"Hikigaya, do you have… some sort of trauma?" Yukinoshita asked as she returned to her seat, her gaze once again leveled at him, unreadable yet sharp.
"Eh? Why do you think that?" Shirou blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question.
"It's just… the way you think. I believe it's neither normal nor healthy for someone our age."
"I-It's that so…" he stuttered, trying to laugh it off but failing. Her words weren't harsh, but they cut deep regardless. Not because they were wrong—rather, because they weren't.
"Well—"
something inside him stirred.
...The air around him thinned.
His breath caught.
And then—
Crackle.
The faint sound of fire. Not real fire—but the memory of it. Of flames licking at buildings, of heat pressing against skin like a judgment.
His vision dimmed.
The classroom vanished.
There was only red.
"Help—!"
"Please, someone—"
"I don't want to die!"
Screams. Echoes. Pain layered over pain, indistinct and overlapping like a chorus of the damned. The world was burning. No, it had already burned. The ash fell like snow. The air stank of oil, blood, and sorrow.
Children cried. A woman wailed. A man's voice turned hoarse, then silent.
He stood in the center of it all, just a boy—just a boy—but somehow alive when everyone else was dying.
Alone.
Figures reached toward him from the flames—half-formed, shadowed. Their eyes wide, their mouths open. Not begging. Not accusing.
Just desperate.
And behind them—
Two people.
A woman and a man, standing between him and death.
He couldn't remember their faces. But he knew who they were. He knew what they did.
"Don't look."
"You have to live."
Their backs to the fire.
Their arms stretched out.
And in the next instant—consumed.
He blinked. The world snapped back.
The classroom returned.
The chair. The table. The girl in front of him.
And her eyes—still watching.
"I… wouldn't say I don't have any," Shirou said at last, his voice calm but distant, as if recalling something not entirely his own. "Though… I guess there are some bad memories. From junior high, maybe."He paused briefly, as fragmented scenes stirred in the back of his mind — echoes of rejection, of quietly endured distance, the kind of loneliness etched into someone else's past.
Yukinoshita's eyes sharpened slightly at his tone. "I see," she said. Then with a quieter voice, "Would you share it? Or… is it too painful, even if it isn't quite yours?"
"No, it's fine," he answered. "It's about rejection."
"First love?"
"I'd say that… maybe. But it wasn't just one." He gave a small shrug. "Some were soft, unspoken hints. Others were outright rejection. And then there was one that was just... a clean, quiet friend zone."
...
..
...
Yukinoshita narrowed her eyes. "Hikigaya… are you lying?"
EH? of course not" Shirou said simply. "Why?"
He wasn't lying. Those memories — the rejection, the cold shoulders, the subtle signs — they weren't originally his. But they were real. Stored somewhere in this body. Emotions tied to another life that ended when he appeared.
Unless those memories were false… there was no lie to be told.
She continued her questioning. "How about something else?"
"Hmm... ah, I remember now. I used to get called 'Hiki-frog' back in elementary school."
Yukinoshita let out an audible sigh the moment she heard that.(That's not the kind of answer I was looking for…) she thought.
She couldn't quite figure him out. There was something off about the way he spoke—like he was dodging something, or maybe even unaware of it himself.
Yukinoshita narrowed her eyes slightly. "You're avoiding the question," she said, voice calm but pointed. "You talk like someone who's been through something, but then brush it off like it doesn't matter. That contradiction doesn't make you sound honest."
Shirou didn't flinch. Instead, he let out a short breath and offered a faint shrug, as if deflecting the weight behind her words. "I'm not trying to deceive you," he said evenly. "Some things just don't change, even if you say them out loud. So if it won't help anyone… I'd rather not waste your time with it."
His eyes stayed on the window behind her, distant but not disconnected. It wasn't a refusal. More like a quiet acknowledgment that some truths were heavy — and not all of them needed to be passed on.
Yukinoshita watched him carefully, her expression unreadable. But even in her silence, there was a sense that she hadn't looked away from the question just yet.
Then, the sound of the door sliding open could be heard.
"Yukinoshita, I'm coming in," Hiratsuka-sensei announced.
"Knock!" Yukino shouted irritably.
"Ah—sorry, sorry," Hiratsuka said with a sheepish smile as she stepped inside. "Looks like you're having some trouble with the Hikigaya problem."
Yukino gave a brief sigh. "Sensei, I don't see how he's anything like what you described."
"...Is that supposed to be a compliment?" Shirou murmur
"I have to agree with Sensei, Hikigaya," Yukinoshita said, her voice calm but firm. "While I don't really know how to fix your problem… it's not something you can just brush off."
Her words lingered for a moment. Then her eyes shifted toward the clock on the wall. She stood up with quiet grace.
"Sorry. It seems I need to go now," she added, her tone polite but distant, as she walked past both Shirou and Hiratsuka without another glance.
Just as she reached the door, Yukinoshita paused. She turned slightly, her eyes settling on Shirou with a strange mix of curiosity and caution.
"Hikigaya," she said, her voice softer now, almost hesitant, "I know this might sound strange, but… is there someone in your family named… Hikigaya Hachiman?"
Shirou blinked. The name hung in the air, heavier than it should've been. Hikigaya Hachiman—it meant nothing to him, and yet the way she said it carried weight, like it was supposed to.
"Hachiman?" he echoed. He paused, searching for anything—any flicker of memory—but there was nothing. Just a blank space.
"I don't think I've ever heard that name before," he said quietly.
Yukinoshita studied him a moment longer, as if trying to confirm something only she could see—something just out of reach. "I see."
But in the end, she gave a quiet nod, turned away, and left the room without another word.