A week had passed.
Well, almost.
It had been a week since I first walked through the gates of Stellaris Global Academy. Seven days since that first Monday morning, when everything about the school still felt unfamiliar.
But the events of the past few days had only taken place from Thursday onward.
Now it was Monday again.
The beginning of another school week.
The second one of my life at Stellaris.
I stood by the window of our apartment, still in my sleep clothes, watching the city wake beneath me.
Tokyo was already restless.
The roads below carried a steady stream of cars, their tires whispering over the pavement whenever the traffic slowed. Somewhere between the buildings, a train passed with a low metallic rumble, its sound fading almost as quickly as it arrived. The windows in the apartment across the street were beginning to brighten one by one, while a few early pedestrians moved along the sidewalks with coffee in hand and their attention fixed somewhere ahead of them.
Another Monday.
Nothing particularly special about it.
And yet, somehow, everything about Stellaris had already begun to feel ordinary.
Not boring. Just familiar.
The classrooms. The corridors. The faces I'd started recognizing without knowing all their names. Even the walk from the gates to my classroom was slowly becoming something my feet could remember without my mind having to think about it.
It was strange how quickly unfamiliar things could become part of a routine.
And somewhere among the ordinary.
"When it comes to romance..."
There was her.
"...I don't have any experience."
Serena.
I hadn't thought much about it. At least, that's what I told myself.
The name flew through my thoughts for a moment before I finally pulled myself away from the window and remembered that I still had a school to get to.
After a shower, brushing my teeth, and the usual struggle of making myself look presentable before eight in the morning, I finished dressing and stepped out of my room. The moment I opened the door, a warm, savory aroma drifted through the apartment, mingling with the faint sweetness of something freshly cooked. It was the kind of smell that could make the kitchen feel awake before the rest of the apartment.
I followed it toward the kitchen, where my aunt stood by the stove, carefully turning slices of bread over in a pan.
"Morning."
"Good mor—"
The smell of butter and toasted bread reached me, and my eyes instinctively shifted toward the plate beside her. Golden slices of bread were stacked neatly on top of one another, still glistening faintly from the pan.
"...French toast?"
I pulled out a chair and sat down, though my expression had already begun to freeze.
She was still doing this.
It had been a week since I'd moved in, and somehow, she was still treating me like I was a guest who had just arrived at her home rather than her own nephew living under the same roof.
"You don't have to keep doing this," I said, my voice carrying more embarrassment than I intended.
She glanced over her shoulder, her eyebrows lifting slightly, "Doing what?"
"Cooking breakfast for me," I answered, looking toward the plate rather than at her. "I can cook for myself."
"I know you can," she replied, turning another slice of bread in the pan. "But you don't have to."
I frowned, my eyes drifted toward the clock on the wall. The morning was already moving faster than I wanted it to, and she was standing there cooking as if she had all the time in the world.
"And you have work this morning."
She gave me a brief look over her shoulder, as though that somehow wasn't a problem at all.
"I know that too."
"Then why are you cooking?"
"Because I want to."
I stared at her as she placed another slice onto the pan. Somehow, that answer was both the simplest and the hardest one to argue with.
She continued before I could respond.
"You're living with me now. You're starting at a new school, you're still getting used to Tokyo, and you're probably going to be too lazy to make anything before class."
There was enough confidence in her voice to make me wonder how long she'd been waiting to use that argument.
"...I wouldn't be that lazy."
She gave me a look.
I held her gaze for a moment before quietly reconsidering my defense.
"...Okay, maybe."
She smiled, apparently satisfied with the admission.
"There. Problem solved."
It wasn't. At least, not entirely.
My attention returned to the breakfast she'd prepared. I looked at the plate, then at her, and then back at the plate again.
There was something else I wanted to ask.
"There's another thing."
"Hm?"
"Why are all your meals foreign?"
"...What?"
I gestured toward the plate. "Like this."
"The French toast?"
"Yeah." I nodded toward it. "I've been keeping track."
She looked at me with a hint of suspicion. "You have?"
"Five meals. Five days. Five different countries."
That seemed to catch her off guard.
"The first day was Japanese. Ramen, sushi, tempura. You even had those little Japanese flags ready, and a sparkler."
She lifted a finger as if she had to defend herself, her expression suddenly earnest despite the ridiculousness of the memory. "That was for your first day."
"You almost set the table on fire."
"I did not."
"You got pretty close."
She looked away, which was enough of an admission for me.
"The next day was Italian. Bruschetta, cacio e pepe, and pizza. Then German, Korean, and finally Filipino food on Friday."
She nodded proudly at the last one. "See? I made food from your home country."
"Exactly. Which brings us back to the problem." I pointed at her. "You're British, yet you've cooked food from five different countries without making anything British."
She laughed. "Maybe I'm compensating."
"For what?"
"I don't know."
That answer didn't exactly help.
I leaned back in my chair. "I know cooking is your hobby, but you're going to spend money faster if you keep buying ingredients just to make something different every day."
She opened her mouth to argue, but I continued before she could.
"You're still in your late twenties, you have work, and I'm perfectly capable of cooking for myself."
She finally laughed. "Don't underestimate your aunt," she reached for her phone, unlocked it, and turned the screen toward me.
I stared at the number.
Four million yen.
"...What?"
"Four million."
I looked at her, then at the phone again. "You have that much saved?"
She gave a casual shrug, as though the number didn't particularly concern her. "Apparently."
My eyes darted around the apartment. It was a comfortable upper-middle-class condominium, nothing extravagant enough to suggest that kind of savings.
"You could afford somewhere more expensive."
"I like it here," she said simply. "It's comfortable."
I couldn't really argue with that. She placed her phone away and returned to the stove. "Besides, cooking for you makes me happy."
I went quiet for a moment. She was my mother's younger sister, but she'd always been the one looking after me whenever I needed it.
Still...
"Fine," I said. "But I'm cooking tomorrow."
She smiled, "We'll see."
I already knew what that meant. She didn't believe me.
A few minutes later, breakfast was over, and I had finished getting ready for school.
I packed up my things, slipped on my black shoes, and was ready to leave.
The moment I stepped outside, the sunlight hit me hard enough to make me squint. It was dazzling, almost oppressive, the kind of brightness that seemed to come with its own heat. I wiped the back of my neck and looked up at the cloudless sky.
Wasn't summer supposed to end this month?
If anything, it felt hotter than before.
Weather was strange.
I left our subdivision and made my way toward the station plaza, where the morning crowd had already begun to gather. People moved in every direction, some hurrying toward the station while others lingered along the sidewalks. Traffic enforcers stood at the intersections, directing vehicles and pedestrians with practiced gestures.
Near one side of the plaza, a street performer had set up a tripod with a phone attached to it, apparently recording himself for some kind of livestream. A little farther ahead, promoters stood along the walkway, offering flyers to anyone willing to take one.
It was the usual chaos of a weekday morning.
And somewhere in the middle of it, I noticed a familiar face.
Elian.
He stood near the platform, waiting beside the train that was already sitting there on standby. A duffel bag hung from one shoulder, while one hand rested against his stomach. His complexion was noticeably pale, and his eyes darted around the crowded station as if the sheer number of people was becoming too much to process.
He looked nauseous. Actually, he looked like one bad movement would be enough to make him throw up.
I stared at him for a moment.
This was supposed to be an athlete?
Considering how athletes were usually portrayed, I had expected someone who could handle a little crowd better than this.
Apparently, Elian had missed that memo.
"Hey, you okay?" I called as I approached him. His eyes suddenly landed on me, and his expression changed from overwhelmed to almost desperate.
"Rael!"
Before I could react, he hurried toward me and grabbed the front of my blazer.
"Please, help me."
"Whoa, what's wrong—"
Elian suddenly turned away, one hand covering his mouth. His face had gone even paler.
I immediately stopped in my tracks.
"Wait, wait, wait. Don't come any closer!"
He barely managed to nod, but his expression suddenly tightened again. His hand flew back over his mouth. Elian lurched forward, and I instinctively stepped back, but then I saw his face.
He was pale, his eyes watering as he struggled to keep himself together. He was actually about to throw up.
"Rael..."
"What?"
He took another unsteady step toward me, and I realized what he was about to do.
"Wait—stop!"
"Don't throw up on me—!"
...
The next thing I knew, we were already on the train. Elian sat beside me with a plastic bag held tightly in front of him, hunched over as he kept trying to throw up.
Nothing came out.
He retched again, but all that escaped was air. Even without anything coming up, I could tell it was starting to hurt.
"It still won't stop," he muttered between breaths. He wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, looking more exhausted than sick.
For a moment, I wondered how someone who played volleyball could get this badly affected by a train. Then again, maybe there was a difference between moving yourself and having something else move you.
I looked at him, taking in his pale face and the plastic bag still clutched in his hands. "Did you even eat anything today?"
"No."
"Why?"
He gave me a tired look, as if the answer should've been obvious.
"Because of this."
He lowered his voice, clearly embarrassed. "Please don't tell anyone about this. Especially Coach."
"I don't even know your coach," I said, giving him a reassuring glance. "So don't worry."
He let out a small breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Thank you. For helping me."
After a moment, he looked down at the plastic bag in his hands.
"I've been trying to get over it," he admitted. His fingers tightened slightly around the bag. "But it's hard."
"That bad?"
He nodded, looking away for a moment. "Every time I have to take a train, I feel like this. Sometimes it starts before I even get on."
He glanced toward the window, his expression turning a little more frustrated.
"I've missed trains because of it. Sometimes I have to get off halfway through the ride just to recover. And with school, training, and everything else..." He paused, rubbing his stomach again. "It gets exhausting."
I looked at him for a moment, still trying to make sense of it. For someone who spent hours jumping, running, and diving across a volleyball court, something as ordinary as getting to school seemed to be giving him a harder time than the sport itself.
"You live here in Ikebukuro, right?"
"Yeah. Minami."
"If you're struggling with the train, why aren't you in Waseda instead? It's a shorter route—"
"I don't think I'd..."
He paused, his gaze drifting toward the window. For a moment, he seemed to reconsider whatever he was about to say, his lips parting slightly before he fell quiet again.
"...feel the same there."
His voice had come out quieter than expected.
Then his expression suddenly changed.
"Ah—sorry!"
He turned toward me, visibly flustered. "That slipped out. I didn't mean to say it like that..."
I looked at him, caught slightly off guard by the sudden apology. I hadn't expected him to get so nervous over something so simple.
"It's fine. You don't have to apologize."
He gave a small nod, still looking a little embarrassed. For a moment, neither of us said anything. Then, almost as if the thought had slipped past his filter before he could stop it, he spoke again.
"At the Horizon. Beyond, There Is Forward."
I blinked, caught completely off guard by the sudden change in subject. I wasn't sure what he was talking about, or why he'd brought up the school motto out of nowhere.
"...What?"
Elian's eyes widened.
"Ah—" He quickly looked away, his expression turning even more flustered. "It's the motto..."
"I know."
He fell quiet again. His fingers shifted nervously around the plastic bag as he seemed to debate whether he should say anything else.
"...Do you think so?"
I looked at him, a little puzzled by the question. "I thought it meant something about ambition."
"But that's not how I see it," he paused for a moment before continuing. "The horizon is where you stop seeing what's ahead. You don't know what's beyond it. You just know there's more roads."
I stayed quiet, letting his words settle. It was a simple way of putting it, but somehow, it made the motto sound different from the way I had always understood it.
"So you keep going."
A small smile appeared on his face. There was something different about it—not nervous or apologetic like before, but calm. Certain.
I looked at him again, this time with a little more curiosity
Maybe there really was more to that motto than I thought.
"So, why did you pick Stellaris?"
Elian looked at me for a moment before smiling again.
"I gave you my answer."
There was no hesitation in his voice this time. The uncertainty from earlier had given way to quiet resolve. I had heard that tone before—last week, when Serena had asked him about Yuna.
So that's how he sounds when he's certain.
Elian looked toward the window again. The city passed by in flashes of sunlight and glass, reflected faintly across his face. "I mean... this is still a prestigious school. So of course I'd choose it. It may not be as prestigious as Waseda or Todai..."
He paused, his gaze still fixed outside, as though he were trying to find the right way to put the rest into words.
"Stellaris is a loud place sometimes. It's busy, and a little overwhelming."
"But it's a place that makes you want to keep looking for..."
His voice trailed off, and for a moment, he seemed to lose himself in the view outside. He was quiet for just long enough that I wondered if he'd changed his mind.
"Something..."
His voice faded as he continued looking. The warm sunlight from the window rested across his face as the train carried us forward.
"...Dazzling."
That word caught me off guard. Somehow, it felt like he wasn't talking about the academy anymore. There was something different in the way he said it, as though the word had taken on a meaning beyond the place itself.
"Dazzling?"
Elian nodded. "Yeah." His gaze remained fixed on the scenery, "I guess... that's how I'd describe it."
The train began to slow.
"Like the bright..."
The steady motion beneath us gradually weakened, replaced by the faint screech of the brakes. Outside, the buildings slowly drifted to a stop.
The train came to a halt.
A soft chime sounded.
The doors opened.
The morning light behind the platform framed a girl standing just beyond the doorway, her features hidden for a moment by the brightness.
She stepped forward, and her face slowly came into view.
The sunlight followed her for a moment, outlining her as she entered the train.
Elian was quiet.
Then, almost to himself—
"...Summer."
And then I recognized the girl kissed by the sun.
Yuna Natsuki.