The alarm clock rang exactly on schedule, its shrill beeping and violent vibration echoing atop a bedside drawer in a modest bedroom.
The boy who called himself Kai Amamiya stirred awake, hair spiked up like a disheveled hedgehog, groaning softly at the unwelcome sound.
With a practiced hand, he slammed a button on the clock—shutting off the noise that might as well have come straight from the depths of hell.
His eyes, still heavy with sleep, barely peeked through the curtain of long bangs that hung over his face. He looked exhausted—no, he was exhausted.
...
Now dressed neatly in his school uniform, Amamiya looked every bit the part of a model student—at least from the neck down. His slouched posture, drooping eyelids, and general air of I-don't-want-to-be-here ruined any illusion of enthusiasm.
Dragging his school bag behind him like it weighed a hundred kilos, he trudged down the corridor, shoulders hunched as if sleep might reclaim him mid-step.
Other students passed by, but Amamiya paid them no mind. That is, until someone popped out of nowhere and threw an arm around his neck in an all-too-familiar hold.
It was Tamaki, his classmate.
Energetic, athletic, and popular—Tamaki was the golden boy of their grade. Taller than Amamiya, always upbeat, and somehow friends with someone who was his complete opposite.
"Yo!" Tamaki grinned, his voice loud enough to wake the dead. "What's with the zombie look? Got drained by a succubus or somethin'?"
"…You seriously believe that stuff?" Amamiya muttered, not even bothering to push the guy off.
Tamaki just chuckled and tightened his playful headlock, showing off his well-toned arm like it was part of some flexing routine.
"He-hey! Cut it out already!"
…
Math class.
A realm where the numbers never slept and the formulas were older than anyone in the room—some of them even a hundred years old, or more.
And yet, here they were. Still being taught. Still being tested.
But for Kai Amamiya, none of it mattered.
He sat in the far back corner of the classroom, next to the window, his gaze fixed not on the whiteboard or the teacher's gestures, but on the scenery outside. The sky, the passing clouds, the rustling leaves—they were far more engaging than ancient algebraic equations.
The teacher's voice became background noise. A dull, endless hum.
Every now and then, Tamaki—the ever-diligent classmate—would poke him lightly with a pencil, trying to reel him back to reality.
But it was hopeless.
...
An hour passed, and the setting changed to the school gym.
P.E. class. For some, a stage to shine. For others—like Amamiya—a personal torture chamber.
While the rest of the class dashed and jumped with fiery spirits, Amamiya sat on the sidelines, leaning against the wall alone, a water bottle in one hand and a distant look in his eyes.
Tamaki, of course, was the star of the show.
Basketball. Volleyball. Even tennis.
He moved like he was born for it, each game just another chance to flex his athletic prowess. And the girls? They couldn't stop cheering. Every pass he made, every shot he scored—they screamed like he was a celebrity.
But things always got... weird when Tamaki walked away from the spotlight.
When he casually strolled over to where Amamiya was sitting.
When he sat down beside him. When they talked, just the two of them.
The cheers stopped. Replaced by whispers.
"Why's Tamaki always with him?"
"What's so special about that guy?"
"They're not even on the same level."
Tamaki had heard it all before.
And when asked, he always gave the same answer—no more, no less.
"Because Amamiya is my hero."
No further explanation. Just that.
Some of the girls called it sweet. Others said Tamaki was just too nice for his own good.
But none of them knew the real reason.
Not yet.
…
But the truth was… Tamaki wasn't just being kind.
He genuinely meant it.
Because once, a long time ago—when they were both only six years old—Amamiya had saved him.
Back then, Tamaki had been nothing more than a timid little boy. A loser. Someone who was constantly picked on at the playground, pushed around by older kids, and left to cry alone while others pretended not to see.
And it was during one of those ordinary afternoons—when the sky was clear and the sun merciless—that someone stepped in.
Kai Amamiya.
Back then, he had been completely different. Bright. Bold. Always brimming with confidence. He stood tall even as a kid, full of spirit, like nothing could ever knock him down.
He had fought for Tamaki—not with fists, but with words sharper than anyone else's. He defended him, comforted him, and, in that moment, became something greater than just another child on the playground.
He became a hero.
And Tamaki never forgot.
That moment became his turning point. A silent promise. If someone like Amamiya could be that strong... then he wanted to be strong too.
He trained. He studied. He pushed himself to become someone reliable—someone who could stand on his own, without needing to be saved.
And now, years later, he had become everything he once admired: popular, athletic, confident.
But Amamiya... had changed.
The boy who once stood like a wall for others had faded into someone detached from the world. As if the system they lived in—the rules of school, of society, of people—had pushed him out. And instead of adapting, he had chosen to drift.
That was why Tamaki stayed by his side.
Because he hadn't forgotten.
And maybe… just maybe… he was waiting for a chance to return the favor.
…
The day had drawn to a close.
The sky, once a bright blue, had shifted into hues of orange—an unmistakable sign that the sun was preparing to take its leave.
A loud bell rang through the school halls, echoing sharply and signaling the end of lessons.
Kai Amamiya walked alongside Tamaki, their footsteps matching in rhythm but not in spirit.
They boarded at the same train station. Took the same line.
The only difference was that Tamaki's stop came one station after Amamiya's.
Strangely, neither of them spoke.
Not a single word.
There was a stillness between them—not hostile, but awkward. A silence that once never existed.
They sat side by side on the train, shoulders close but hearts miles apart.
Tamaki kept glancing at Amamiya. His friend had been quiet all day, his eyes downcast, his energy faded.
He was not the same Amamiya Tamaki had once admired.
He had changed.
And yet, Tamaki didn't move away.
He couldn't.
Not when he still owed him so much.
Not when his entire self had been shaped by that boy who once saved him.
Tamaki opened his mouth, finally ready to speak–
But in that instant, the train lights flickered.
Then, complete darkness.
...
Somewhere unknown—
A girl stood frozen.
She had long, flowing lavender hair, and eyes that gleamed an unnatural white in the dark.
She didn't scream.
She didn't speak.
She simply stopped, as if a forgotten memory had suddenly returned—
—no, as if something long-lost had finally awakened inside her.