The weight of the second photo hung over the school like a gathering storm. By the following morning, Vice Principal Okabe's investigation had begun in earnest, his resolve steeled by pressure from parents, the board, and murmurs among the staff. It wasn't just gossip anymore; it was an administrative crisis that demanded answers—and someone to blame.
Takashi knew it wouldn't be long before they called him in. His chest tightened every time footsteps approached the classroom door, but when it finally happened, it still felt sudden. A polite knock. A hushed request. And then Takashi found himself walking down the hallway, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure others could hear it.
The vice principal's office felt colder than he remembered. Okabe sat behind his desk, papers neatly stacked, a pen poised in his hand like a judge's gavel. To his right sat another faculty member, there to witness the questioning. Takashi took the seat offered to him, his legs stiff.
"Takashi," Okabe began, voice even but sharp enough to cut. "You know why you're here."
Takashi nodded, swallowing. "Yes, sir."
"There's a photo circulating of you and Ayane-sensei. Another one, clearer than before. Do you have anything to say about it?"
Takashi hesitated. The truth burned in his chest, an ache threatening to spill out. But he saw Mizuki-sensei's face in his mind—her exhausted eyes, her whispered plea not to defend her. The weight of her vulnerability crushed him more than any accusation ever could.
"It was my fault," Takashi said, voice trembling. "I'm the one who approached her. She told me it wasn't appropriate, but I wouldn't listen."
Okabe raised an eyebrow. "So you're admitting you initiated this… closeness?"
Takashi nodded, though the words felt like shards in his mouth. "Yes. She kept telling me to stop, but I didn't."
Okabe's expression softened, but only slightly. "And did anything… happen between you two? Anything that would confirm what the photo suggests?"
"No, sir," Takashi replied quickly. "She never let it. It was only me being foolish."
Silence stretched, broken only by the quiet scratch of a pen. Takashi kept his gaze down, his heartbeat a painful rhythm in his ears.
"You realize what this means, don't you?" Okabe asked, voice quieter now. "By taking responsibility, you're accepting that you could face disciplinary action. You could be suspended. Your record could be affected."
Takashi's hands clenched into fists. "I understand, sir."
"And you're certain Ayane-sensei never encouraged you?" Okabe pressed.
Takashi hesitated only for a breath. "She never did. I pushed. She kept her distance."
The other teacher scribbled notes, eyes occasionally flicking up to watch him. The weight of the moment pressed into Takashi's chest until it felt hard to breathe.
---
When the questioning ended, Takashi stepped out of the office into the empty hallway. The door clicked shut behind him, and only then did he let out the breath he'd been holding. His shoulders slumped under the invisible weight of what he'd just done.
Outside, he could hear the muted murmur of classrooms, the rustle of pages and the scrape of chairs. Life went on, indifferent to the sacrifice he had made.
In the staff room, Mizuki waited, summoned by the same investigation. When Takashi entered to retrieve his bag, their eyes met. Hers widened, a question unspoken but painfully clear.
"Why?" her eyes seemed to ask. But Takashi offered only a small, strained smile and shook his head ever so slightly.
She stood abruptly, moving toward him, but a step away, she stopped herself, remembering the eyes that always seemed to watch.
"Takashi… what did you say?" she whispered, voice low enough only for him to hear.
"That it was my fault," he murmured, his voice raw. "That you kept your distance, but I didn't listen."
Her eyes glistened. "You shouldn't have. You shouldn't take this on yourself."
"I had to," he said, his voice breaking. "You've already sacrificed enough. If anyone should bear it, it's me."
Her lips parted as if to argue, but no words came out. The silence between them said everything.
"Don't… don't destroy your future for me," she whispered fiercely, though her voice trembled. "Promise me you'll fight for yourself."
"Maybe this is how I fight," Takashi replied, barely audible. "By protecting you."
She stepped back, her hands balled at her sides, shoulders shaking with words she couldn't say.
"Go," she whispered, her voice small and broken. "Before someone sees."
He nodded and turned, though his legs felt heavy, every step harder than the last.
---
That evening, word spread through the school that Takashi had taken responsibility. Some students scoffed, others whispered in disbelief. Kenta confronted him outside the gates, his brow furrowed with worry.
"Are you crazy?" Kenta demanded. "Why did you do that?"
"Because it was the truth," Takashi lied, though the words felt like glass in his throat.
"No, it wasn't," Kenta shot back. "You really think anyone believes you pushed a teacher into this? Come on, Takashi."
Takashi looked away, unable to meet his friend's gaze. "It doesn't matter what they believe. It matters what happens to her."
Kenta's anger softened, replaced by something closer to sorrow. "You really… care about her that much, don't you?"
"I do," Takashi admitted, the confession barely more than a whisper.
Kenta shook his head slowly. "You're an idiot," he said, though his voice was quiet. "But you're my friend. And I hope this doesn't ruin you."
"Me too," Takashi murmured, though he didn't truly believe it.
---
Night fell over the city, lights flickering in distant windows. Alone in his room, Takashi replayed the day in fragments—the cold gaze of the vice principal, the tremor in Mizuki's voice, the look in Kenta's eyes. Each memory weighed him down, a reminder of what he had chosen to carry.
At his desk, Takashi opened a notebook, staring at the blank page. His hand hovered over it, but words refused to come. Instead, he closed it, laying his head down, breathing in the quiet.
In the darkness, he thought of Mizuki—of the way her eyes softened when she forgot the world, of the sadness that always lingered just beneath. He wondered if she was thinking of him too.
"Please let this be enough," he whispered to the empty room, though he wasn't sure who he was pleading with—fate, himself, or something beyond.
The investigation would continue. More questions, more whispers, more judgment. But Takashi had chosen his path: to protect her, even if it meant sacrificing himself.
And though fear gnawed at him, though guilt pressed into his chest until it hurt to breathe, he held onto a single
, stubborn hope: that in the end, what he did might keep her safe—even if it cost him everything else.