Chapter 14
The next morning feels almost suspiciously peaceful.
Which is exactly why Emilia doesn't trust it.
She walks into Seiryo Academy expecting—
Something.
A shift.
A comment.
A ripple.
Instead—
Nothing.
Normal chatter.
Normal footsteps.
Normal chaos.
She almost frowns.
Peace is unsettling.
When she enters the classroom, Ren is not there.
She notices immediately.
And immediately tells herself it doesn't matter.
People are late sometimes.
She sits.
Opens her notebook.
Writes the date carefully.
Still no Ren.
Her pen presses slightly harder than necessary.
Yui leans over.
"You're staring at his desk."
"I am not."
"You are."
"I'm observing an empty space."
"That's worse."
Emilia exhales slowly.
"Il est en retard."
(He's late.)
"Yes," Yui says dryly. "That is how time works."
Emilia ignores her.
But her pulse has shifted slightly.
Ren is rarely late.
Not never.
But rarely.
And after last night—
After the walk—
After the quiet understanding—
His absence feels louder than it should.
Ten minutes pass.
Then fifteen.
The teacher begins class without him.
Her chest tightens.
Why hasn't he messaged?
Why hasn't he—
Stop.
She forces herself to look down at her notes.
Focus.
Control.
Patience.
Isn't that what she told him she liked?
He arrives twenty-three minutes late.
Breath steady.
Hair slightly disordered.
Tie slightly crooked.
Emilia's heart jumps before she can stop it.
He pauses at the doorway.
Offers a quiet apology to the teacher.
Takes his seat.
Doesn't look at her immediately.
That irritates her more than the lateness.
She waits.
Three seconds.
Five.
He glances sideways.
Their eyes meet.
He nods once.
Small.
Subtle.
Like nothing is wrong.
She narrows her eyes slightly.
Nothing is wrong?
During break, she turns toward him.
"Tu es en retard."
(You're late.)
"Yes."
"That's unusual."
"Yes."
"Pourquoi ?"
(Why?)
He hesitates.
She notices that immediately.
"You hesitated."
"I was choosing words."
She crosses her arms lightly.
"That's my line."
A faint smile touches his lips.
Subtle humor.
"Traffic."
She blinks.
"You don't drive."
"True."
"Alors ?"
(Then?)
He exhales lightly.
"Mina didn't want to go to school."
That stops her.
Her irritation dissolves instantly.
"She's okay?"
"Yes."
"She cried?"
"A little."
Emilia's shoulders soften without her permission.
"She does that."
"Yes."
"You stayed?"
"Yes."
Silence.
She looks down at his slightly wrinkled sleeve.
He really had stayed.
He notices the shift in her posture.
"You thought something else," he says quietly.
"I didn't."
"You did."
She exhales softly.
"...Peut-être."
(Maybe.)
He almost laughs.
"That's not very stable of you."
She glares faintly.
"Tu es agaçant."
(You're annoying.)
"You've said that."
"It's still true."
The corner of his mouth lifts again.
There's the humor.
Light.
Gentle.
Familiar.
But something lingers.
He looks tired.
More than he did yesterday.
"You didn't sleep," she says softly.
"Not much."
"Pourquoi ?"
He hesitates again.
This time—
Longer.
She studies him carefully.
"You're thinking too much again."
"Yes."
"À cause de quoi ?"
(Because of what?)
He meets her eyes.
"You."
Her breath stumbles.
"You're repeating yourself."
"Still true."
She looks away first this time.
Cheeks warmer than she expected.
"Tu es imprudent."
(You're reckless.)
"How?"
"You say things plainly."
"I thought you preferred that."
Silence.
She does.
That's the problem.
During class, she notices something else.
He isn't as calm today.
His fingers tap lightly against his pen.
His gaze drifts occasionally.
Subtle.
But she sees it.
"You're distracted," she murmurs.
"Yes."
"Pourquoi ?"
He doesn't answer immediately.
Then—
"Because I don't know how to stop waiting."
That hits harder than expected.
She blinks.
"What?"
He lowers his voice.
"You said not to make you wait."
"Yes."
"I'm not sure what that means anymore."
Her chest tightens slightly.
Because she isn't either.
"I don't mean now," she says quickly.
"I know."
"Then why—"
"Because I don't want to misstep."
Silence.
He's overthinking again.
Because of her.
Because of what she said.
Because she told him not to hesitate too long.
And now—
He's worried about moving too soon.
That realization softens something inside her.
She leans slightly closer.
"Tu réfléchis trop."
(You think too much.)
"Yes."
She sighs faintly.
Then—
For once—
She bumps her shoulder lightly against his.
Intentional.
Not accidental.
He stills.
"That wasn't an accident," he says quietly.
"No."
Silence.
The contact lingers for half a second longer than necessary.
Then she leans back.
"Ne fais pas semblant de ne pas comprendre."
(Don't pretend not to understand.)
He freezes internally.
That line.
Careful.
Dangerous.
She doesn't know how close that came to the truth.
He meets her gaze carefully.
"I'm not pretending."
She studies him.
There's something in his tone.
Something layered.
She can't quite grasp it.
But she feels it.
Kaito suddenly leans over from behind.
"You two look like you're negotiating a peace treaty."
Emilia blinks.
"We are not."
Ren exhales faintly.
"We are not."
Kaito squints suspiciously.
"That's exactly what people negotiating say."
Emilia rolls her eyes.
"Va-t'en."
(Go away.)
Kaito pauses.
"...I feel insulted, but I don't know why."
Ren almost laughs.
Almost.
The tension eases slightly.
Humor restores balance.
Later, as the day winds down, Emilia finds herself watching Ren again.
Not critically.
Not defensively.
Just observing.
He looks tired.
But steadier now.
She leans closer quietly.
"Tu ne dois pas tout porter."
(You don't have to carry everything.)
He looks at her.
That one surprises him.
"I'm not."
"You are."
He considers arguing.
Doesn't.
Instead—
"Do you want me to stop waiting?" he asks quietly.
The question lands differently now.
Not pressure.
Just clarity.
She considers it carefully.
"No."
"Then what?"
She hesitates.
Then says softly—
"Reste."
(Stay.)
He studies her face carefully.
"I am."
She nods faintly.
Satisfied.
Not because she controls him.
But because he chose.
Carrying
It starts with a cough.
Not dramatic.
Not alarming.
Just a small, persistent cough echoing faintly through the hallway.
Emilia notices it because Ren doesn't.
Or rather—
He pretends not to.
They're seated beside each other during study period when his phone buzzes.
He glances down briefly.
His expression shifts—only slightly.
Most people wouldn't notice.
Emilia does.
"C'est Mina ?"
(Is it Mina?)
He looks up.
"Yes."
"She's coughing again?"
He blinks.
"How did you—"
"You look worried."
He exhales lightly.
"She's fine."
"That wasn't my question."
A faint flicker of amusement touches his expression.
"Just a cold."
She narrows her eyes slightly.
"Tu as dit ça hier."
(You said that yesterday.)
"Yes."
"And today."
"Yes."
"Tu es fatigué."
(You're tired.)
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
He almost smiles.
"You're repeating yourself."
"So are you."
There's the humor again.
Light.
Familiar.
But beneath it—
She sees the shadows under his eyes.
Later that afternoon, Kaito leans over from behind.
"You look like a tragic novel character."
Ren sighs faintly.
"That's dramatic."
"It's accurate."
Emilia glances at him.
"He does look like he hasn't slept."
Ren looks between them.
"I'm right here."
"Yes," Emilia says calmly. "And you look tired."
He shakes his head lightly.
"Mina didn't sleep well."
"And neither did you."
"She's five."
"And you're not."
Silence.
That lands.
He looks away briefly.
That tiny flicker of surrender tells her everything.
After school, Emilia finds herself walking beside him without consciously deciding to.
"Tu devrais rentrer plus tôt."
(You should go home earlier.)
"I will."
"Tu dis ça toujours."
(You always say that.)
"Yes."
"And then you stay."
He glances at her sideways.
"You're keeping track?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
She hesitates.
Then says plainly—
"Parce que je te regarde."
(Because I watch you.)
He goes quiet.
That one isn't teasing.
It's honest.
She doesn't look at him.
If she does, she might regret saying it.
They reach the station corner.
She stops.
"So she's home alone?"
"No. My mom is there."
"Good."
"But she worries."
"And you worry about her worrying."
"Yes."
She studies him carefully.
"You don't have to carry everything."
He smiles faintly.
"You've said that."
"Because it's true."
He doesn't argue this time.
That's new.
That night, Mina's cough worsens.
Emilia doesn't know that yet.
But she senses something.
A restlessness.
She stares at her phone longer than usual.
Almost messages him.
Doesn't.
Pride.
Restraint.
Habit.
Instead she types:
Comment va Mina ?
(How is Mina?)
She stares at the message for five seconds.
Then presses send.
Immediate regret.
Why immediate regret?
Because she initiated.
Because she showed concern.
Because that makes it real.
Three dots appear.
Then disappear.
Then reappear.
Her heart does something ridiculous.
Reply:
Still coughing. Refuses medicine. Negotiating.
She exhales.
Negotiating.
Of course.
She types:
Elle est forte.
(She's strong.)
He replies:
Yes. Too strong.
She smiles faintly.
Then types:
Et toi ?
(And you?)
There's a longer pause this time.
Then:
I'm fine.
She stares at it.
That's not an answer.
She types:
Tu mens.
(You're lying.)
Three dots again.
Then:
Maybe.
Her chest tightens slightly.
She types slower now:
Tu devrais dormir.
(You should sleep.)
Reply:
I will.
She stares at the screen.
He won't.
She knows he won't.
The next morning, Mina doesn't go to school.
Ren does.
But barely.
His steps are slower.
His posture less precise.
His voice slightly rougher.
Emilia notices instantly.
"Tu es malade."
(You're sick.)
"I'm not."
"Yes, you are."
"It's nothing."
She narrows her eyes.
"Tu es idiot."
(You're an idiot.)
He almost laughs.
"That's harsh."
"It's accurate."
There's the humor.
But it's thinner today.
During class, his pen drops once.
He doesn't notice.
She picks it up silently.
Hands it back to him.
Their fingers brush.
His skin feels warmer than usual.
Her breath stills.
"Tu as de la fièvre."
(You have a fever.)
He blinks.
"I don't."
She reaches up instinctively—
Then stops herself halfway.
Her hand hovering near his forehead.
He notices.
She freezes.
Internal Emilia:
Abort.
Abort.
Too intimate.
Too obvious.
She lowers her hand slowly.
"You look warm," she says instead.
"That's not how temperature works."
She glares faintly.
"You're impossible."
"You're dramatic."
Silence.
But she sees it.
He's struggling to focus.
His answers slower.
His shoulders heavier.
During lunch, Hana frowns slightly.
"You should go home."
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
Emilia says nothing.
She doesn't need to.
She already knows what she's thinking.
If he doesn't leave early—
She might lose patience.
After school, he stands to leave and sways slightly.
Barely noticeable.
But she sees it.
Of course she does.
"Ren."
He turns.
"Yes?"
"Rentre."
(Go home.)
He hesitates.
Just slightly.
Then nods.
"Okay."
That surrender hits her unexpectedly.
He didn't argue.
He didn't wait.
He just... listened.
As he walks toward the gate, she watches him.
Longer than usual.
Something unsettled hums in her chest.
This isn't jealousy.
This isn't competition.
This is—
Fear.
Very small.
But real.
She exhales softly.
"Tu ne dois pas tout porter..."
(You don't have to carry everything...)
He doesn't hear it.
But she says it anyway.