The setting sun cast the school courtyard in the long, melancholic shadows of late spring. The atmosphere was charged with the restless anticipation of the approaching anniversary—Jun's birthday, the date the calendar had circled in her mind for two years.
That evening, as Yui walked toward the school gates, she heard footsteps running up behind her.
"Hanamura-san!"
It was Tanaka Kenji, a popular boy in the same class. He was tall, athletic, and possessed the kind of simple, honest smile that usually charmed everyone. He was currently breathless, holding a small, crumpled envelope. He looked at her with a mixture of desperate hope and terror.
Yui paused, turning just enough for him to see her face. The Silent Princess's beauty was a weapon, freezing the air around him.
"Please accept this," Tanaka stammered, shoving the letter toward her. "I know you're always alone. I know about... the past. But I genuinely like you. I want to help you feel like you can smile again. I promise I'm reliable. I can wait for you."
The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush him.
Yui looked at the letter, then at Tanaka's earnest, trembling hand. In the two years since Jun left, no one had dared to be this straightforward. And yet, all she could feel was a profound sense of interruption.
Reliable. Patient. Those words don't matter.
Her mind instantly replaced Tanaka's face with Jun's. Tanaka smelled faintly of laundry detergent and sweat from afternoon practice. Jun had smelled like salt, sun-warmed skin, and that faint, metallic scent of the sea. Tanaka's voice was too loud, too heavy, taking up too much of the precious silence she guarded for Jun's return.
He wants to fill the space.
In her heart, the space Tanaka was offering to occupy wasn't empty; it was meticulously maintained and reserved. It contained Jun's laugh, the echo of his footsteps, and the entire architecture of their promised future.
"I appreciate your words, Tanaka-san," Yui said, her voice soft but absolute, like snow falling on stone. It was the longest sentence any boy had ever heard her speak. "But there is no space for you."
She didn't need to explain. Her eyes, those deep-sea voids, conveyed everything. They said: I am already taken. I am already in the middle of a love story that cannot be paused, changed, or ended by death.
Tanaka's face fell, the hope draining out of him instantly. He didn't argue. He only looked down, feeling the heavy, undeniable presence of the person he was competing against—a ghost stronger than any living boy.
"I see," he whispered, the letter falling from his hand. He turned and walked away, his shoulders slumped in defeat. He wasn't rejected by a girl; he was rejected by a vow.
Yui waited until he was gone. She didn't look down at the crumpled letter. Stepping around it, she continued walking, her posture flawless.
Don't worry, Jun. Her internal voice was a fierce comfort. I'm keeping your place safe. No one else is allowed in.
She was ready for the anniversary. She was ready for the sea to finally keep its part of the promise.