wow. Thanks, Sherlock. You get that revelation from the same brain cell that told you elbow pads over armor looked good?" Takumi's eyes narrowed, but his tone was still maddeningly bored.
"So…" she purred, sidling closer. "Your rival seems... persistent~ What's the real story there?"
"God, it's like he wakes up every morning and chooses stupid," Takumi continued, as if narrating a wildlife documentary. "That little fuck has been chasing me around since we were kids. I don't even know why. I said one thing, once—once—and now I'm cursed with his goddamn presence like a skin rash that thinks it's charming."
Liene let out a breathy laugh, but her eyes studied him now, like something in his tone had shifted.
Takumi kept going. "Do you know how many times I've had to sit through his bullshit motivational speeches? 'We're rivals, Takumi!'No. You're a mosquito in cosplay. A persistent, loud, fantasy LARPing mosquito with a fucking superiority complex and a voice that makes drywall reconsider its purpose."
Whumph.
A few books teetered off a high shelf above a random student nearby—no one noticed, not even the kid—but Takumi spun his scythe handle off his waist with one finger, extended it in a single smooth flick, and nudged the stack midair. The books slid neatly back in place with a dull thud. The student looked up, confused, then gave a brief glance toward Takumi's back. Just a flicker of recognition. Then nothing.
Takumi retracted the scythe in a casual twist and clipped it back to his belt like it was just part of breathing.
"…and he has this fucking grin, like he's doing the world a favor by existing," he continued, already picking up pace. "Every sentence out of his mouth sounds like it came from a goddamn poster in a motivational seminar for dropouts."
Liene, still walking beside him, slowed slightly. "My… you're, ah… quite passionate about this."
"Passionate? I want to dropkick him into a well," Takumi said, eyes flickering with genuine annoyance now. "A deep one. Preferably with piranhas at the bottom. Friendly piranhas. Smarter than him, definitely."
Liene blinked. "That's… oddly specific."
"Oh, I've thought about it," he muttered. "Every fucking time he talks like we're in some grand rivalry arc. We're not. I'm just trying to survive the semester without strangling someone. Heh, imagine if there was a nuclear war and little fuck still continues on his grand fantasy quest of being the very best like no one every was!"
Liene glanced at him, that teasing lilt finally faltering. "Takumi…"
"What?" he snapped. "The little shit once followed me through three floors of dorms just to ask if I was 'training hard enough.' Training hard enough?! I nearly threw my shoe at him."
"…You're really… mad," she said, her voice quieter now.
"Mad? Nah. I'm spiritually exhausted. That fucker drains my mental capacity like a black hole with hair gel."
Liene stared at him for a moment, then gave a small, almost nervous laugh. "...You're terrifying sometimes, y'know that?"
He finally turned, expression dry. "Only sometimes?"
She blinked once, then cracked a smile, a small one this time. "...And yet still entertaining, maybe."
He sighed, rubbing his temple. "God help me if he's in any more of my classes. I swear, I'll fake my own death and transfer schools."
The sarcasm clung to his words, dry and bitter, but it didn't land with the usual bite. His gaze had already shifted, drifting past the hallway, his posture still but not relaxed. Just for a breath, something flickered behind his eyes.
Not Sora.
Somewhere else entirely.
A grand hallway. Marble floors and velvet rugs. A staircase that split like a river into two curling wings. The faint glint of chandeliers overhead — all of it hazy, like it was underwater, or halfway through a dream he didn't remember falling into.
Then, nothing. The image snapped away, leaving only the dull pulse of a headache behind. Takumi flinched, pressing a thumb to the side of his head.
"You good?" Liene asked, voice lighter than usual, but not mocking.
He grunted. "Peachy. Just remembered the universe hates me."
"Hm. A universal truth." She gave a small tilt of her head, her tone unreadable. "But seriously, headache?"
"It's fine." His fingers lingered at his temple, eyes narrowing at the floor. "Just a stupid flash of something. Probably trauma. Or taxes."
She didn't answer right away, just kept walking beside him, her eyes flicking his way. "...You looked somewhere else for a second."
Takumi barked a low laugh, one without humor. "Don't get poetic on me now."
"Wasn't trying to," she said, gaze still forward. "I just notice things."
He side-eyed her. "Since when did you care?"
She gave the smallest shrug. "Maybe I do. A little."
He snorted. "Right. Just enough to watch the train crash, huh?"
At that, she smiled — not teasing this time, not fully. "Something like that."
He went quiet. The headache hadn't fully passed, and neither had the feeling. That strange, slipping thread of familiarity. He hated it. Hated how it hovered.
"Whatever. I'm not dying," he muttered, straightening up. "So you can save your creepy little eulogy for someone who'll actually appreciate it."
"Shame," Liene said, voice light again. "I had such a fitting one, too. 'Here lies Takumi — professional pain in the ass, survived everything but Mondays.'"
Takumi rolled his eyes. "We done?"
"My my~" she hummed, twirling her kyoketsu-shoge lazily between her fingers. "Someone's extra pleasant today."
He didn't answer. Just kept walking, eyes ahead. The silence between them stretched — not awkward, but not easy either. Liene didn't press. She only kept twirling her blade, fingers moving on instinct.
Takumi's thoughts trailed behind them, somewhere far from the hallway.
Far from school.
Far from her.
"Geez, I really recalled something so unpleasant…" he thought bitterly.
Around 6 PM, the light outside shimmered and dimmed like the last flicker of a dying ember, slowly giving way to the encroaching night. The rain had eased into silence, its final traces lingering in the damp air. Claire stood at her dorm door, her gaze tired and distant as she eased it open just a crack, peeking through to check if Kazuki was inside.
Her breath caught.
She didn't know why she was so nervous—except she did. Too shy to face him directly. The weight of the silence between them. The guilt. The way he saved her, then acted like it didn't matter. It all tangled together, a knot she couldn't unravel.
No sign of him.
Only then did she finally step inside. Even so, the irrational fear tugged at her—that he might suddenly appear behind her the moment she turned her back.
A soft exhale slipped from her lips. Relief, but dulled by exhaustion. She slumped against the door, resting her forehead against the cool surface.
"T-That took way too long..." she muttered, voice heavy with fatigue. Her fingers fidgeted at her sleeves as another sigh escaped her.
Outside, the rain had stopped. She blinked, yellow eyes adjusting to the dimness, then rubbed at them with the back of her hand. Her gaze drifted toward the balcony, where the last threads of sunlight stretched across the floor. The golden dusk mingled with the chill of autumn air—warm light, cold wind. A quiet, strange sort of calm.
Reaching for her diary on the top bunk, Claire paused, her hand hovering midair like it was waiting for permission. She squinted, then stood on the tips of her toes, fingers fumbling along the edge.
"Come on, come on... I left it right—"
Her hand brushed something—thin, rigid—
"Ah—wait, not that—!"
She yanked her arm back with a startled gasp, an arrow clattering to the floor beside her foot. She stared at it, wide-eyed, like it had betrayed her.
"W-Why is that even up there...?" she mumbled, picking it up with both hands like it might bite. She carefully set it aside, then returned to searching until her fingers found the soft edge of worn leather. "Aha—finally..."
She pulled it down too fast. The diary slipped from her grasp and nearly tumbled from the bed. A breath caught in her throat as she snatched it mid-drop, clutching it to her chest like it was a fragile artifact. She stood there for a second, pressing her chin to the cover.
"…Capisce," she whispered to herself with a slow nod, trying to ground her nerves.
Sliding open the glass door, Claire stepped out onto the narrow balcony. The wood felt cool beneath her feet as the wind brushed past, tugging at her hair. She placed the diary on the railing with both hands, then stood there in silence, fingers resting lightly against the edge. The sky was glowing faint orange and gold, painted with the quiet aftermath of rain.
She took a breath—deep, shaky—and opened the diary. Pages flipped under her touch, some neat, others crumpled, doodled on, or slightly smudged from past tears. A few pressed leaves stuck out near the middle. She stopped at a blank page.
"Okay… right. Writing time. Just… write," she whispered. Her fingers tightened around the pen.
Hi again, Mom.
She paused.
"Day two at the academy," she said out loud under her breath, as if testing the words before committing them. "I-I'm sorry I had to leave you home... I hope the plants are still alive. I watered them... a lot. Maybe too much. Sorry if they drowned."
Her pen scratched along the page with small, careful letters. "I thought I'd keep this diary updated, so when I get back, I can… you know. Show you everything. If that's still okay."
A breeze passed by. Claire hesitated again.
"So, uh… it wasn't what I expected," she murmured. "Rose got into some… um, situation, and I—I fought a bird. An actual bird. With black feathers. Not— not a regular one, I swear. I didn't just throw rocks at a pigeon or something..."
She winced at herself, shaking her head.
"…It was... fine. I think." Her voice trailed off. Her pen slowed.
Then it stopped entirely.
Her hand hovered, then started to write, And then there's—
She stared. No.
She scratched it out with quick, overlapping lines, her hand slightly trembling. Her mouth pressed into a thin line. She muttered, "Don't start thinking about him... please... don't."
Silence.
She forced a quiet chuckle, barely audible. "Right. Um. Anyway... I'm glad I wrote something. Even if it's all nonsense. The sun's almost gone, so… I guess I'll stop here."
Love, Claire.
She placed the pen down with care and closed the diary, letting both hands rest on top of it for a moment like it might blow away. Her gaze lifted toward the horizon, where the orange sky had faded to a deep violet. The wind stirred again, brushing through her hair.
She smiled faintly, blinking.
Then her smile faded.
A shadow moved below.
Her breath hitched.
There, barely visible in the darkening courtyard, stood a figure.
Kazuki.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the railing as she watched him go. Same quiet stride. Same unreadable face. He glanced once to the side, then kept walking, disappearing into the dusky light of the academy grounds.
Unease stirred in her chest—sharp, familiar. Wrapped in the same questions that always clung to him.
She never understood him. He was always just beyond reach. And yet… something in her kept pulling away.
Fear?
Guilt?
She didn't know.
Claire let out a breath and slipped back inside, the glass door closing softly behind her. She climbed into the top bunk, pulled the blanket to her chin, and hugged her diary tight.
Her thoughts churned, heavy and wordless.
The guilt was there—lingering, quiet—but her mind refused to shape it into anything clear.
Just… blank.