This is the story of a boy named Hikaru Kagawa.
His name meant "a shining, fragrant river," yet he was nothing like it.
Hikaru was seventeen years old and in his second year of high school. He lived in a luxurious apartment in Tokyo with his younger sister, Yuki Kagawa, who was in her third year of middle school—three years his junior. They belonged to a wealthy family, the children of successful businesspeople who were seldom home. Their parents returned only on occasional weekends or during the summer, leaving Hikaru and Yuki to live on their own for the past two years.
Despite his privileged background, Hikaru chose to attend an ordinary high school, declining the elite institutions he could easily afford. His grades were consistently below average, and he had no friends. At school, he remained a ghost—present, but unnoticeable. He never initiated conversations, never joined clubs, and never stayed behind after class.
Yet, paradoxically, he possessed striking good looks. When he had first arrived at the school, his appearance attracted both girls and boys alike, all eager to befriend him. But he ignored them all, his disinterest as sharp as it was silent. Eventually, they stopped trying. Now, no one spoke to him unless forced to during group assignments.
But Hikaru hadn't always been this way. Once, back in his second year of middle school, he had been vibrant and social—surrounded by friends, his laughter echoing through the hallways. That changed after the incident. Since that day, he had severed all ties, retreating into solitude and silence. Even two classmates at his current school—former friends from his past—had long since given up on rekindling their bond with him.
It was on a quiet spring morning, the kind that blanketed the school in soft light, that Hikaru sat alone at his desk, as he always did. The classroom buzzed softly with chatter, the scraping of chairs, and the rustling of bags. He stared blankly out the window, barely aware of the world around him.
Then, a voice broke through.
"Hey," a girl said gently. "Can you talk to me for a minute?"
He turned.
Standing beside his desk was Sakura Ayazawa, a girl from his class. Her tone was calm but direct, her expression unreadable. Unlike most others, she didn't hesitate. She looked him straight in the eye—as if she wasn't speaking to a ghost, but to someone real.
For the first time in a long while, someone had spoken to Hikaru not out of obligation—but out of choice.