The morning sunlight slipped through the half-closed curtains of Room 107, falling softly over Arata Kurosawa's bed. The boy opened his eyes slowly, his expression unreadable as usual. Another day, another morning—yet nothing felt particularly different.
Arata sat up, staring blankly at the wall for a few seconds before muttering to himself.
"...I didn't do it because I wanted to protect Naomi or Haruto. I just didn't want to deal with unnecessary trouble."
His voice was quiet, almost like he was trying to convince himself.
He brushed his messy hair back and stood, moving with the same calm precision he always had. As he got dressed in the school's standard uniform—white shirt, black jacket, and tie—his mind drifted elsewhere.
"Mom… Dad… you always told me to make friends," he whispered under his breath, straightening his collar. "But… maybe I'm just not made for that kind of world."
He looked at his reflection in the mirror. The boy staring back wasn't someone who smiled often. His eyes were sharp but empty, like a mirror reflecting nothing but silence.
With a sigh, Arata grabbed his bag and left his room.
Outside the dorm hallway, the hum of morning activity had begun—students chatting, footsteps echoing, doors opening and closing.
When Arata reached the elevator, he noticed a familiar figure standing there, leaning slightly against the wall.
"Haruto."
The blond-haired boy turned, his expression lighting up slightly. "Oh, Arata. Morning."
Arata stood beside him, pressing the elevator button. "Morning."
For a moment, silence filled the air. The mechanical hum of the elevator seemed louder than usual. Arata noticed that Haruto's eyes looked a bit dull, his movements sluggish.
"You look tired," Arata said plainly. "Didn't sleep well?"
"Ah—" Haruto forced a small laugh. "Not really. I just… didn't get much rest."
"Because of something?"
"Hmm… let's just say, I had a lot on my mind."
Arata didn't press further. "I see. Well, don't push yourself too hard."
Haruto gave him a faint smile. "You've changed a little, Arata. You're… more talkative today."
Arata glanced at him, then turned away. "Maybe I'm just bored."
The elevator door opened with a soft chime, and both of them stepped inside. Haruto wanted to say something more, but his mind wandered back to the previous night—those words from Yagami still echoed painfully in his head.
"If you keep getting in my way, I'll make sure Naomi and your friend suffer."
Haruto clenched his fists inside his pocket. He wanted to tell Arata everything, but part of him was afraid. He knew Arata wasn't an ordinary person. That cold aura, that emotionless expression—he'd seen it before, the same look Arata gave Yagami.
And yet, Haruto also knew something else. Behind that cold mask, Arata wasn't cruel. He just didn't know how to connect.
The elevator arrived at the first floor, and the two walked side by side towards the school building. The early morning air was crisp, the sound of students chatting faintly filling the campus.
From afar, the towering structure of Class 1-D's building loomed against the sunlight.
As they entered the classroom, Arata's expression remained neutral. He immediately went to his seat near the window, placing his bag on the desk.
Naomi Takahashi sat two rows ahead, her long brown hair falling gracefully down her shoulders. She looked back instinctively, her blue eyes searching for someone.
When she saw Arata, her heart tightened slightly.
He didn't even glance at her.
He sat down quietly, looking out the window as if the world beyond the glass was far more interesting than anything inside the classroom.
Naomi's fingers tightened around her pencil. The space between them felt… wider than before.
"Good morning, everyone," said Saeko-sensei, entering the room with her usual calm tone.
Her long black hair was tied neatly, and her sharp glasses reflected the classroom light.
"Before we begin, let's take attendance," she said, flipping open her file.
As she called out names, the students responded one by one. Arata responded faintly when his name was mentioned, not looking up.
Saeko-sensei's eyes lingered on him for a brief second before she continued.
After attendance, she began her lesson on modern society and interpersonal relationships—ironically, a topic Arata found painfully relevant.
"Human beings," Saeko-sensei explained, "are social creatures. Without bonds, we lose a part of what makes us human. That's why teamwork is an essential skill you'll all need here."
Naomi's eyes flicked toward Arata. He was staring at the board, completely motionless, but she could tell—he wasn't really listening.
"He's drifting away again…" she thought sadly.
Haruto glanced between the two of them. He knew Naomi was worried. He knew Arata wasn't truly cold—but he also understood that Arata had decided to keep his distance for her sake.
When class ended, Saeko-sensei left, and the students began chatting amongst themselves. Naomi sat still, staring at her notebook.
"Naomi, are you okay?" one of her friends asked.
"Ah, I'm fine," Naomi replied with a forced smile.
But her heart said otherwise.
Arata, as always, was the first to stand up when the bell rang. He left the classroom quietly, his bag slung over his shoulder. He didn't want to explain himself. He didn't want anyone asking why he acted the way he did.
"It's better this way," he thought. "If I stay close to them, they'll just get dragged into more problems."
He walked through the corridor, ignoring the looks from other students. Some whispered, some avoided him. To them, Arata was strange—quiet, unpredictable, and intimidating without even trying.
But he didn't care.
Outside the school building, the air was fresh, and the sky was still blue. Arata exhaled softly and walked toward the convenience store near the dorms.
Meanwhile, inside the classroom, Haruto was packing his bag when he noticed Naomi still staring out the window.
He hesitated for a moment, then walked over.
"Naomi," he said gently. "You've been spacing out a lot lately."
Naomi blinked and turned to him. "Ah… sorry, I didn't mean to. I was just thinking."
"About Arata?"
She froze.
Haruto smiled slightly. "I thought so."
Naomi looked down. "He's… avoiding me. But I know he's doing it for a reason. It's just… it hurts, you know?"
"I get it," Haruto said softly. "Arata isn't the type to talk about his feelings. He probably thinks he's protecting you."
Naomi's voice trembled a little. "But I don't need protection. I just want to be by his side."
Haruto didn't know what to say. He wanted to comfort her, but he also knew Arata too well—forcing him to open up wouldn't work.
As Naomi and Haruto left the classroom, Arata was already far away, standing in front of a vending machine near the dorm entrance. He pressed a button and grabbed a bottle of water, taking a slow sip as he stared at the quiet garden ahead.
The sound of birds filled the air. The place was peaceful—too peaceful.
Arata sat on a nearby bench, placing his water beside him.
"Haruto and Naomi… they probably hate me now," he thought. "But it's fine. It's easier this way."
He leaned back, letting the breeze brush against his face.
"I've always been alone anyway."
For a long moment, he sat there in silence—until a voice echoed in his head, an old memory from long ago.
"Arata," his father had said once, "when you find people who truly care about you, don't push them away. They're rare."
He clenched his fists slightly. "...I wonder if that still matters now."
His phone buzzed with a message from Haruto:
Haruto: "Hey, where are you? Naomi's really worried."
Arata stared at the message for a while, then turned off his phone and slipped it into his pocket.
"Sorry," he thought quietly. "I can't go back yet."
The sound of the wind carried through the trees as he stood and walked deeper into the park, disappearing into the shade.
Back in Class 1-D, Naomi looked down at her phone, waiting for a reply that never came.
Her chest ached, but she forced a small smile. "I'll wait," she whispered. "No matter how long it takes… I'll wait."
Haruto watched her silently, then looked toward the empty seat by the window where Arata used to sit.
"You idiot," he thought. "You're hurting yourself more than anyone else."
Outside, the faint sound of the wind carried through the open window—soft, but cold.
The distance between hearts had never felt so far.
Arata walked without any clear destination. The campus paths folded under his feet like a map he'd memorized long ago; trees arched overhead and the late afternoon light spilled gold across the stone. Even with the quiet beauty of the academy around him, a small, uncomfortable sense of wrongness had crept into his chest — intangible, insistent.
He had told himself earlier that he would stay away from the school that day because it was safer that way: fewer eyes, fewer risks. But avoidance was a brittle protection. Being absent did nothing to change the threat that lingered like a dark weather front. Now, as he moved through the park that bordered the dorms, he felt the same taut anticipation he always felt before a sparring match — not quite fear, more like the alertness that precedes a problem you know how to solve.
Meanwhile, Naomi waited with Haruto near the entrance to the training field. They had agreed to keep watch. Haruto's idea was simple and stubborn: stay close to Naomi in case Yagami showed up. Naomi had been pacing and reeling all day, emotions pinwheeling between relief for knowing the reason behind Arata's distance and rage at the injustice of having someone force her affection.
Haruto tried to sit casually on a low stone wall, but his fingers would not stay still. He rubbed his palms together, trying to make his nerves disappear. "He'll come back," he told Naomi in a voice that was more hope than certainty. "Arata will come back. He always does."
Naomi pulled her jacket tighter and watched the tree line instead of answering. She felt exposed — a truth suddenly made raw — and the knowledge that Arata had chosen distance for her protection made the heat behind her eyes turn to salt.
They watched the path in silence for a long time, the campus shrinking around them as the sun lowered. Then, from the opposite direction of where they'd been looking, a shadow detached itself from a cluster of students. Yagami's gait was casual but controlled: a confident step that said he expected to dominate whatever space he entered.
Haruto stood abruptly. "Stay behind me," he told Naomi before either of them really realized the words left his mouth. There was a fierce protectiveness that always leaked into his voice when Naomi was near — and when someone trod toward them like Yagami did, that protectiveness hardened.
Yagami approached with the sort of smile that never reached his eyes. Two hangers-on trailed behind him, hands shoved into pockets, laughter that ceased when they saw how stiff the tension had become.
"Hello, Naomi," Yagami said, all sugar at first. He let the name fall like a test. "We meet again."
Naomi's throat tightened. Haruto stepped between them instinctively. "What do you want?" he asked, trying to make the question short, blunt, restrained.
Yagami's smile widened — a predator pleased to find a cornered bird. "Why so defensive, Haruto? I just wanted to speak to Naomi."
"Not if it's for you to bully or threaten her," Haruto snapped. He kept his stance upright even though his temper ran hot and his training was no match for Yagami's practiced brutality.
Yagami's amusement curdled into annoyance. "Step aside, kid. This is none of your business."
Haruto's teeth clenched. "I said no."
The irritation flared on Yagami's face. Before Haruto could react, Yagami shoved him hard enough that Haruto's body flew backward and hit the ground with a sharp thud. The sound cut like a slap in the quiet air; Naomi made a small, involuntary noise.
"Hey!" someone murmured from the path, drawn by the violence.
Naomi's voice was bright and clean with anger. "What do you want, Yagami?"
Yagami turned his dark gaze to her. Up close, he looked even more dangerous — the kind of person whose calm was a carefully engineered threat. "It's simple," he said slowly. "Date me. Be with me instead of wasting your time on the boy from Class 1-D who ignores you."
Naomi's face went white with a combination of shock and fury. "No," she said sharply, voice cracking with emotion. "Arata does not ignore me. He's protecting me because you threatened him."
A small, dark smile curled on Yagami's lips. "Oh? So you know. That's convenient." He crouched down a little, lowering his voice to something almost confidential. "If that's the case, then don't stand so close to him. If you won't be with me… well, Arata will suffer."
Naomi's breath hitched. She felt as if someone had poured ice water through her veins. This man — who used force for entertainment — spoke as if he wielded the fate of others like a toy. "You can't—" she began, and then the words broke because Yagami's hand cupped his chin in amusement, like a man extracting a toy from a child.
Haruto, furious, scrambled to his feet despite the jolt of pain in his ribs. "You don't get to do that!" he shouted, hands balled into fists as a reflex.
Yagami turned and, with the cruel nonchalance of someone used to imposing will upon weaker bodies, caught Haruto's wrist. He twisted and pulled, then slammed a quick, precise punch into Haruto's ribs that folded him over in agony. Haruto bit a curse into his teeth and collapsed on the ground again, the smaller audience around them gasping.
"You are weak," Yagami said calmly, staring at Haruto as if his defeat was a confirmation of some thesis. "Not worthy of being my opponent. And for foolish loyalty…" He looked at Naomi with something like pity for her illusions. "I'll break them. One by one."
Naomi felt the world shrink to the place where Haruto lay, the smell of his sweat and the metallic tang of fear. She had insisted she didn't want to be protected, but there, seeing Haruto broken on the ground, she understood the price.
Through tears that began to spill unbidden, she said, "Fine. Fine. I'll… date you." The words tore from her. She felt as if she had been hollowed out of choices and offered like a sacrifice.
Yagami's face softened into an expression of victory. "Good." He stood up straight, filling the space with the implication of power. "I'll be expecting you, Naomi."
Haruto, his vision blurry and breath shallow, croaked from the ground, "Naomi… don't—"
But Naomi's legs felt like lead. Shame and a terrible, sharp fear pushed her forward. She had promised to be brave. She had sworn she could stand beside Arata. This demand, raw and monstrous, made the resolve fracture.
As Naomi stammered, ashamed and shaking, something moved like a shadow out of the corner of her vision — and he arrived.
Arata stepped into the clearing with a quiet that was like a lowering blade. His approach had been so swift and quiet that neither Naomi nor Haruto had noticed him until that moment. He was not running; he walked with the composure of someone closing a case.
Yagami turned, surprised — truly surprised — that Arata had appeared so quickly. The look flickered across his face: annoyance, respect, maybe a touch of calculation. "Well. That was unexpectedly fast," he said. "I didn't think you'd return so soon."
Arata's voice was cold and steady. "Let her go."
For a moment Yagami simply watched him. There was a gauging in Yagami's eyes — the way predators test another predator's nerve. "You want me to let her go?" Yagami said, amusement curling in the edges of his speech. "And why would I do that?"
Arata took one step forward, closing the space so his presence could be felt. It was not an aggressive move; it was the kind of straight, inevitable advance a blade makes toward its mark. "Because if you harm her, I'll make you regret it."
Yagami's mouth pulled into a half-smile: incredulous, cocky, as if imagining the absurdity of being threatened by a lone boy. "Is that so? You and what army, Kurosawa? You're alone. You don't look like much of a threat."
Arata's eyes were unreadable, but the voice that came out was quiet and very certain. "You underestimate things you cannot see."
Yagami laughed, a short, sharp sound. "All right then. Let's see if your words have teeth."
He signaled, and his two lackeys stepped forward, not particularly skilled but armed with sheer numbers and the assumption of impunity. Yagami's plan was practical; he would have them engage, distract, humiliate. He assumed domination. That was his method.
Arata didn't move suddenly. Instead, his body flowed like water had been taught to do — the skill left no room for the theatrical. In one measured motion he advanced, body language economical and precise. He didn't waste a single unnecessary gesture.
When the first one rushed in, Arata sidestepped with a near-inaudible shift of balance, his palm connecting with the man's chest in a way that sent him sprawling backward. When the second struck after him, Arata rotated a fraction, used the attacker's momentum, and the man flew off-balance into the dust. They were not dramatic throws; they were economic, tidy beats of motion that left both men winded and humiliated.
Yagami's two hangers-on doubled over, shocked at how swiftly they were disposed of — more shocked than injured. Yagami himself was still standing, eyes narrowed, studying Arata as if attempting to catalog the anomaly in front of him.
Then Yagami advanced.
Their exchange was not loud. It was the quiet clash of two wills — one sculpted by skill and quiet ferocity, the other by bravado layered over practiced intimidation. Yagami struck with intention, but Arata's blocks were anticipatory, his counters surgical. A quick sequence — a deflection, a twist of wrist, a precise tap that left Yagami staggered for the first time in public. He blinked once as if an unfamiliar sensation washed over him: disappointment in the expectation of being unchallenged.
"You move well," Yagami admitted grudgingly, breathing a little harder. "Too well for a pushover." His voice had a new note: curiosity edged with an annoyance that tasted almost like respect.
Arata didn't answer. He simply stepped between Yagami and Naomi, his posture a single unreadable line. "Leave," he said.
Yagami met his gaze. "You think this will keep them safe?" he asked quietly, and then his tone sharpened again. "But you stayed away from Naomi. You agreed to it."
Arata's lips barely twitched; there was no anger, only a blade-thin acceptance. "I agreed to keep my distance so they wouldn't be crushed," he said. "I didn't ask for praise."
Yagami's expression hardened. For an instant, the world seemed to hold its breath — the fight poised on a knife's edge, but the danger now was measured. Yagami, who loved levying power, had thrown the first round of a different game: he wanted not just domination, but to see exactly who Arata really was under the stillness.
Suddenly, without thundering threats or loud chaos, Yagami took a breath and stepped back. He made a calculated choice. Toying with Arata's resolve in front of Naomi might have produced a public victory, but the cost — provoking someone who moved like a ghost — had become too uncertain.
"All right," Yagami said with a dark smile that did not reach his eyes. "This time, I'll step away. But remember — boundaries are not suggestions."
He turned, lights of threat still flickering in his demeanour, and walked off with his entourage. His retreat was not surrender; it was, instead, an implicit promise to return with a more complex plan if necessary.
Naomi collapsed into Haruto's arms, sobs breaking free uncontrolled. Haruto held her like a cliff bracing against storm, murmuring reassurances that sounded small but necessary: "It's okay. It's okay. He's here."
Arata watched them for a moment, arms hanging at his sides. He didn't reach out. He didn't speak. He had done what he intended: he had put a barrier between Naomi and the threat. Protecting them had cost him the very warmth he sometimes tried not to want.
As the night settled, the three of them stood beneath the indifferent stars — Arata, quietly resolute; Naomi, shaking but alive; Haruto, furious but relieved.
Yagami's shadow had been cast across their evening, but for now, it passed. The threat, however, had given way to a deeper understanding between the two who had been hurt most: Naomi and Haruto discovered the reason for Arata's distance; Arata learned painfully that protection required choices, always at cost.
When the three finally parted, Naomi whispered, voice strained but determined, "Arata — I know why you did it. Don't push me away."
Arata's reply was quiet and very final. "I won't be the one who breaks them," he said simply.
He walked away then, his silhouette a narrow, unadorned line in the lamplight. Haruto watched him go with clenched fists. Naomi watched him go and wiped her face clean, as if she could reassemble herself from tears.
They had a fragile truce and a dangerous enemy. The night around Mizuhara Academy hummed, as if the world itself had inhaled, bracing for whatever came next.