The sun was warm on the last day of middle school, the kind of warm that made everyone forget about finals and remember ice cream trucks. The football field behind Miyahara Middle School was alive with noise—students kicking balls, girls squealing about summer plans, and someone blasting an idol song on their phone speakers.
Momo Akimatsu stood at the edge of the field, arms crossed, staring at Miyahara High School across the way. Its clean white walls and polished windows shone like something out of a fancy drama series.
"Look at it, Hirata," she said, with all the seriousness of someone announcing a grand life mission. "That's where my new life starts. High school. A fresh chapter. A new me."
Her little brother, Hirata, didn't even look up from the pebble he was kicking across the track. "A new you? Are you gonna be less boring this time?"
Momo spun on him. "I'm not boring! I just—have different priorities!"
"Like what? Collecting erasers? Oh, wait, lemme guess—ghost hunting. You're still on that bathroom ghost thing, right?" Hirata smirked, eyes gleaming. He lived to mock her.
Momo adjusted her bag strap with a dramatic sigh. "I'm telling you, I heard the rumor again. The boy's bathroom on the third floor is haunted. I'm gonna solve it this year. People will remember me as Momo the Brave!"
"More like Momo the Idiot," Hirata muttered, then grinned. "Say cheese, Ghost Detective." He whipped out his phone.
Momo squawked, "Don't you dare—" Snap!
"HIRATA!"
"This one's going on your wedding slideshow." He waved the phone in her face before sprinting a few steps away, laughing like a gremlin.
"Why do I have to be related to you?!" Momo groaned, chasing him a few steps before giving up. He was fast for someone with noodle legs.
"Hey, did you hear? Yozora Akimatsu got elected student council president for the high school division."
The words drifted from a group of girls nearby, who were gossiping near the field.
Of course, they were talking about him.Yozora Akimatsu. The perfect boy next door. The kind of guy who could trip and still look like a model in slow motion.
Momo rolled her eyes. "Of course he's president. He's probably prime minister of Japan already."
Hirata finally looked up from his phone. "You talk about him a lot for someone who's not impressed."
"I'm not impressed! I'm just saying—"
THWACK!
Momo's world went white for a second as something slammed into her face.
"Pffff—HAHAHAHA!" Hirata was on the ground, clutching his stomach, his phone already out. "Oh my God! Your face—your nose looks like a tomato! This is better than last time you tripped on the gym stairs!"
"DELETE THAT!" Momo shrieked, holding her face. She could already feel the swelling.
A shadow fell over her. "I'm sorry, Momo-san"
She froze.
That voice.
She looked up, blinking past her stinging eyes. There he was,Yozora Akimatsu. Tall, sharp uniform, hair perfectly neat despite the breeze. He held the soccer ball in one hand like he'd plucked it from heaven.
Momo's brain short-circuited for half a second.
Why did he always have to look so …Yozora?
"I didn't mean for it to hit you," he said softly, and even his apology sounded like he was narrating a drama.
Momo waved her hands, flustered. "I-I'm fine! Don't worry about it!" She didn't want to sound like some dumb girl gushing over her perfect childhood friend. Because she wasn't. They weren't even that close anymore.
"Congrats on becoming president," Hirata said, smirking as he recorded the scene like an evil cameraman.
As Yozora walked away, Momo muttered under her breath, "I bet even his shoes shine brighter than my future. Ugh."
A sudden breeze blew through the field, carrying a faint whisper.
"Run."
Momo blinked and looked around.
Nothing. Just Hirata uploading her swollen-face pic to the family group chat.