The day after the mysterious girl appeared in class, nothing felt the same.
The classroom buzzed with normal chatter—students laughing, scribbling notes, fighting over pens—but Haruya noticed how eyes kept glancing toward her. She sat in the back, her presence quiet yet heavy, like she was both part of the room and completely outside of it.
"Man," Haruya muttered under his breath, leaning toward Kaito. "She's like… a ghost that doesn't need to say boo."
Kaito didn't respond. His eyes stayed fixed on his sketchbook. He was drawing again, lines weaving faster than Haruya could follow. Haruya peeked over and frowned.
"Oi, what's that? Another creepy figure?"
The page showed the girl. But not how she looked in class. Kaito had drawn her standing in the middle of a burning street, hair whipping in the wind, holding something—no, someone. The lines were sharp, desperate.
Kaito's hand stopped mid-stroke. "I don't… know why I drew this."
Haruya leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Bro, don't tell me your hand's pulling spoilers again. That's scary as hell."
Before Kaito could reply, the class rep clapped her hands. "Alright! Don't forget—sports practice after school. No excuses!"
Groans filled the air. Haruya groaned the loudest. "Sports? Me? I'm built for napping, not running." He slumped dramatically on his desk. "Kaito, save me."
But Kaito wasn't listening. His eyes had flicked toward the girl. She hadn't moved. But he swore her lips curved, almost like she was smiling at him.
---
After school, the courtyard filled with students. Basketballs bounced, shoes screeched on the floor, laughter rang out. Haruya half-heartedly threw passes, missing more than hitting.
"Bro!" one of his teammates shouted. "At least pretend you care!"
Haruya grinned. "I am pretending. That's the best I can do."
On the sidelines, Kaito sat sketching. He couldn't stop his hand. The scene around him kept changing on paper—players turning into shadowy figures, balls melting into burning suns, the schoolyard stretching into something darker. He pressed harder, pencil almost snapping.
Then, he froze.
In the corner of his drawing appeared her face again. The mysterious girl. Watching. Always watching.
"Kaito," a soft voice said.
He turned—and she was there, standing right beside him. Close enough for him to see her eyes. They weren't just dark; they were deep. Like if he stared too long, he'd fall in.
"You… draw strange things," she said. Her voice was calm, but it made his chest tighten.
Kaito swallowed. "You saw…?"
She tilted her head. "It's not the drawing that's strange. It's the way your hand moves. Like it's not yours."
Before Kaito could respond, Haruya shouted across the court: "Kaito! Don't flirt while I'm dying here! Sub in for me before I collapse!"
The whole class burst into laughter. Kaito's face heated, but the girl didn't laugh. She only watched Haruya with unreadable eyes.
"Your friend…" she whispered. "He's louder than he should be."
"Yeah," Kaito muttered, embarrassed. "That's… just him."
She gave the faintest smile. "Sometimes noise is a shield." Then she turned and walked away.
Kaito stared after her, his heart pounding for reasons he didn't understand.
---
That night, Haruya and Kaito sat in their usual spot—a small ramen shop tucked in a quiet street, the smell of broth filling the air. Haruya slurped noodles loudly.
"Man, today was crazy. I swear, you're gonna get snatched up by that new girl. Then I'll be the third wheel of my own life."
Kaito frowned at him. "It's not like that."
Haruya smirked. "Then why's your face red every time she talks?"
"Because she's…" Kaito trailed off, unable to explain. He pressed his hands to his sketchbook, almost afraid to open it.
Haruya leaned back, wiping his mouth. "Well, whoever she is, she's making things way more interesting. School was boring before this. Now it feels like some… manga arc." He grinned. "And I love it."
Kaito shook his head, but deep inside, he felt it too. Something had shifted. Threads were pulling them toward something bigger—something neither of them could escape.
And somewhere in the shadows of the city, a gang leader received a photo.
It was blurry, taken from a distance. But it showed two boys walking side by side—one laughing too loud, the other clutching a sketchbook too tight.
And behind them, barely visible, walked the mysterious girl.
The leader's lips curved. "So they've found her already."
—