The perfect, crystalline clarity of my resolve from last night had somehow turned murky overnight, like a clean window spattered with spring rain.
I watched Saki and Ryo walking ahead of me on the path to school. They were deep in conversation, their heads close together. Ryo was gesturing animatedly, probably recounting some hilarious story, and Saki was laughing, that bright, bell-like sound that usually made my heart soar. Today, it just made the knot in my stomach tighten.
It's just studying. I trust them.
The mantra felt weaker now, its edges frayed. I replayed my mother's offhand comment about Ryo's late-night visit. It wasn't the visit itself; it was the ease with which he'd slipped into a space I considered private, a time when I was absent. He wasn't just in my school life or my social life; he was in my home life, charming my mother while I slept obliviously upstairs.
"You're quiet today," Saki said, falling back to walk beside me. She slipped her hand into mine, lacing our fingers together. Her touch was warm, real. A tangible anchor in my suddenly shifting world.
"Just tired," I lied, forcing a smile. "Didn't sleep great."
"Aww, poor thing." She squeezed my hand. "Was it because you were missing me?"
"Obviously," I said, and this time the smile felt a little more genuine.
Ryo dropped back to join us, slinging his arms over both our shoulders. "My two favorite people! What's the topic of this solemn morning conference?"
"We were just discussing how Kaito needs more sleep," Saki said, playing along.
"Ah, the burdens of being an athlete and a scholar," Ryo sighed dramatically, giving me a little shake. "And a devastatingly handsome boyfriend. It's a lot for one man to carry."
I managed a weak chuckle. Being sandwiched between them like this, a part of their unit, should have felt comforting. But all I could feel was the weight of Ryo's arm, the proximity of his hand to Saki's shoulder. The image of them studying together, heads bent over a book in some quiet corner of the library, flashed unbidden in my mind.
Stop it, I scolded myself. This is your best friend. This is your girlfriend. You're being pathetic.
The school day passed in a blur of lectures and note-taking. I tried to focus, I really did, but my mind was a tangled mess. During math, I caught Saki glancing back at me twice with a faint, concerned frown. During history, Ryo passed me a doodle of our grumpy teacher with exaggerated buck teeth, and for a moment, it was like old times, and the unease receded.
But it always came back.
The final bell was a relief. I packed my bag quickly, eager to lose myself in the mindless, physical repetition of baseball practice.
"Hey, Kaito, wait up!" Ryo called, jogging to catch me at the classroom door. "I need a huge favor."
"What is it?" I asked, slinging my bag over my shoulder.
He ran a hand through his perfectly messy hair, a look of genuine distress on his face. "I'm such an idiot. I left my phone at home. It was charging, and I just walked out without it. Coach is gonna kill me if I miss practice, but I was supposed to call my mom about some family thing right after school."
"Can't you use the phone in the staff room?"
"It's a private thing," he said, his expression turning uncharacteristically serious for a split second before the easy smile returned. "Look, I know it's a pain, but can I borrow yours? Just for a few minutes? I'll be super quick. You can even watch me dial if you're worried I'm gonna call some expensive chat line."
He grinned, disarming me completely. This was a simple, reasonable request. This was what friends did.
"Yeah, sure," I said, digging my phone out of my pocket. I unlocked it and handed it over.
"You're a lifesaver, man!" he said, clapping me on the back. "I'll meet you on the field. Ten minutes, tops!"
He took off down the hall, my phone looking small and unfamiliar in his large, confident hand. I watched him go, a strange sense of vulnerability washing over me. My phone was an extension of myself—my texts with Saki, my search history, my stupid game saves. Handing it over felt strangely intimate, like I'd given him a key to a private part of my brain.
Shaking off the feeling, I headed for the clubroom to change. The familiar routine of pulling on my uniform, the smell of stale sweat and leather, was grounding. By the time I stepped onto the field, the crisp afternoon air filling my lungs, I felt more like myself.
I started my warm-up laps, my eyes unconsciously scanning the perimeter of the field for Ryo. He wasn't by the bleachers. He wasn't near the dugout.
Fifteen minutes passed. Then twenty. Coach started barking drills, and I had to join the outfielders, my focus split between catching fly balls and the growing, nagging worry in my head. Where was he? What was taking so long?
A cold trickle of doubt began to seep into my thoughts. Was the call really that important? Was he… was he doing something else with my phone? The thought was paranoid, ridiculous. But it was there, a stubborn weed in the garden of my trust.
Finally, as we were finishing a round of batting practice, I saw him. He was loping across the field towards us, a look of apologetic charm already plastered on his face.
"Ishikawa! You're late!" Coach bellowed.
"I know, Coach! I am so sorry! Family emergency, sir. It couldn't be helped." Ryo bowed deeply, his voice dripping with contrite sincerity.
Coach, who had a soft spot for his star player, just grunted. "Don't let it happen again. Now get your glove and get out there. You're running extra laps after practice."
"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!" Ryo straightened up and shot me a quick, grateful look before sprinting towards the clubhouse.
He joined us on the field a few minutes later, his energy infectious as always. He fielded grounders with a lazy grace that made it look easy and cracked jokes with the other players, immediately becoming the center of attention again. My worry began to feel foolish. He'd had a family thing. It was an emergency. I was being a bad friend for suspecting anything else.
After practice, drenched in sweat and pleasantly exhausted, we walked back to the clubhouse together.
"Sorry about that, man," Ryo said, falling into step beside me. "The call took way longer than I thought. Family drama. You know how it is."
"Yeah, no problem," I said, meaning it this time. "Everything okay?"
"It will be," he said with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world. "Thanks for the save. I owe you one." He pulled my phone from his pocket and handed it back. "All yours. Didn't mess with your high scores, I promise."
I took it, the familiar weight of it a comfort in my palm. "Any time."
We showered and changed, the steam and camaraderie of the locker room washing away the last of my anxiety. This was normal. This was fine.
As I was stuffing my dirty uniform into my bag, Ryo cursed loudly.
"Dammit! I did it again!"
"What's wrong?" I asked.
He patted his pockets frantically. "My phone! I must have left it on the bench in the clubhouse after I changed. I am seriously losing my mind today." He looked at me, a pleading expression in his eyes. "Kaito, I'm gonna be late for… uh, that thing. Can you grab it for me? You live near me, right? Just bring it by my house later? I'll text you the address from my mom's phone or something."
It was another favor. Another small, insignificant imposition. But the timing felt… off. The frantic patting of the pockets seemed a little too theatrical.
"Sure," I said slowly. "I can get it."
"You're the best, man! The absolute best!" he said, his relief palpable. "I gotta run. See you tomorrow!"
He slung his bag over his shoulder and practically sprinted out of the locker room, leaving me alone with the echo of his words and the growing, cold certainty that something wasn't right.
The clubhouse was silent and empty, the only sound the dripping of a showerhead someone hadn't turned off completely. The late afternoon sun slanted through the high windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. There, on the wooden bench where Ryo had been sitting, was his phone.
It was a sleek, latest-model device, a black slab of glass and metal. I picked it up. It was cool and smooth in my hand. A tiny, red notification light was blinking on the edge, a silent, rhythmic pulse.
He left his phone.
On purpose?
No, that's insane. He's just forgetful today.
But the thought was there, worming its way into my brain. He'd been so insistent. So rushed. It felt like a play, a performance staged for my benefit.
I stood there for a long minute, holding his phone. It felt heavier than mine, more dangerous. That blinking red light was a siren's call. I knew his passcode. He'd told it to me months ago when he'd been eating a burger and needed me to check a message for him. It was a simple code: 0410, his birthday.
Don't. This is a line you don't cross. This is a betrayal of trust far worse than any forgotten phone.
But the memories of the last two days flashed before my eyes—Saki and Ryo laughing together, my mother's fond words, the "our usual spot" for studying. The tiny, hairline fractures in my perfect world were multiplying.
My heart began to hammer against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the silent room. My palms were slick with sweat. This was wrong. This was so, so wrong.
But what if I was right? What if my unease wasn't paranoia, but intuition?
With a trembling finger, I tapped the screen. It lit up, displaying the time and a wallpaper of a generic mountain landscape. I swiped up. The passcode screen appeared.
My thumb hovered over the digits.
0… 4… 1… 0.
This was the point of no return. If I did this, I could never un-know what I found. I could never go back to the comfortable ignorance of before.
I took a deep, shuddering breath.
And I entered the code.
The phone unlocked with a soft chime. The home screen was clean, organized. Social media apps, games, a fitness tracker. My eyes scanned them, my breath caught in my throat. I didn't know what I was looking for. A secret folder? Incriminating messages?
My gaze fell on the messaging app. The icon had a small, red circle with the number '3' on it. Three unread messages.
This was it. This was the vault. If there was a secret, it would be in here.
Every fiber of my being screamed at me to stop, to put the phone down, to run away and preserve the beautiful, fragile lie of my life. But I was frozen, compelled by a morbid, terrifying curiosity.
I tapped the messaging app.
A list of conversations popped up. Most were from group chats with the baseball team, a few from other friends. His mom was at the top. And there, right below her, was a name that sent a jolt of ice through my veins.
Saki <3
He had her saved as Saki <3. The same way I had her saved in my phone.
The world narrowed to that single line of text on the screen. The blood roared in my ears. This couldn't be happening. It was a coincidence. A stupid, friendly joke. He was just messing around.
With a finger that felt numb and disconnected from my body, I tapped on the conversation.
The screen loaded. The last few messages were visible.
Ryo (Today, 3:15 PM): Plan worked. He's bringing it to my place later. He didn't suspect a thing.
Saki <3 (Today, 3:16 PM):You're a genius! I was so worried he was getting suspicious after this morning.
Ryo (Today, 3:17 PM):Relax. He's Kaito. He trusts us. It's almost too easy.
Saki <3 (Today, 3:18 PM):I know… but I still feel a little bad. He's so sweet.
Ryo (Today, 3:19 PM):Don't. You deserve more than sweet. You deserve passion. Remember last night? The library stacks?
Saki <3 (Today, 3:20 PM):Don't text that here! But… yes. I remember. I can't wait for Friday. My house is empty after 7.
I stopped reading.
The words on the screen blurred, the letters swimming in and out of focus. A cold, void-like emptiness opened up in the center of my chest, sucking all the air, all the warmth, all the light out of me. It was like being punched, hard, in the solar plexus. I couldn't breathe.
Plan worked.
He's Kaito. He trusts us. It's almost too easy.
The library stacks.
My house is empty after 7.
Each phrase was a nail being hammered into the coffin of my old life. The world I had inhabited just moments ago—a world of best friends and loving girlfriends and sunny school days—shattered into a million jagged, poisonous pieces.
The phone slipped from my nerveless fingers and clattered onto the wooden bench, the screen going dark.
I stood there, motionless, in the silent, empty clubhouse. The only sound was the frantic, ragged gasps of my own breathing. The image of them together, in the dark, quiet aisles of the library, among the dusty books… it burned behind my eyelids, vivid and horrific.
He hadn't just borrowed my phone for a call. He'd engineered this. He'd left his phone for me to find. Was it a game to him? A test? Or was it just sheer, arrogant carelessness, so confident in my loyalty that he never imagined I'd look?
It didn't matter. The result was the same.
The trust was broken. The friendship was a lie. The love was a sham.
I was a fool. The pathetic, trusting sidekick, too stupid to see the betrayal happening right in front of his face.
A raw, guttural sound tore from my throat, half-sob, half-scream of rage, stifled by the sheer weight of my devastation. I slammed my fist into the metal locker next to me, the pain a bright, sharp counterpoint to the numb agony spreading through my soul.
I looked down at the phone, now an inert black rectangle on the bench. It was no longer just a phone. It was Pandora's Box. And I had opened it.
What other secrets did it hold? The messages mentioned my mom. They mentioned Maya. Were they just… all of them? A fresh wave of nausea washed over me.
I had to get out of there. I grabbed my bag, my movements jerky and uncoordinated. I left Ryo's phone lying on the bench. Let him come back for it. Let him wonder.
I stumbled out of the clubhouse and into the fading evening light. The world looked the same—the same school buildings, the same cherry trees, the same students heading home. But it wasn't the same. It was a hollowed-out replica. The colors were muted. The sounds were distant.
I was alone in a crowd, carrying a secret that was slowly eating me alive from the inside out.
I had the truth now. But as I walked home, each step feeling like a mile, I realized a terrifying thing.
Knowing the truth was infinitely worse than suspecting it.
The game wasn't over. It had just begun. And I had already lost the first, most important round.