That morning, I didn't meet Shiba-kun on the way to school like I usually did.
He mentioned, briefly, that he was moving to a new apartment. That he'd started a part-time job.
It struck me as sudden.
But I didn't ask for details.
Maybe because I respected his boundaries.
Or maybe because I was afraid of what I might learn.
Shiba-kun was someone I admired.
He was… my savior, in a way.
Back in middle school, when no one else intervened—when the teachers looked away and my classmates pretended not to notice—he stepped in for me. After that, the girls who had been targeting me stopped.
I wanted to thank him properly.
But he left before I could.
"It's fine," he said, already turning away. He didn't look back.
"Just be careful from now on."
I watched him go, thinking that some people help others not to be seen as heroes—but simply because they believe it's the right thing to do.
And perhaps… that was why I never asked him anything more.
Curiosity got the better of me. I wanted to know more about him.
So I asked around.
The girls in his class spoke carefully, as if they were afraid of being overheard. They said Shiba-kun had been bullied too. Not loudly. Not dramatically. The quiet kind. Whispers in the hallway. A book dropped on purpose. Things missing from his desk. The kind that doesn't leave marks, only a constant ache.
They said he snapped one day and fought back.
Not a small shove. A real fight. A broken chair. A bloody nose. A teacher screaming for them to stop.
After that, the story stopped being about what was done to him and started being about what he did.
He was labeled a delinquent.
That word followed him everywhere.
Teachers watched him more closely.
Students avoided him. Even when he kept his head down, even when he didn't start anything, people acted like it was only a matter of time before he exploded again.
Someone laughed when they told me, as if it were a joke.
I didn't laugh.
It sounded familiar. Too familiar.
After that, I wanted to approach him. To thank him. To be his friend.
But Shiba-kun had already closed himself off.
Not just from me.
From everyone.
So I didn't.
I watched him from afar, like you watch a storm pass—waiting for the moment it becomes safe to step outside again.
Hoping, in secret, that I might get close to him. Or that I might finally stop wanting to.
It wasn't until our second year that it finally happened. Shiba-kun and I were assigned to the same class.
That's when I started noticing things I hadn't before. The way he always sat near the window.
How he flinched when someone raised their voice too suddenly. How he never stayed after class.
How he never joined conversations unless they were forced on him.
He wasn't scary.
He was careful.
And that scared me more than the stories ever could.
Scared me, and yet he drew me in.
Going to his house to hand him printouts became a routine, because he kept skipping class. It was the only excuse I had to be near him—an excuse to spend time with the boy who had shaken up my entire world.
I wanted his LINE.
Sometimes I would sit with my phone in my hand for minutes, drafting messages and deleting them before I could send anything. I never knew what to say. I just knew I wanted to say something.
Then, the day he collapsed on the way to the nurse's office—
I have never been that scared in my entire life.
I rushed to him without thinking, steadying him and guiding him toward the nurse's office.
When I got close, my heart started doing that weird flip-flop thing it always did around him.
I felt the butterflies in my stomach—that kind of feeling people talked about like it was something girls only ever dreamed of.
And then I realized…
I l-like him.
No.
I think I always have...
It was embarrassing. But I couldn't make it stop.
The truth was, I didn't want it to.
And then, one day in class…
"Are you the Forsaken dude from that Tokyo song with Lil V€xxx?" Tanaka-kun's voice cut through the room.
I turned around and realized he was talking to Shiba-kun.
He'd told me he made music once. I'd asked him to show me, but he'd just shrugged and said maybe one day.
"Umm… no, you got the wrong guy," he said, sweat gathering at his hairline.
"Bro. You ain't fooling anyone. We all heard you freestyle in English class," Tanaka-kun insisted.
Shiba-kun paused, looking like he was trying to decide whether to care. Then he smirked, almost amused.
"I can neither confirm nor deny," he said, shrugging.
Then the rumors spread.
By the end of the day, everyone had heard something different, but they all agreed on one thing: Shiba-kun might be the guy from that Tokyo song.
"Okay, but… that verse was actually fire," Mika-san said, leaning back against her desk like she owned the room.
She was a gyaru—fashionable, confident in a way that made other girls respect her. And, quietly, envy her.
"If that's him," she added, "Shiba's cooler than I thought."
Kenta-kun—the one who always seemed to be listening even when he pretended not to—shook his head.
"He's got the cadence of an American rapper," he said. "For real. The way he flows… it's different."
Then Mori-kun spoke up, loud enough for the whole class to hear.
"Are you guys insane? Shiba is still a delinquent."
Mika rolled her eyes. "Yeah. And he's still cool."
Suzuki-san, who had been standing nearby, stepped forward. Her voice was calm, but there was an edge to it.
"Enough," she said. "You're acting like you know him."
My chest tightened—not because I was surprised, but because I understood.
Suzuki-san had been getting close to him lately. Too close.
And now she was defending him.
Like he was hers to protect.
Like she was already claiming him.
That made me uncomfortable.
Because if Suzuki-san was going to make a move… then I couldn't afford to keep my distance any longer.
"Everyone," I said, forcing my voice steady, "please quiet down."
It sounded like I was reestablishing order.
In truth, I'd simply had enough.
"Oh, come on," Mori-kun smirked. "We know you like the delinquent boy, Inchou."
A few laughs followed.
"Mori-kun," I said, surprised by how cold my voice sounded even to me, "I am responsible for everyone in this class."
I met his gaze.
"That includes you."
Mori-kun only shrugged, unbothered.
"Alright, alright. Whatever."
The class slowly settled, conversations dissolving into murmurs.
Then Suzuki-san and I met each other's gaze.
She narrowed her eyes.
I did the same.
No words were exchanged. None were needed.
In that brief silence, we understood each other perfectly.
This wasn't over.
It was only the beginning.
Then, Shiba-kun's phone rang.
An American song filled the classroom—melodic, slow, almost sad. It didn't sound like anything you'd hear on Japanese radio. The kind of music that lingered.
He answered it casually.
"Hey. Yeah… you picked the wrong time to call."
A pause.
"No, it's not a bother. Not at all. If anything, I needed an excuse to slip out."
Another pause.
"What? …Okay. Fine. Make it ten."
He frowned slightly. "What do you mean you'd kno—"
Then he stopped.
"Oh. Okay. Deal."
He hung up.
Every pair of eyes in the room turned toward him.
Including mine.
"Apparently," he said lightly, "I'm getting ten thousand yen just for dozing off in class, so… oyasumi."
There was something almost cheerful in his voice.
Before anyone could respond, he leaned forward, resting his head in his arms on the desk.
Silence followed.
No one laughed. No one spoke.
We just watched him, wordless—
as if we'd all witnessed something we weren't supposed to understand yet.