The final bell echoed across the campus, its lingering chime signaling the end of another school day. Almost immediately, the quiet corridors erupted into life as classroom doors slid open one after another. Students poured into the hallways in lively groups, their conversations overlapping into a constant stream of laughter and chatter.
Some complained about the mountain of homework waiting for them at home. Others excitedly discussed weekend plans, upcoming exams, or the newest update to Nervanox. A few members of the sports clubs hurried toward the athletic grounds, while teachers reminded lingering students not to forget their assignments.
The familiar bustle of the afternoon surrounded Ruko as he left the school building.
He walked with his hands tucked into his pockets, weaving through the crowd without making eye contact with anyone. It wasn't difficult. After years of keeping to himself, most students had learned that trying to strike up a conversation with him was usually met with nothing more than a short reply—or complete silence.
He preferred it that way.
People couldn't disappoint you if you never gave them the chance.
The warm breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers from the school's garden as he stepped through the front gate. The sky overhead had begun its slow transition into evening, painting the horizon with shades of amber and gold that reflected across the windows of the surrounding buildings.
Ruko had only managed a few steps onto the sidewalk when he heard footsteps approaching from behind.
"Wait."
He didn't need to turn around to recognize the voice.
A moment later, someone fell into step beside him.
"...It's been a while since we walked home together."
Ruko glanced sideways.
Kazuha Shirogane smiled faintly as she adjusted the strap of her school bag over one shoulder. The warm glow of the setting sun softened her usually dignified appearance, tinting her brown ponytail with golden highlights. Even her crimson eyes, which normally carried the composed authority expected of the student council president, seemed gentler beneath the evening light.
For a brief moment, he was reminded of the little girl who used to drag him outside every afternoon to play.
"...Yeah," he answered quietly.
It wasn't much of a response, but Kazuha didn't seem to mind.
They continued walking side by side, neither of them making any effort to fill the silence.
Oddly enough, it wasn't uncomfortable.
It simply felt... unfamiliar.
There had been a time when walking home together had been part of their daily routine. Back then, neither of them had thought twice about it. They had argued over trivial things, raced each other to the convenience store near the station, and occasionally stopped by the neighborhood park until their parents came looking for them.
Somewhere along the way, those ordinary days had quietly disappeared.
Ruko couldn't even remember when they had stopped walking home together.
The silence stretched comfortably between them as they crossed a quiet intersection.
The neighborhood looked much the same as it always had. A small bakery near the corner had already begun displaying fresh bread for the evening rush, filling the air with the comforting aroma of butter and sugar. Across the street, an elderly couple watered the flowers outside their home while children chased one another through a nearby park, their laughter echoing beneath the rustling trees.
Life moved on, unchanged.
Only they had changed.
As they passed an old vending machine standing beneath a weathered bus stop, Kazuha slowed her pace slightly.
"...They still haven't replaced it."
Ruko followed her gaze.
The faded vending machine looked exactly as he remembered. The paint had dulled with age, and one of the buttons was still covered with the same strip of transparent tape someone had placed there years ago.
A small laugh escaped Kazuha.
"Remember when you spent your entire allowance trying to win one of those capsule toys?"
Ruko looked at the old capsule machine beside the vending machine before letting out a quiet sigh.
"...I remember someone laughing every single time I lost."
"I wasn't laughing at you." Kazuha immediately defended herself.
"You absolutely were." Ruko replied.
"I was laughing because you kept insisting, 'The next one will definitely be the lucky one.'"
"You've got a surprisingly good memory."
"I have to." She smiled mischievously.
"Someone has to remember all the embarrassing things you've done."
Ruko looked away with a click of his tongue.
"I was eight."
"And incredibly stubborn."
"...Still am."
Kazuha giggled softly.
"I noticed."
For the first time that afternoon, Ruko found himself smiling—if only a little.
It disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared, but Kazuha noticed.
She always noticed.
The smile on her own face gradually softened.
"...You've changed."
Ruko raised an eyebrow.
"What makes you say that?"
She kept her eyes on the road ahead instead of looking at him.
"You used to avoid responsibility whenever you could."
"I still do."
"You skipped every school event that wasn't mandatory."
"I still try."
"You hated joining clubs."
"...That hasn't changed either."
Kazuha laughed.
"I know."
Her expression became more thoughtful as the laughter faded.
"But there was one thing you always avoided more than anything else."
Ruko already knew where this was going.
"...Girls?"
She nodded.
"Especially girls."
He let out an exaggerated sigh.
"Can you blame me?"
The words slipped out before he had time to think.
The atmosphere changed almost immediately.
Kazuha's footsteps slowed.
"...No," she answered quietly.
There was no teasing hidden behind her voice.
No playful comeback.
Only quiet understanding.
For some reason, that simple response unsettled him far more than if she had laughed.
The breeze picked up again, carrying a handful of cherry blossom petals across the sidewalk even though spring had already begun to fade.
Neither of them spoke for a while.
Eventually, Kazuha broke the silence once more.
"...That's why I don't understand."
Ruko looked toward her.
She still wasn't looking at him.
Instead, she watched the road stretching toward the setting sun.
"You spent three years pretending the world didn't exist."
Her voice remained gentle, but there was unmistakable curiosity beneath it.
"You kept everyone at a distance. You never joined anything, never volunteered for anything, and never let anyone get close."
She paused, choosing her next words carefully.
"So..."
She finally turned to face him.
"...Why did you join the Gaming Club?"
Ruko's steps slowed almost imperceptibly.
The question wasn't unexpected. In fact, he had been waiting for it ever since Kazuha caught up with him outside the school gates.
Why did he join the Gaming Club?
Why return to a game he had sworn never to touch again?
Why willingly reopen a chapter of his life that had brought him nothing but regret?
There was only one answer.
Mitsuru.
The name surfaced in his mind so naturally that his chest tightened.
He remembered the reflection on the monitor. The silver-and-blue Gaming Club crest. The article that had shattered three years of certainty.
She was here.
Somewhere within the walls of their school.
Maybe she was someone he passed every morning without noticing.
Maybe she had spoken to him before under a different name.
Maybe she had been closer than he had ever imagined.
His fingers unconsciously tightened around the strap of his school bag.
"...It's nothing."
Kazuha looked at him from the corner of her eye.
"Nothing?"
He let out a quiet breath.
"...Just a selfish reason."
He offered nothing more.
The answer wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth either.
He couldn't tell her that he had joined the club to chase a ghost.
To search for the girl who had broken his heart three years ago.
To confirm whether everything he believed back then had really been a lie.
The thought alone sounded pathetic.
He expected Kazuhato keep pressing him. When they were younger, she had always been stubborn enough to chase an answer until she got one.
Instead, she simply nodded.
"I see."
That was all she said.
No more questions.
No attempts to pry into his past.
The conversation drifted back into silence as they continued down the familiar residential streets.
For some reason, that silence felt... comfortable.
It reminded Ruko of the countless evenings they had spent walking home after elementary school. Back then, they didn't need to talk constantly. Just being there had been enough.
He hadn't realized how much he had missed that feeling.
"...Thank you."
The quiet words caught him off guard.
He turned toward her.
"...For what?"
Kazuha smiled faintly, though her eyes remained fixed on the road ahead.
"For today."
"You don't have to thank me." Ruko looked at her
"I do."
Her voice carried none of the confidence she usually displayed as the student council president. Instead, it sounded strangely vulnerable.
"You saw how everyone reacted."
Images from the clubroom flashed through Ruko's mind.
The heated argument.
The black-haired girl storming out.
The frustration hanging over the room.
The defeated expressions each member had tried—and failed—to hide.
Kazuha let out a small sigh.
"Sera leaving wasn't just losing a teammate."
She paused briefly.
"It felt like we were losing hope."
The words were spoken so quietly that they were almost carried away by the wind.
Ruko glanced at her.
Until now, he had only seen Kazuha as the composed president who kept everything under control. Seeing her admit weakness felt... unusual.
"We've been struggling for months," she continued. "Every practice ends the same way. We lose, everyone gets frustrated, and little by little, people stop believing we can improve."
She laughed softly, though there wasn't much amusement in it.
"I kept telling everyone we'd figure something out."
"But..."
She lowered her gaze.
"...I didn't actually know how."
For the first time since they had started walking, Ruko noticed the faint shadows beneath her eyes.
She looked exhausted.
Not physically.
Mentally.
She had been carrying the burden of the entire club by herself.
"When you walked into that room today," she said, "I honestly thought you were just another curious student."
A small smile returned to her lips.
"Then you started pointing out things none of us had noticed."
Ruko scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.
"I just said what I saw."
"Exactly."
She looked at him with a sincerity that made him uncomfortable.
"You saw what we couldn't."
The compliment felt heavier than it should have.
Throughout his professional career, people had praised his mechanics, his drafting, his decision-making.
But those compliments had always come with expectations.
Win.
Carry.
Don't make mistakes.
This was different.
Kazuha wasn't praising his skill.
She was thanking him simply for showing up.
"...You're weird," Ruko muttered.
"Hm?"
"Most people would be angry after having all their weaknesses pointed out."
Kazuha chuckled.
"Oh, everyone was angry."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Especially Hikari."
"...Fair enough."
"And Kana's probably still complaining."
"I can believe that."
"Risa," Kazuha continued with a small smile, "is probably reviewing every replay right now to see if your analysis was correct."
"...That also sounds believable."
She laughed quietly.
"I know this team better than anyone."
The warmth in her voice returned, and for a moment she looked less like the dignified student council president and more like the childhood friend he remembered.
Then she looked at him again.
"But even if they were upset..."
"...I wasn't."
Their eyes met briefly.
"So..."
She smiled.
"...Thank you, Ruko."
He looked away almost immediately.
"...You're making this awkward."
"I know."
"And you keep doing it."
"I know."
"...Stop."
Kazuha's smile widened ever so slightly.
"I'll think about it."
Ruko clicked his tongue, earning another quiet laugh from her.
The tension that had lingered between them since leaving school had almost completely disappeared.
For the first time in years, walking beside Kazuha didn't feel like walking beside the student council president.
It felt like walking beside the childhood friend he had nearly forgotten.
The peaceful atmosphere lingered as they continued down the gently sloping road. The rush of students had thinned considerably by now, leaving only a handful of people making their way home beneath the warm glow of the evening sky.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The silence was no longer unfamiliar.
It had settled into something comfortable.
Ruko found himself wondering how long it had been since he'd shared a conversation that didn't revolve around schoolwork or a curt exchange with a teacher. Somewhere along the way, he'd grown accustomed to living inside his own head. Talking to people had become exhausting.
Yet with Kazuha, it didn't feel that way.
Perhaps it was because she'd always been there.
Even during the years they barely spoke, there had never been any hostility between them. They had simply... drifted apart.
Kazuha suddenly slowed to a stop in front of a small neighborhood park.
Children chased each other around the swings while their parents watched from nearby benches. The laughter drifting through the air was bright and carefree.
"...Do you remember this place?" she asked.
Ruko followed her gaze.
The park hadn't changed much.
The same rusted swing set.
The same slide with chipped blue paint.
Even the large cherry tree standing near the center looked exactly as it had years ago.
"...Barely."
"Liar."
She smiled knowingly.
"You cried over there."
She pointed toward the sandbox.
Ruko frowned.
"I did not."
"You absolutely did."
"I scraped my knee."
"You cried."
"I was bleeding."
"You cried first."
"I was six."
"You still cried."
He stared at her for several seconds before letting out a defeated sigh.
"...You're never letting that go, are you?" Ruko stared at her.
"Never." Her answer came so quickly that he couldn't help letting out a quiet laugh.
Kazuha smiled triumphantly.
"There it is."
"What?"
"You laughed."
"It wasn't that funny."
"But you laughed."
She folded her arms with a satisfied nod.
"Progress."
"...You're impossible."
"So I've been told."
They resumed walking, though the conversation felt noticeably lighter now.
Ruko hadn't expected something as simple as reminiscing about childhood memories to ease the lingering awkwardness between them.
Then again...
Back then, life really had been simple.
No championships.
No betrayals.
No impossible feelings hidden behind usernames.
Had it really been that long?
He thought back to the three years that followed the championship.
Days blending into weeks.
Weeks into months.
School. Home. Anime. Sleep. Repeat.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed with someone.
Couldn't remember the last time he'd looked forward to tomorrow.
He had simply existed.
"...Maybe."
His answer was barely audible.
Kazuha pretended not to notice the change in his mood.
Instead, she looked toward the horizon where the sun had begun disappearing behind the rooftops.
"I'm glad."
Those two quiet words carried a sincerity that made Ruko instinctively look away.
Compliments had never bothered him.
Gratitude had.
Because he never knew how to respond.
"...Don't make a big deal out of it."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm really not."
"You've said 'thank you' three times already."
Kazuha tilted her head thoughtfully.
"...Was it only three?"
"...Please stop counting."
"I'll consider it."
He sighed dramatically.
"...You're more annoying than I remember."
"And yet you're still walking beside me." Kazuha smiled
"...I haven't found a convenient excuse to leave."
"Hm."
She nodded as though accepting a challenge.
"Then I'll make sure you don't find one."
Ruko couldn't help clicking his tongue.
"...Persistent as ever."
"That's one way to describe it."
The conversation slowly faded again, but this time the silence felt lighter than before.
Neither of them realized it, but they had already walked much farther than they usually would have before parting ways.
It wasn't until Kazuha finally gathered her courage that the atmosphere shifted once more.
"...Ruko?"
"Hm?"
She took a slow breath.
"I want to ask you something."
He immediately frowned.
"...That doesn't sound good."
A small, nervous laugh escaped her.
"I figured you'd say that."
She looked down at the ground for a moment before tightening her grip on her school bag.
"...It's selfish."
"Then I probably won't like it."
"...Probably."
"And you're still going to ask?"
She nodded.
"...Yes."
Ruko let out a long, theatrical sigh before rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"...Fine."
He looked at her.
"I'm listening."
Kazuha stopped walking.
The playful smile she'd worn moments earlier disappeared, replaced by an expression of quiet determination.
The request she was about to make wasn't something she had decided on impulsively.
She had been thinking about it since the moment she watched him dismantle their team's weaknesses with nothing more than a single practice match.
Taking one steady breath, she finally spoke.
"...Ruko."
Her crimson eyes met his.
"...Will you become our coach?"
For a brief moment, Ruko wondered if he had misheard her.
"...What?"
"The esports team," Kazuha repeated without hesitation. "I want you to become our coach."
The evening breeze swept between them, stirring the leaves lining the roadside. Neither of them resumed walking. Students continued passing by in the distance, but their chatter had become little more than background noise.
Ruko stared at her in disbelief.
"A coach?"
He let out a dry laugh.
"You're seriously overestimating me."
"I'm not."
Her answer came so quickly that it caught him off guard.
"You only watched us play for a single afternoon, yet you found flaws that none of us noticed after months of practice."
"That doesn't mean I'd make a good coach."
"It means you understand the game."
Kazuha took a small step forward, her gaze never wavering.
"Risa agreed with your analysis. Kana couldn't argue against it. Even Hikari... she got angry because what you said hit too close to home."
Ruko frowned.
"I just pointed out the obvious."
"It wasn't obvious to us."
There wasn't a hint of exaggeration in her voice.
She genuinely believed every word she was saying.
"We've been stuck for months," she continued quietly. "Every practice ends the same way. We work harder, we play longer, and somehow we keep making the same mistakes."
A bitter smile crossed her face.
"I've tried everything I could think of as captain."
For the first time since they left the clubroom, Ruko noticed the fatigue hidden behind her usual composed expression.
As Student Council President, she carried responsibilities that most students never saw.
As captain of the Gaming Club, she carried even more.
Every defeat belonged to her.
Every argument landed on her shoulders.
Even when the team smiled, she was the one worrying about what came next.
"I don't need another player," she said softly. "I need someone who can see what we can't."
Her eyes met his.
"I think that person is you."
Ruko looked away.
The word "coach" felt strangely heavy.
It reminded him of strategy meetings that lasted until dawn.
Of notebooks filled with drafts and counter-drafts.
Of players waiting for his decisions before stepping onto the biggest stages in esports.
That world was supposed to be behind him.
"...You do realize I hate this game, right?"
Kazuha smiled.
It wasn't a teasing smile.
It was the quiet smile of someone who already knew the answer.
"And yet," she replied, "you still came back."
The words struck their mark.
Mitsuru.
The name surfaced in his thoughts before he could stop it.
If he accepted...
He would remain close to the Gaming Club.
Close to the girls.
Close to the only clue he had found in three years.
He hated admitting it, but Kazuha was right.
If he wanted answers, leaving now wasn't an option.
Ruko released a long, exhausted sigh.
"...This is such a pain."
Kazuha waited patiently.
She didn't pressure him.
She simply stood there, trusting him to reach his own conclusion.
After several seconds, he scratched the back of his head.
"...Fine."
Her crimson eyes widened ever so slightly.
Before she could celebrate, Ruko raised a hand to stop her.
"But don't misunderstand."
He deliberately looked away.
"I'm not doing this for you."
"I know."
Her answer carried neither disappointment nor amusement.
It was simply accepting.
"I'm doing it because I have my own reasons."
"I know that too."
For some reason, that response irritated him.
"...You're annoyingly calm."
Kazuha giggled.
"I've known you since we were kids. You're the type of person who complains the entire time while helping anyway."
"...That's slander."
"It's experience."
Ruko clicked his tongue.
"...I'll think about what kind of coach I want to be first."
"That's enough."
Kazuha smiled, the tension in her shoulders finally easing.
"Thank you, Ruko."
He offered no reply.
Instead, he shoved both hands into his pockets and started walking again.
Kazuha quickly caught up, and the two continued toward home beneath the fading orange sky.
As they walked, an uncomfortable realization slowly settled in the back of Ruko's mind.
He had told himself he was only investigating Mitsuru.
That joining the Gaming Club was merely a convenient excuse to uncover the truth.
But the more time he spent around its members, the less convincing that excuse became.
Without realizing it, he had already accepted responsibility for people who weren't part of his past.
Whether he liked it or not...
He had taken his first step back into the world he abandoned three years ago.
The following afternoon, the Gaming Club was far livelier than it had been the day before.
The room hummed with the sound of computers powering on, keyboards clicking into place, and chairs scraping across the floor as everyone prepared for practice.
Kazuha was already seated at her station, carefully adjusting her mouse sensitivity before opening Nervanox. Beside her, Risa studied several pages of handwritten notes while comparing them with statistics displayed on a second monitor.
Kana rotated her wrists as she complained loudly.
"My hands are still sore from yesterday. If we lose another eight games today, I'm sending everyone my hospital bill."
"You'll survive," Hikari replied from the opposite side of the room.
She leaned lazily against her chair, twirling her mouse by its cable before plugging it in.
"What'll kill me first is listening to you complain."
"I complain because I care."
"No. You complain because you're Kana."
The two immediately began bickering, their familiar exchange filling the room with just enough noise to keep yesterday's tension from resurfacing.
Meanwhile, Ruko stood near the back wall with his arms folded.
He said nothing.
Instead, he watched.
Every movement.
Every habit.
Every interaction.
Even before the computers finished loading, he was already evaluating the team.
How they communicated.
Who naturally took charge.
Who hesitated before speaking.
Who ignored instructions.
The match hadn't even begun.
Yet the practice had already started.
With every loss, frustration accumulated.
Kana became noticeably more aggressive.
Hikari's mouse clicks grew louder.
Risa's expression darkened.
Kazuha remained calm on the surface, but her movements became increasingly rigid.
By the ninth match, the results spoke for themselves.
One win.
Eight losses.
"...That's enough."
The room turned toward him.
Ruko stepped forward.
"You're not losing because you're weak."
Silence remain in the room as nobody spoke.
"You're losing because your roles don't match who you are."
Kana frowned immediately.
"What?"
Ruko pointed toward Risa.
"You think too much to be a tank."
Her eyes narrowed.
"You constantly calculate outcomes before acting. Tanks and Roamers can't afford hesitation."
He folded his arms.
"A tank creates opportunities immediately."
Risa remained silent.
Which was practically an admission.
Ruko shifted toward Kana.
"You're too aggressive to be a marksman."
Kana clicked her tongue.
"And what's wrong with aggression?"
"You constantly seek fights."
He pointed toward the replay.
"You want pressure. Close combat. Chaos."
His conclusion was immediate.
"You're playing the wrong role."
Kana couldn't argue.
Because she knew it was true.
Finally, Ruko looked at Hikari.
"You abandon your lane constantly."
Her expression hardened instantly.
"You chase fights everywhere else while your own objectives collapse."
The room grew quieter as he then turned towards Kazuha.
"You're too hesitant to be a jungler."
Her fingers tightened around her mouse.
"You keep retreating from fights you should commit to."
He met her eyes.
"A jungler controls the pace of the game."
His voice became firmer.
"But you're afraid of making mistakes."
The room fell silent.
Then Hikari abruptly stood.
The tension snapped.
"...You're seriously pissing me off."
Everyone froze.
Hikari glared directly at him.
"You walk in here, play one impressive match, and suddenly act like you know everything about us?"
Her voice sharpened.
"You don't understand this team."
Ruko met her gaze calmly.
"Then prove me wrong."
That only made her angrier.
"...You're unbearable."
Without another word, she turned and left.
The door slammed shut behind her.
Silence followed.
Kana scratched her cheek awkwardly.
"...Well, that escalated."
Risa adjusted her glasses.
"His analysis wasn't wrong."
Kazuha sighed.
"...But his timing was terrible."
Ruko knew that already.
Because he hadn't approached the problem emotionally.
He approached it logically.
Like a strategist analyzing pieces on a board.
And Hikari had noticed immediately.
That night, Ruko returned to school.
"...I forgot my bag."
It was a stupid reason.
At least, that was what he told himself.
The campus had already emptied by the time he arrived. The lively voices of students that usually filled the hallways had disappeared, replaced by the quiet hum of fluorescent lights hanging above.
The school felt completely different after sunset.
During the day, it was filled with noise, movement, and countless people.
At night, it felt almost abandoned.
Like the entire building was holding its breath.
Ruko walked through the dark hallway toward the Gaming Club room, his footsteps echoing softly against the floor.
He had only intended to grab his bag and leave.
Nothing more.
But as he reached the clubroom, he noticed something strange.
A faint line of light escaped from beneath the storage room door beside the clubroom.
Ruko stopped.
His eyes narrowed.
Someone was still here?
The club meeting had already ended hours ago.
Kazuha and the others should have gone home.
Slowly, he approached the door.
The closer he got, the more uneasy he felt.
There was no sound coming from inside.
No footsteps.
No movement.
Just a quiet presence.
Ruko reached for the handle.
Locked.
His fingers remained on the doorknob for a moment longer than necessary.
"...Someone's inside."
No response.
He knocked lightly.
"Hey."
The sound echoed through the empty hallway.
"Can you hear me?"
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then—
"...Yeah."
The answer was quiet.
Almost hesitant.
But the moment Ruko heard it, his entire body froze.
That voice.
There was no mistaking it.
The same voice that had guided him through countless battles.
The same voice that had laughed with him during victories.
The same voice that had whispered encouragement through a headset when he thought he had already lost.
His heartbeat became unbearably loud.
His hand slowly fell away from the door.
"...Mitsuru."
The name escaped before he even realized he had spoken.
Silence followed.
A heavy silence.
The kind that carried three years of unanswered questions.
Three years of anger.
Three years of wondering if the person on the other side had ever thought about him.
Ruko stepped closer.
"...Open the door."
For a moment, he thought she wouldn't answer.
Then—
"...I can't."
His expression tightened.
"Why?"
No response.
The silence irritated him more than an argument would have.
His palm pressed against the cold surface of the door.
"Do you have any idea what you did to me?"
His voice was calm.
But barely.
The emotions he had buried for years were slowly breaking through.
"I trusted you."
His eyes lowered.
Memories began flooding back.
The countless ranked matches.
The endless strategy discussions.
The nights when they stayed awake until morning because neither of them wanted to be the first to leave.
"I kept logging in."
A bitter laugh escaped him.
"Every single night."
His fingers curled against the door.
"Like an idiot."
The other side remained silent.
"You know what bothered me the most?"
His voice became quieter.
"You weren't just my teammate."
A pause.
"You were the only person I could talk to."
The hallway felt colder.
"You complained that I talked too much."
A faint smile almost appeared on his face.
"Constantly."
His expression quickly faded.
"But you still stayed."
His forehead rested lightly against the door.
"We played together every day."
"You knew when I was frustrated."
"You knew when I was scared."
"You knew when I was about to make a mistake before I even realized it."
His voice trembled.
"And I thought I knew you too."
The next words were harder to say.
"But I didn't."
Silence.
Then—
"Why?"
The question was barely a whisper.
"Why did you lie to me?"
For several seconds, there was nothing.
Ruko waited.
He didn't know what answer he expected.
An excuse.
An apology.
Anger.
Anything.
Instead, he heard something much quieter.
"...I'm sorry."
The apology was soft.
Sincere.
And somehow, that hurt more.
Ruko closed his eyes.
"I know I hurt you."
Mitsuru's voice trembled slightly.
"But I couldn't tell you the truth."
"Why?"
The answer did not come immediately.
A long pause stretched between them.
Then—
"...Because everything would have changed."
Ruko opened his eyes.
The words were simple.
But he understood them.
She was afraid.
Afraid of what would happen when the person behind the screen became a real person.
Afraid that the connection they built would disappear.
But understanding her fear didn't erase his pain.
The hallway remained silent.
Then Mitsuru spoke again.
"Hey, Ruko."
"...What?"
A small breath came from the other side.
"...Do you want to play a game?"
Ruko frowned.
Even now?
After everything?
"What kind of game?"
A faint laugh escaped her.
Not a happy laugh.
Not completely.
More like a reminder of the person she used to be.
"You already know I'm one of them."
His heartbeat accelerated.
The four girls in the Gaming Club.
One of them was Mitsuru.
The person he had spent three years searching for.
"So let's make things interesting."
Ruko remained silent.
"If you can figure out who I am before we graduate..."
She paused.
"...I'll tell you everything."
His expression hardened.
A game.
Of course.
Even after three years, she still chose to turn impossible situations into challenges.
That was the Mitsuru he remembered.
The person who always believed there was a way to win.
Even when the odds were impossible.
Ruko closed his eyes.
For a moment, he considered walking away.
He could leave.
Forget everything.
Return to the life he created.
But he already knew he couldn't.
Not anymore.
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
"...Fine."
His voice was steady.
"I'll find you."
A long silence followed.
Then, for the first time that night, Mitsuru's voice carried something different.
Warmth.
A small trace of happiness.
"...I'll be waiting."
The light beneath the door disappeared.
A few seconds later, Ruko heard movement from inside.
A door opening.
Footsteps.
Then silence.
By the time he rushed around the corner, nobody was there.
Just like three years ago.
She had disappeared before he could see her.
Before he could stop her.
Before he could finally get the answers he wanted.
Ruko stood alone in the empty hallway.
But this time, something was different.
Three years ago, Mitsuru had vanished into the unknown.
Now, he knew she was close.
She was somewhere in this school.
Somewhere among the people he had just met.
And no matter how long it took...
He would find her.
He would uncover the truth.
And this time—
he would not let Mitsuru disappear again.