Chapter 43: The Conversation That Happened.
The staff room was nearly empty by the time Mahiru Yuuta stood up from her seat.
Only the ticking wall clock and the faint rustle of shifting papers kept the space from being entirely silent. Most teachers had already left for the day. A soft dusk light settled over the desks, turning the cream-colored walls a pale orange.
She hadn't meant to stay so long.
Her fingers brushed absently over the cold rim of her tea mug, untouched for hours.
Her thoughts were elsewhere. Again.
And then-
"Still working late, I see."
That voice.
It came from the doorway, low and calm.
She didn't have to look to know who it was.
Still, she looked.
Renji stood just outside the room, one shoulder resting lightly against the doorframe, his hands in the pockets of a sharp grey coat that didn't match the warmth in his voice-or the history between them.
Mahiru's back stiffened.
"...What are you doing here?"
"I was told the staff office would be open. Thought I'd stop by and say hello properly." His eyes scanned the space, settling on her. "You didn't give me much of a chance the other day."
"I didn't think you needed one," she said, turning fully now.
Her voice wasn't hostile. Just tired.
And Renji smiled. A small one. Not mocking-just familiar. Too familiar.
"You still speak like you're two steps ahead of everyone," he said.
"I only do that with people who try to stand behind me."
There was a pause.
For a second, neither of them said anything. The light flickered slightly above them.
"I'm working here temporarily," Renji finally said. "Educational consulting. Just a few weeks."
"I'm aware."
"Then you also know we'll be seeing more of each other."
Mahiru didn't flinch. "That depends on how much you insist on forcing conversations like this."
Renji stepped further into the room. Not too close-just enough that the air changed.
"I'm not here to start anything, Mahiru."
"Then don't."
"I just wanted to say... I've changed."
Her eyes flicked to him-sharp, steady.
"You always say that. But somehow, you're always the one telling me. Never showing me."
That landed.
Renji's smile faded, just a fraction. "You think I came here to manipulate you again."
She didn't answer right away.
Instead, she walked toward the window, opened it slightly, and let the cool autumn air fill the space between them.
She folded her arms, eyes on the fading sky.
"I don't think anything," she said softly. "I don't assume. I watch."
He laughed once, low and almost self-deprecating.
"You still have that edge. That's good. Means I didn't take it from you."
"You didn't take anything from me, Renji," she said.
Now she turned to face him again.
"I gave it away."
That silenced him.
Not because he didn't have a reply-but because he knew she wasn't being cruel.
She was just being honest.
Painfully so.
And it was the kind of honesty that didn't invite sympathy. Just acknowledgment.
"I'm not here to reopen anything," he said, voice quieter now. "I just thought... we might talk. Clear the air."
Mahiru looked at him.
And for the first time since he entered, her expression shifted.
Not into anger.
Not into sadness.
But into something gentler. Sadder.
"I don't hate you, Renji," she said. "I just don't trust you."
"I see."
"And that's not a wound," she continued. "It's just a fact. Like the weather. Like the seasons."
Renji nodded slowly.
And for once, he didn't push.
"...You seem happy here," he said.
"I'm learning to be."
He smiled again, but this time it didn't reach his eyes.
"I'll be around. I'll keep my distance."
"I'd appreciate that."
Renji looked like he wanted to say more. But whatever it was, he swallowed it.
And with one last glance, he turned and left.
When the door clicked shut behind him, Mahiru finally let her shoulders drop.
She sat again. Her legs felt weaker than she expected.
She looked at the window. The sky was darker now.
Quietly, without thinking, her hand went to the edge of her desk and opened the drawer.
Inside-tucked between unused pens and lesson plans-was a piece of scrap paper.
A name was scribbled in small handwriting.
Tokusake Ren.
She stared at it.
And sighed.
.
.
.
.
.
The izakaya was dimly lit and comfortably loud.
The kind of place where conversation could exist safely in the background noise, where judgment didn't echo quite so hard, and where stress evaporated into skewers and citrus sours.
Mahiru sipped her second drink and exhaled slowly.
Across from her, Miyake Hasabe was already halfway through her third and didn't care who knew it.
"So," Hasabe said, stabbing her edamame with aggressive chopsticks, "are we going to talk about the walking red flag that just resurrected from your college days, or are we going to pretend you came here to discuss weather patterns?"
Mahiru sighed. "You're exhausting."
"I'm truthful. Now spill."
Mahiru swirled her glass. "Renji's back."
"I noticed," Hasabe muttered, throwing a peanut in her mouth. "He has that face you want to punch for no real reason, and that's always a red flag. What does he want?"
"He says he's here for consulting. Education-related."
"Oh, good. Let's put the emotionally manipulative control freak in charge of shaping young minds. That'll go great."
Mahiru gave her a flat look.
Hasabe shrugged. "Don't glare at me like I'm wrong. I was there. I remember 'Coffee at 11 p.m. Renji. I remember 'Let me just talk over your thesis because my voice is more important than your research Renji.' I remember-"
"I get it."
"You don't get it, Mahiru. You forgave it."
That made Mahiru pause.
Her lips tightened.
Then, quietly, "I didn't forgive him. I just stopped carrying it."
"Same thing in your dictionary. Different chapters."
Mahiru took another drink. The warmth helped dull the tension in her jaw.
"He said he's changed."
"They always say that," Hasabe muttered. "It's the only spell manipulative men know. That and 'It's not like that'."
Mahiru couldn't help it-she laughed. Just once.
Hasabe grinned. "See? That's what I'm here for. Sober judgment and bad punchlines."
Mahiru leaned her head on her hand. "You know, the worst part is... I didn't even feel angry."
"That's because you're still tired from the last time."
Silence stretched.
Then-Mahiru sighed. "He stood there like he hadn't torn me into pieces. Like time was his apology."
Hasabe tapped her glass against Mahiru's. "To men who think silence is closure."
*Clank!*
They drank.
After a moment, Hasabe raised an eyebrow. "Alright. Now onto the other one."
Mahiru blinked. "The other what?"
"Tokusake Ren."
Mahiru coughed.
Hasabe leaned forward like a cat that just found a new toy. "Oh-ho, what's that reaction?"
"There is no reaction."
"That was a violent no-reaction. You looked like someone slapped you with a confession letter."
Mahiru groaned and covered her face with one hand. "He confessed."
"I knew it!"
"It wasn't-It wasn't like that."
"Mahiru. I work in a high school too. I've seen crushes. I've seen kids crying in the hallway over anime characters. I know what fake love looks like. This, this shook you."
Mahiru slowly pulled her hands away and looked at her glass. "It didn't feel like a student saying something impulsive. It felt like..."
"...A man saying something he's been carrying a long time?"
Mahiru looked up.
Hasabe just shrugged. "I know the look of someone who's lived something twice."
Mahiru didn't respond to that.
Instead, she stared at her drink and let the silence sit.
"Do you believe in things like..." she paused, "people meeting again across lifetimes?"
Hasabe blinked. "Are you asking me if I believe in reincarnation, fate, or emotionally repressed time travelers?"
Mahiru laughed softly. "All of the above."
"I believe you should maybe try therapy."
"I'm serious."
"So am I. Therapy, and maybe a lock on your emotions when students look at you like you're salvation in heels."
Mahiru set her drink down.
"I rejected him."
"Good."
"But..."
"...You're still thinking about it."
She didn't reply.
Hasabe leaned forward again, softer this time.
"You don't owe anyone your affection. Not Renji. Not a student who stares like he's seen your soul. You're allowed to feel confused. But don't let guilt make your decisions for you."
Mahiru nodded.
Then, almost whispering: "He looked at me like I was already part of his story. Like I've been there the whole time."
Hasabe sat back. "That's romantic."
"It's terrifying."
"Even more romantic."
Mahiru rolled her eyes. "You're the worst."
"And yet, you keep calling me when your past ghosts start walking around with name tags."
The check came.
Hasabe paid before Mahiru could even reach for her wallet.
"Next round's on you," Hasabe said, standing. "But no more soul-diving tonight. You're gonna walk home like a normal adult and not overthink a seventeen-year-old."
"I make no promises."
"I'll call you at 2 a.m. if I sense you spiraling."
"I'll block your number."
"Liar."
As Mahiru stepped out into the cool night, she felt the air sting her cheeks.
Above her, the city lights hummed.
And behind her, Hasabe's voice called out:
"Hey!"
Mahiru turned.
"Next time you fall for someone," Hasabe said, grinning, "make sure they're not carrying the whole weight of time on their back, yeah?"
Mahiru didn't answer.
But she smiled. Soft. Tired. Maybe just a little hopeful.
Then turned and walked away.