Life, for a nine-year-old, was supposed to be simple. Wake up, complain about breakfast, go to school, doodle in my notebook, come home, and watch cartoons until dinner. Pretty standard stuff, right? For the most part, that was my life. My name is Mizuki, and seven years ago, my world was painted in the bright, cheerful colors of blissful ignorance.
My parents were the coolest. Dad was always cracking jokes, the kind that made Mom roll her eyes but secretly smile. Mom was the queen of making everything an adventure, even a trip to the grocery store. Our house was filled with laughter, the warm smell of Mom's baking, and Dad's off-key singing. It was perfect.
Well, almost perfect.
The only gray clouds in my sunny sky were my grandparents. They lived with us, and while they weren't mean, they were… weird. They'd watch me with these intense, worried eyes, like I was a fragile vase about to tip over. They'd whisper to each other in hushed tones whenever I entered a room, their voices cutting off abruptly.
"Is she…?" Grandma would start, her knitting needles freezing mid-click.
"Not yet. But soon," Grandpa would murmur back, his gaze fixed on me as I played with my toys.
It was creepy. I asked Mom about it once. She just sighed, her smile looking a little sad. "They just love you very much, sweetie. They worry."
I didn't buy it. You don't look at someone you love like they're a ticking time bomb. But I was nine, and the mysteries of adults were less interesting than the new episode of my favorite anime, so I let it go.
The first crack in my perfect little world appeared on a Tuesday. It was a day just like any other, which is always when things decide to go sideways. The sky was clear, the birds were singing, and Takeda-kun, the class jerk, was at the peak of his obnoxiousness. His target for the day was a new kid. A boy with the most ridiculously cool hair I'd ever seen - a deep, vibrant blue, like the ocean in those travel posters.
He was quiet, sketching in a notebook, completely ignoring Takeda's taunts about his "weird" hair. That, apparently, was a grave offense.
"Hey, I'm talking to you, blueberry!" Takeda sneered, snatching the notebook.
The blue-haired boy looked up, his eyes a calm, startling shade of violet. He didn't say a word, just stared.
Takeda laughed cruelly. "What's this garbage?" He held up the notebook, showing off a detailed drawing of a samurai. "Playing with dolls, blueberry?"
Something inside me snapped. I hated bullies. I hated how they made themselves feel big by making others feel small. Before I even knew what I was doing, I was on my feet.
"Give it back, Takeda," I said, my voice way calmer than I felt.
He turned to me, a smirk on his face. "Well, well, if it isn't the silver princess. Gonna cry?"
My silver hair, which usually cascaded down my back like a waterfall of moonlight, was something I was proud of. But the way he said it made my cheeks burn.
"I said, give it back."
"Make me," he challenged, dangling the notebook just out of reach.
And then, it happened. A strange heat flooded through me, hot and wild. It started in my chest and shot up to the tips of my hair. The air crackled. For a split second, I saw my reflection in the window, and my silver hair seemed to shimmer, shot through with threads of brilliant gold. My vision sharpened, the colors of the classroom becoming painfully bright. Takeda's smug face seemed to move in slow motion.
My body moved on its own. I ducked under his arm, twisted, and snatched the notebook from his grasp with a speed I didn't know I possessed. I handed it back to the blue-haired boy, who was now staring at me with wide, shocked eyes.
Takeda was just as stunned. He blinked, then his face turned red with rage. "You-!"
He lunged for me. The heat surged again, stronger this time. But before he could lay a finger on me, the teacher walked back in.
"What's going on here?" she demanded.
The moment was broken. The heat receded, and the golden shimmer in my hair was gone as if it had never been there. I probably just imagined it. Takeda stammered out some lame excuse, and we were all sent back to our seats.
For the rest of the day, I could feel the blue-haired boy's eyes on me. It wasn't a creepy stare, but a curious one. An appreciative one. When the final bell rang, he walked up to my desk.
"Hey," he said, his voice quiet. "Thanks for that. I'm Kizawa."
"Mizuki," I replied, a smile tugging at my lips.
"That was… amazing," he said, his violet eyes searching my face. "How did you do that?"
I shrugged, trying to act casual. "He's just a slow, clumsy oaf."
Kizawa smiled, a small, genuine smile that made his whole face light up. "Right. Well, see you around, Mizuki."
As he walked away, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed. The strange heat, the flash of gold in my hair… it felt like I had woken up a part of me I never knew existed. And when I got home, the first thing I saw was my grandparents, staring at me with that familiar, worried expression. Only this time, it was laced with a new emotion.
Fear.
And I started to think that maybe, just maybe, I was the reason they were so afraid.