The first bell at Shinsei Academy echoed through the corridor, thin and metallic. Nobody rushed. Everyone knew the first bell didn't matter — it was only the second that counted.
Students' voices overlapped in waves, laughter spilling out, shoes squeaking on polished floors. Lockers opened and shut in bursts of noise. The air smelled faintly of chalk, cleaning solution, and the fried bread being sold downstairs.
Hayato stood in front of his locker, fingers brushing over the edges of a slim notebook hidden between his textbooks. He had filled it slowly over months — with scraps of thoughts, sketches, fragments of words that only made sense to him. And one poem.
The one he wished no one would ever see.
"Morning, Hayato."
He turned. Aiko was there, her hair tied back loosely, her smile as easy as always. She was one of the few people who greeted him like it was natural. They had been friends since middle school. Talking to her should have felt ordinary. But it didn't. Not anymore.
"Morning," he said, trying to keep his voice steady.
She leaned against the locker beside his, arms folded. "Spacing out already? The day just started."
"I wasn't spacing out." He shoved a book into his bag, trying to sound casual. "Just… thinking."
"Mm." She tilted her head. "About what?"
Before he could answer, voices drifted by. A pair of second-years walked past, whispering just low enough to seem secret, just loud enough to be heard.
"…they saw her after hours… near the old west stairwell."
Hayato froze. The west stairwell? Everyone knew it had been locked up years ago. Dusty, unused. Off-limits.
He wanted to turn, to ask what they meant, but the students had already disappeared into the crowd. Only the words lingered, curling in his mind.
The old stairwell… who had they seen?
"Hayato?"
Aiko's voice pulled him back. He blinked — and saw her holding his notebook. The thin one. The one he should have hidden better.
His chest tightened. "Wait—"
But she had already flipped it open. Her eyes moved across the page, widening just slightly.
It was the poem. The one about her. About the way her laughter sounded softer than the rest of the world, about how sunlight through the classroom window seemed different when it touched her desk. He hadn't written her name, but it didn't need to be written.
Hayato felt heat rush to his face. He reached out quickly, snatching the notebook back. "That's— it's nothing."
Aiko blinked at him, her lips parting as if to speak. But then the second bell rang, sharp and commanding, scattering the hallway into hurried footsteps and closing doors.
For a moment, only the two of them remained. Aiko looked at him, her expression unreadable — not teasing, not mocking, not even surprised. Just… quiet.
Then she smiled faintly, almost like she hadn't seen anything at all. "Come on. We'll be late."
She started toward the classroom. Hayato followed, gripping the notebook tight against his chest.
But even as he walked, two whispers tangled in his mind.
The secret he had written.And the rumor about the stairwell.
Both felt like they were waiting for him.