The thing about expectations is that they never arrive loudly.
They don't knock.They don't announce themselves.
They settle in quietly—like dust on a shelf you stop checking.
By the time Eadlyn realized how many people were leaning on him, the weight had already become routine.
1. Morning Without Urgency
The morning air over Hamikawa High was crisp, carrying the scent of grass still damp from overnight watering. Students filtered through the gates in loose clusters, their voices light, casual, unaware of how carefully some people had already begun managing their day.
Eadlyn arrived early, as he often did now.
Not because he needed to.
Because arriving later meant interruptions before he had anchored himself.
He paused at the edge of the courtyard, adjusting his bag strap, taking in the scene with practiced neutrality.
Nothing looked wrong.
And that was the problem.
When nothing looks wrong, people assume you're available.
"Greyson."
He turned.
A second-year council member jogged over, breathless, clipboard in hand.
"Sayaka-senpai asked if you could review the equipment layout before lunch. Just a quick check."
"Alright," Eadlyn said calmly.
The boy exhaled in relief. "Thanks. I'll let her know."
He left quickly, already mentally free.
Eadlyn wasn't.
He made a mental note.Then another.
Equipment layout.Relay decision still pending.Manami's ankle.Ken's post-match follow-up.Ichigo's logistics model.Club scheduling overlaps.
The list assembled itself without effort.
That frightened him slightly.
2. When Competence Becomes Assumed
By second period, it had started happening again.
"Greyson, do you think this schedule works?"
"Greyson, can you look at this form real quick?"
"Greyson, Sensei said you'd know."
Each request was reasonable.
Each one small.
Each one carried the same unspoken belief:
He won't mind.
And Eadlyn didn't—not outwardly.
He answered. Adjusted. Redirected.
But something subtle shifted.
He stopped checking whether he wanted to help.He only checked whether he could.
By lunch, the fatigue wasn't physical.
It was cognitive.
The kind that comes from holding too many emotional threads at once.
3. Manami's Injury Isn't the Problem
Manami sat on the bleachers near the practice field, ankle wrapped, expression carefully neutral.
Rin hovered nearby, pretending not to hover.Ken stood with his arms folded, saying nothing.
Eadlyn approached slowly.
"It's not that bad," Manami said before anyone spoke. "I can still run."
Her tone was light.
Too light.
Eadlyn crouched slightly so he wasn't towering over her.
"Does it hurt when you put weight on it?" he asked.
She hesitated.
That was all the answer he needed.
"I can manage," she added quickly. "The timing's terrible. I don't want to miss this."
He nodded.
Not in agreement.
In acknowledgment.
This was Manami's pattern:endurance first, honesty later.
Rin glanced at him, waiting for him to decide.
And that was the moment Eadlyn felt it.
The expectation of authority.
Not leadership through position—but leadership through reliability.
If he told her to stop, she'd listen.If he told her to continue, she'd push herself.
Either choice would be his responsibility.
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he asked, "What happens if you push it today and worsen it?"
Manami looked away.
"I sit out the festival."
"And if you rest now?"
"…I still might."
Eadlyn exhaled slowly.
Then, carefully, he said:
"This isn't about the event. It's about whether you trust yourself enough to choose long-term health over short-term proof."
Manami blinked.
Rin's breath caught slightly.
Ken watched without interrupting.
"You don't need to prove anything to anyone here," Eadlyn continued. "Least of all today."
Manami swallowed.
"But if I sit out, people will say—"
"People will say something regardless," he said gently. "The question is whether you let that decide how you treat your own body."
Silence.
Manami nodded slowly.
"I'll sit out the sprint trials," she said. "I'll still help with coordination."
Eadlyn stood.
He hadn't forced her.
But the fact remained:
She had waited for his words before deciding.
And that unsettled him more than her injury ever could.
4. Sayaka Notices the Pattern
Sayaka found him in the corridor outside the council room.
She didn't call his name.
She waited until he noticed her.
"You haven't eaten," she said.
It wasn't a question.
"I will," he replied.
She studied him for a moment.
"You've been absorbing things all day."
Eadlyn tilted his head slightly. "Is that bad?"
"It's efficient," she said. "And dangerous."
He didn't deny it.
"People are starting to assume you'll always say yes," she continued. "Including you."
That landed closer to home than he expected.
"I don't mind helping," he said.
"I know," Sayaka replied. "That's why I'm concerned."
She gestured toward the council room.
"Sit for a minute."
He did.
She didn't offer tea.Didn't soften her tone.
"Do you know why I broke during the preparation phase last term?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"Because I stopped distinguishing between responsibility and obligation," she said. "Everything became necessary. Nothing became optional."
She met his gaze.
"You're doing that now."
Eadlyn's fingers tightened slightly against his knee.
"I'm not overwhelmed," he said.
"I didn't say you were," she replied. "I said you're compressing."
That word.
Compressing.
Like force stored without release.
She stood.
"You don't have to decide everything today," she added. "And you don't have to carry outcomes that aren't yours."
Then, softer:
"Let people fail sometimes."
She left before he could respond.
5. Ichigo's Warning, Revisited
Ichigo caught up with him near the vending machines.
"You ignored my advice," he said flatly.
"I processed it," Eadlyn replied.
"Processing isn't the same as executing," Ichigo said.
He pointed at Eadlyn's chest.
"Your emotional load has increased by thirty percent since yesterday."
Eadlyn almost smiled.
"Do you have metrics for that too?"
Ichigo didn't.
That was answer enough.
"Systems don't crash because of one big input," Ichigo continued. "They crash because small requests never stop."
He paused.
"You're not invincible."
"I know."
"No," Ichigo said quietly. "You intellectually know. But you're behaving like you have to be."
That one hurt.
Ichigo walked away, leaving the words behind like a delayed fuse.
6. The Choice That Isn't a Choice Yet
By the time the sun dipped low, Eadlyn stood alone on the track.
The relay clipboard lay on a bench nearby.
His name was still blank.
He stared at it.
Joining wasn't the issue.
Winning wasn't the issue.
The issue was this:
If he joined, people would lean harder.If he didn't, people would question why.
Either way, the pressure would increase.
He closed his eyes.
For the first time in a long while, his chest felt tight.
Not panic.
Not fear.
Something closer to grief.
Grief for the version of himself who could simply participate—not stabilize, not anchor, not absorb.
He opened his eyes.
Picked up the clipboard.
And didn't write his name.
Not yet.
7. Diary — Eadlyn
Today I realized something uncomfortable.
People don't burden you because they're cruel.
They burden you because you're capable.
And capability invites dependency.
I don't resent them.
But I need to remember this:
If I don't choose where I stand,
I'll slowly become something everyone uses
and no one truly sees.
Tomorrow,
I will decide what kind of strength I'm allowed to have.
Not the kind that never bends—
but the kind that knows when to step back.