Mishiro High, After School
Detention was not new to Reiji Kazama.
What was new was sitting in detention without actually punching anyone.
Still, he'd managed to shout in front of the entire class, walk out of homeroom like a stormcloud, and make a five-year-old cry on a desk. That apparently earned him a solid hour of "reflective silence" in an empty classroom after school.
Reiji slouched in his chair near the back of the room—his usual territory. One leg stretched across the floor, the other resting on his backpack. He had no intention of reflecting. What was he supposed to reflect on, anyway? That life had a sense of humor? That fate shoved ironic substitute teachers into his life like bad sitcoms?
His pencil scratched across the page of his sketchbook.
This time, he wasn't drawing dragons. He wasn't sure what he was drawing, actually. His hand moved on instinct.
A tiny figure. Two pigtails. Oversized rain boots. Arms spread wide as she rode a ridiculous-looking mechanical dragon, flames bursting from its nostrils. Atop its head was a duck-patterned umbrella like a battle flag.
Yume Minazuki: Professional Chaos Engine and Dream Pilot.
Reiji smirked to himself.
Then the silence shifted.
He didn't look up. He didn't need to.
Asuka Minazuki walked into the room with a gentle hum and a stack of ungraded quizzes. She looked too bright for the hour. The sunset bathed her in gold, making her look less like a substitute teacher and more like… something else. Something gentler than this world allowed.
She walked to the teacher's desk and sat down, glancing at him after a moment.
"No other students in detention today," she said softly.
"Lucky them," Reiji muttered.
"I volunteered to supervise," she added casually.
That caught his attention.
He looked up. "…Why?"
She shrugged. "Because I like quiet classrooms."
"And because you don't trust me to be left alone near breakable things?"
Her lips curved slightly. "That too."
He went back to drawing. Her presence filled the room without feeling heavy. Like the scent of tea left too long in the air. Comfortable. Calming.
The clock ticked slowly. Somewhere, a janitor's mop squeaked. Outside, the wind rattled the classroom door.
He felt her eyes on him again. This time, more curious.
"What are you drawing?"
He tensed, then hesitated—then flipped the sketchbook around so she could see.
Asuka tilted her head. Then she giggled.
> "Is that… Yume on a robot dragon?"
He grunted. "She said I looked like a superhero. So I figured she might want a villain to fight."
Asuka covered her mouth with one hand, laughing softly. "And the duck umbrella?"
"She insisted on the duck thing. I can't escape it now."
"I think she'd love it."
He flipped the book closed with one hand. "It's just something I do to pass the time."
Asuka leaned her elbows on the desk. "You're good at it."
"…Don't flatter me."
"I'm not. You've got a strong sense of motion and composition. That dragon's pose looks like it came from a storybook."
Reiji frowned. "So what?"
"So… have you ever considered applying to an art school?"
He blinked.
And then, like clockwork, the bitter laugh came out.
"Yeah, right. Me? Art school?"
Asuka didn't react. She waited.
"People like me don't have futures, Sensei. We just get by. We get through high school, maybe. Then we take whatever job doesn't ask too many questions and try not to get in trouble."
"You say that like you've already given up," she said quietly.
He looked at her then. Really looked.
And something about the way she stared back—calm, clear-eyed—unsettled him more than any fight ever had.
"You think I have a shot?"
"I think," she said, "you have talent. And more heart than you let people see."
He shook his head. "You don't know me."
"No," she admitted. "But I'd like to."
That silenced him. The words wrapped around his chest like a hand pulling him back from a cliff. He stared at the desk, unsure if it was heat or shame creeping up his neck.
"…You're too nice," he muttered.
"No such thing," she said, smiling.
He hated that smile.
Not because it was fake—but because it wasn't. It was real, and it was directed at him, and that messed him up more than anything.
A part of him wanted to yell. To push her away. But the other part—the part that used to believe in things before everything broke—just sat there, clutching that fragile feeling like a candle in the wind.
Asuka stood up, brushing imaginary dust from her skirt.
"Your hour's up," she said.
He glanced at the clock. Damn. Time had slipped by faster than he expected.
As he grabbed his bag, she walked over and pulled something from hers. A small, rectangular box wrapped in a napkin.
She held it out to him.
"Here."
He blinked. "What's this?"
"A snack. Yume made extras this morning. She insisted you have one."
He hesitated. Then took it slowly, like it might explode.
Inside: two mini onigiri shaped like bears, and a small piece of tamagoyaki with a smiling ketchup face.
"…She made this?"
"She supervised. I did most of the actual cooking."
Reiji stared at it like it was a foreign object.
"Why?"
"She said you looked hungry."
He tried not to smile. Failed. Looked away so she wouldn't see.
"…Tell her thanks."
"I will."
She paused. "And thank you—for not brushing her off. She's had trouble trusting people since… well, since her father left."
He glanced at her, startled.
She looked away, eyes distant now. A shadow passed across her face.
"She's braver than I am, sometimes."
He didn't know what to say to that.
So he said nothing.
Just nodded.
---
Later That Night – Reiji's Apartment
His apartment was small. Studio-sized. Bed, desk, sink, silence. The walls were stained with the ghosts of cigarette smoke from whoever lived here before.
He dropped his bag, kicked off his shoes, and sat on the floor.
The snack box still sat in his hands.
He opened it again.
The little bear-shaped rice balls stared up at him.
A soft laugh escaped.
He picked one up and took a bite.
It was slightly too salty. A little uneven.
But it tasted… warm.
He stared at the ceiling.
> "You're not a bad kid. Just hurt."
Her voice echoed.
Reiji Kazama didn't believe in futures.
But tonight, for the first time in a long while, he didn't feel like the world was actively trying to swallow him whole.
And somehow, that was enough.
He finished the onigiri slowly.
Like he was holding onto something delicate.
---