The road outside the school had started to empty out by the time Takomi and Vallen left. The evening air carried a faint chill, the kind that slipped through sleeves if you stood still too long, but walking kept it manageable. Takomi had his hands shoved deep into his pockets anyway, his thumb catching on the tear in the lining again and again like it had nothing better to do.
Beside him, Vallen matched his pace without really trying. It wasn't deliberate, just… exact. That bothered him a little more than it should have.
"So," he said after a while, glancing sideways at her before looking back ahead, "you always this quiet, or is this just for me?"
Vallen didn't answer immediately. She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, eyes still forward. "…I was waiting to see how long you'd last."
"…That bad?"
"I didn't say that." A small pause. "You did."
Takomi let out a breath through his nose, something between a laugh and giving up. The wind pushed a strand of her hair across her face again. She didn't move it. He noticed that twice now.
"…You play any sports?" he asked, mostly to fill the silence before it got too noticeable.
"Not really." She said it like the question didn't matter much, then added after a second, "I've watched football."
"Watched, not played?"
"…Is that a problem?"
"Not a problem, just—most people say they play." He nudged a loose stone on the road with his shoe, sending it skidding a few feet ahead. "Easier answer."
"Maybe I don't like easy answers."
"…That sounds like more work."
"It usually is."
Takomi huffed quietly. "…I play sometimes. Nothing serious."
She nodded once, like she was filing that away somewhere instead of reacting to it. "There's a national tournament coming up. People were talking about it in class."
He glanced at her, a little surprised. "…You listen to all that?"
"I listen when people say things they don't think matter."
"…That's kind of creepy."
"…You're still talking to me."
"…Yeah, I'm questioning that decision."
She didn't respond, but the corner of her mouth shifted just slightly—almost a smile, but not quite enough to count.
"So what, you support a team?" she asked.
Takomi shrugged, eyes on the road. "The one that's winning."
"…That's not supporting, that's just following."
"Yeah." He shrugged again. "Less disappointment that way."
She actually looked at him this time, properly. Not curious, not confused—just… looking.
"That's a boring way to live."
"…Works."
There was a pause after that, longer this time, but not awkward. Just… there.
"…What about your family?" she asked, like she'd picked the next question out of nowhere and didn't think much about it.
Takomi's fingers stilled inside his pocket. The torn lining pressed against his skin.
"It's just me and my younger sister."
"…That's all?"
"Yeah."
She nodded slowly, then added, almost as an afterthought, "Your parents live somewhere else?"
Takomi's step didn't stop, but it slowed just enough to notice.
"They di—"
"I'm sorry." She cut in quickly, like she'd stepped somewhere she shouldn't have. "I didn't know."
The wind passed between them again, colder now.
Takomi exhaled, his breath visible for a second before fading. "…It's fine."
"It didn't sound fine."
"…It doesn't have to be."
She didn't argue with that. Just walked beside him, quieter than before, if that was even possible.
After a few steps, he added, almost like he didn't want to leave it hanging, "You didn't do anything wrong."
"…Still." She adjusted her sleeve slightly. "I asked."
"…Yeah. You did."
They didn't talk for a bit after that. The road narrowed, fewer people around now, the noise of the city fading into something distant and forgettable.
Her house came into view without either of them pointing it out. A simple gate, slightly rusted near the hinge.
"…This is me," she said, stopping.
"Yeah, figured."
She turned toward him slightly. "Are you free tomorrow?"
Takomi raised an eyebrow. "Depends."
"On?"
"…If you're going to keep asking questions like that."
She held his gaze for a second, then looked away first this time. "…Then I'll try better ones."
"…Good."
A small pause.
"Bye, Takomi."
"Yeah."
She walked in, the gate closing with a soft metallic click behind her.
Takomi stayed there for a second, longer than needed, then turned back toward the road.
The air felt different now. Not colder—just… quieter.
He pulled his phone out, staring at the screen for a moment before dialing.
"…Yeah," he said when the call connected.
A voice answered, low, familiar. "You're late."
"I'm on time."
A small scoff came through the speaker. "Car's close. Don't wander."
The line cut.
Takomi slipped the phone back into his pocket just as headlights rolled up beside him. The car slowed without fully stopping, door already unlocking with a soft click. He got in, the smell of leather and something faintly chemical—cleaner, maybe—filling the space.
The city moved outside in blurred reflections against the window.
Another car pulled in behind them at the next turn. Then one slid ahead, cutting into traffic a little too cleanly. It wasn't dramatic—no sudden formation, no obvious show—but by the third signal, it was clear they weren't alone.
Engines hummed low around them, tires rolling over uneven patches of road. Gravel crunched when they left the main street, the sound sharper now, louder in the enclosed space. Someone in the car ahead braked a little too hard; the car Takomi sat in slowed smoothly in response.
No one spoke.
By the time they reached the outskirts, the air outside had changed. Less city smell, more dust, faint exhaust hanging heavier without the wind to carry it off.
The cars came to a stop near the old building—if it could still be called that. The engines didn't shut off all at once; they died out one by one, leaving behind a strange ringing quiet that settled into Takomi's ears.
He stepped out.
Gravel shifted under his shoes. The air tasted dry.
A few men moved around the cars, not rushing, not slow either—just doing what they were supposed to do. No one looked surprised to see him.
Inside, the building smelled faintly of damp concrete and something cheap cooking.
Takomi walked in without stopping.
At the far end of the room, a man sat in a worn-out chair that looked like it had been dragged there years ago and never moved again. He wasn't doing anything intimidating. In fact, he had a half-open cup of instant noodles in one hand and a plastic fork in the other, steam rising lazily from it.
He slurped once, then coughed—rough, dry, like it irritated him more than it should.
"…Tch," he muttered, setting the cup on a crate beside him.
Only then did he look up.
His eyes landed on Takomi, slow, measuring.
"…You made it."
Takomi didn't answer.
The man leaned back slightly, the chair creaking under his weight. "…Good. I don't like repeating myself."
He picked the fork back up, stirring the noodles absently.
"…You follow orders. That's why this works."
Another cough interrupted him. He turned his head slightly, covering it with his wrist, annoyed more than anything.
Takomi stood there, hands still in his pockets, thumb pressing again into that torn lining.
Silent.
Waiting.