The alarm didn't go off.
Yuta opened his eyes to a still-dark room, the windows closed, the air stagnant. His body felt strange—not sore, but tense, as if his muscles hadn't yet accepted their own rest. He sat up slowly, his feet touching the cold wooden floor, and spent a few seconds staring at his hands before moving.
The folded uniform on the chair seemed smaller than he remembered.
He picked up the shirt and put it on carefully. The fabric stretched across his shoulders before reaching his chest. It was tight at the waist, rode up on his arms. The collar was snug, and the buttons… two wouldn't close. He exhaled through his nose, unsurprised, and opened the wardrobe. In the back of the drawer, one of the larger shirts he wore in winter was still there.
He put it on without a second thought.
The mirror's reflection confirmed what he already knew. His body had changed. It wasn't drastic—no bulging veins or grotesque muscles—but it was evident. His shoulders were more defined. The shirt fit better, but it still seemed made for an older version of him. One that no longer existed.
In the kitchen, the smell of reheated coffee lingered from the day before. The silence was absolute. No sound of footsteps upstairs. No voices. No radio playing. Just him and the faint clink of a glass against the sink.
He drank water. Two sips.
Then he grabbed a stale piece of bread from the drawer and chewed slowly, staring at the cloudy sky through the window's gap. The clock read 7:12.
He threw on his jacket over the uniform, slung his backpack over one shoulder, and left through the back door.
Outside, the ground was still damp. The early morning rain left a cold scent in the street. Car tires kicked up small droplets, and fallen leaves clung to the asphalt. Yuta walked slowly. His legs felt the different weight, but his balance was perfect. No stumbles, no hesitation.
The street corner was empty.
A few more steps, and he saw her.
Megumi stood under the convenience store's awning, looking at her phone with her backpack strapped on. She wasn't using an umbrella, but the hood of her jacket hid part of her face. When she heard his footsteps, she looked up.
For a moment, she was silent.
Then she pocketed her phone and walked toward him, as if nothing had happened.
"Good morning."
"Good morning."
She stopped beside him, no smile. Her eyes scanned Yuta's silhouette. It wasn't invasive or romantic. It was observation. A clinical look, like someone noting a detail that hadn't been there before.
"You… look different."
He didn't answer right away.
The backpack felt lighter today. Or maybe he was just steadier.
"It's the uniform. It shrank."
Megumi didn't respond, but the corner of her mouth seemed to twitch toward a smile. Then it didn't. They walked side by side, unhurried. Just the sounds of the street, leaves rustling in the wind, and their rhythmic steps on the wet concrete.
The path to school was the same as always, but the dynamic had already shifted.
Yuta kept a steady pace, effortless. The backpack that used to pull at his shoulder now felt like a symbolic weight. The stares began on the side street when two third-year students passed on bikes and looked back. One of them even slowed, staring at Yuta's profile as if trying to recall if they knew that face.
Farther along, two groups of first-year students were chatting in front of the bakery. One of the girls whispered something to her friend when Yuta passed. They glanced discreetly, then giggled softly.
Megumi noticed.
She didn't say anything but adjusted her backpack and quickened her pace slightly, staying closer.
Yuta noticed and pretended he didn't.
"You think it's late puberty?"
She blinked, caught off guard by the question. She glanced sideways, watching him fiddle with his shirt collar as if that were the biggest issue of the day.
"You grew overnight. Like… a lot."
"Two buttons popped this morning."
"Is that the shirt's fault or the owner's?"
"Probably the arms. They decided to grow up before the rest."
Megumi let out a low laugh, covering her mouth with her sleeve. The wind pushed her hood back slightly, revealing her clean face under the gray morning light.
"You know this has nothing to do with puberty, right?"
"Gonna ruin my theory with logic?"
"You're saying this was natural?"
Yuta rolled his left shoulder slightly, a faint crack sounding. The movement seemed casual, but Megumi noticed he was still testing his own limits.
"Fine. Maybe there's a little cursed energy involved."
"A little."
"Like… spiritual puberty."
She laughed again, this time not hiding it. The sound was brief but genuine. They passed a group of second-year students nearing the school entrance. Two of them stopped walking to look at Yuta.
This time, even one of the boys spoke loud enough to be heard:
"Hey… is that Okkotsu? Was he always like that?"
The stifled giggles from the girls in the group followed. One of them stared at Yuta with exaggerated attention, smiling as if entertained by the thought.
Megumi saw.
She didn't smile.
Nor did she hesitate.
She reached out discreetly and took Yuta's hand. It wasn't abrupt. Not possessive. It was direct. No permission asked.
Yuta glanced at her. Megumi kept her eyes forward, but her grip was firm. Her palm trembled slightly—maybe from the cold, maybe something else. But she didn't let go.
"They're not staring because of puberty."
"Sure they are. I grew. Got handsome. Grew again."
"You turned into bait."
"And you're the hook?"
"No. I'm the warning."
Yuta chuckled softly. He gave her hand a light squeeze in response. The other girls kept looking, but now with more restrained expressions. Megumi saw that too. And she seemed satisfied with the result.
The school entrance loomed ahead, with a larger flow of students rushing in. Megumi let go of Yuta's hand before they crossed the gates, walking as if nothing had happened.
But the warmth of his palm lingered in hers. And he knew it.
They stopped a few meters from the main gate.
The crowd of students was still heavy, but in that moment, the space between them and the others felt wider than usual. As if time had slowed just enough to make room for a decision.
Megumi exhaled slowly, her expression as steady as ever. But her eyes betrayed something else. There was expectation there. There was doubt. And there was a silent question she had no intention of asking aloud.
Yuta took half a step forward.
His gaze was direct, unguarded, unwavering.
"Megumi."
She looked up.
It wasn't quick.
Nor exaggerated.
It was a direct, brief, firm kiss. Not hidden. Not overly prolonged. But clear enough for anyone nearby to understand.
This wasn't a kiss of doubt.
It was a gesture of response.
When he pulled back, she blinked once, surprised—but not embarrassed. Just surprised that he did it. And that she liked it.
"Was that what you wanted?"
"No."
She lowered her eyes, then raised them again, a half-smile creeping onto the corner of her mouth.
"But it'll do."
Yuta adjusted his backpack strap, glancing around calmly. Some students farther off had stopped walking, clearly pretending they hadn't seen what they saw.
Megumi nodded toward the right.
"I'm heading this way. First C is in the low wing."
"I'll meet you at the exit."
She nodded and started walking, not looking back.
Yuta watched her for a few seconds, then turned toward the second floor where his classroom was. The sky was slowly clearing above the school's structure. The breeze carried the sounds of footsteps, low voices, and murmurs. Everything seemed normal.
But he knew it wasn't.
Nothing would be anymore.
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