(Continued from Chapter 3)
(A quiet moment. A golden truth. Kodokuna is no longer unseen...)
The final bell rang, signalling the end of the day. Most of the students had left, and silence slowly settled across Monagiri Gakuen.
Kodokuna and Tamara remained—they'd been assigned to clean up after school for class 11A.
Some students had poured their envious thoughts all over the classroom, leaving behind a tangled mess of emotions. But the rules, perhaps fate too, had united Kodokuna and Tamara for the cleanup duty.
Tamara stood near the window, resting. The fading sunlight caught in her hair. Those golden threads, still as vibrant as ever, shimmered slower, gentler—like soft fireflies swirling in the dusk. She hummed something under her breath, and the air around her seemed to grow warmer. Lighter.
Kodokuna watched her, still trying to process the spectacle from earlier. The way she faced the black threads, calmed Maya. It echoed inside him.
This time, thin violet threads leaked out from him—anxious, hesitant. But inch by inch, he moved closer.
When he stepped into the edge of her golden threads, something shifted inside him. He relaxed. The storm settled inside him.
For a moment, golden threads shimmered from him too. Faint, fragile.
He thought it was her doing again—her skill, her gift.
But his voice found him. Soft, hesitant.
"Tamara... how did you do that? Those black threads...? And Maya too?"
Tamara turned gently, golden strands brushing her cheeks like drifting lights. Her eyes weren't surprised. Maybe even playful.
"So," she smiled, "you really saw that, huh?"
Kodokuna nodded. His voice didn't waver this time.
"Yes. I see all of them. Every time. Every day of my life."
Her smile faded—not from fear. From recognition.
Threads lifted from him again—gold, tinged with green. Tamara stepped closer, her threads reaching for his like a quiet tide.
"You're being honest," she said softly. "Then maybe... you're like me."
Kodokuna blinked. Confusion flickered through him. She read it in his silence.
"You might belong to a rare kind of people in this world," she said, voice steady with quiet pride. "The Threadhealers. I am one myself."
She tilted her head slightly. "You've been seeing without weaving, haven't you? That must be... exhausting."
The words pierced him.
All this time, he'd thought it was a curse. A weight only he carried. The way threads clung to him in every room, every word, every silence. He never had words for it—until now.
This time, he wasn't just watching.
He was being seen.
A flicker of golden threads sparked from him—subtle but undeniable. Tamara's eyes widened.
"There's something massive inside you," she whispered. "Still raw. Still untrained."
Kodokuna swallowed.
"Me...? I've never felt special. I'm just some quiet loner in the corner of the class. Nothing extraordinary."
Tamara smiled, soft but certain.
"No, Kodokuna. There's something in you. One day, you'll sense it too."
The moment lingered. Then, silently, they finished their cleaning.
When they left, it was through different doors. Their threads trailed behind them—faint, lingering. The school was quiet once more.
But inside Kodokuna, the silence had been shattered. Her words echoed like ripples in his chest.
Sleep finally pulled him under, his dreams burned gold. Threads shimmered in the dark, countless and endless—tugging him forward, as if the world itself had just begun to notice he was there.