If Jeremy High had a weather forecast, it would be: 90% chance of chaos, 10% chance of someone yelling about destiny before third period. And today, the "someone" wasn't Subarashī Saiyahito for once. It was his sister.
The Entrance: Two Sides of the Same Coin
The morning air buzzed as Riyura and Shoehead were trying to see who could balance an entire stack of milk cartons on their heads first. (Spoiler: both failed spectacularly.) Then, a thunderous voice cut through the courtyard:
"I AM THE TRUE HEIR TO THE SAIYAHITO LEGACY!"
A collective pause swept across the campus. Students blinked. Someone dropped a smoothie.
And there she stood—Miyaka Saiyahito, wrapped in a wind-blown scarf, her school uniform dramatically fluttering as if the universe itself had installed a hidden fan beneath her.
She pointed toward the sky. "Bow before the REAL hero!"
Subarashī's voice echoed from across the courtyard: "Oi! That's copyright infringement!"
Riyura leaned toward Shoehead, whispering, "Looks like Subby got cloned—then the clone was fed a gallon of espresso and unresolved trauma." Shoehead snorted. "She's like Subarashī on double crack—ten times louder, zero self-preservation."
The courtyard burst into laughter, but Riyura's grin faded when he caught a flicker behind Miyaka's wild emerald eyes. A flash of something sharp. Hollow. Lonely.
It was the kind of pain you only noticed if you'd lived it yourself.
The Cracks Beneath the Laughs
Over the next few days, Miyaka became an unstoppable comedic legend. She somersaulted into classrooms yelling, "BEHOLD, THE FLAMES OF FRIENDSHIP!" She swung invisible swords at bullies ("They were asking for it!"), and started an unofficial "Destiny Duel Club" where people just shouted dramatic monologues until someone laughed or cried.
She became the chaos people didn't know they needed. But the laughter she earned never quite reached her eyes.
Every night, Riyura noticed her slipping away from crowds early. Every morning, she came back smiling wider, louder, brighter—like she was fighting silence itself.
Even Subarashī, usually too wrapped in his anime-hero energy to notice anything subtle, began to pause whenever Miyaka looked away.
The Shadows of Comparison
Miyaka adored her brother once. They watched shows together, made up imaginary battles, promised to protect each other from "the evil forces of sadness."
But somewhere along the way, he became the light everyone loved…and she became the shadow trailing behind it.
People saw Subarashī's antics as charming. Miyaka's? "Too much." He was "funny." She was "annoying." He was "the hero." She was "trying too hard."
Each laugh she faked was a shield against the thought whispering in her skull: Maybe I was never meant to shine.
That night, Riyura caught her sitting alone under a flickering courtyard lamp, tearing apart one of her "Destiny Duel" posters. When he called out, she smiled—too quickly, too practiced. "Training," she said. "For the next big move."
He almost believed her. Almost.
The Silence Before the Storm
The following evening, clouds rolled in. The courtyard was empty except for rain tapping against the benches. In the far corner of the school, Miyaka climbed the staircase to the rooftop, each step heavier than the last.
She had written her apology letter three times. The first was too angry. The second was too long. The third simply said:
"I'm sorry for being the mistake in someone else's story."
The rope she tied to the rooftop gate looked fragile—like it didn't belong in the same world as her trembling hands. Her heart pounded, drowning out the world.
"I'm sorry," she whispered to the wind. "I just can't… do this life anymore." She stepped closer to the edge. Then—A voice like thunder cracked through the night. "STOP!"
Subarashī's Rescue
The door slammed open. Lightning flashed. And there he was—Subarashī Saiyahito, soaked to the bone, eyes wild with terror.
He didn't run. He charged, screaming, "I won't let the darkness claim another Saiyahito!"
Before Miyaka could even flinch, he drew his absurdly oversized bone-forged sword (which may or may not have been made of reinforced cafeteria trays) and sliced through the rope with a single strike that echoed like destiny itself.
The cut was perfect. The moment—devastatingly real.
He dropped the sword, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her into his arms, shaking, crying, trembling with fear and love.
"Don't you dare," he said, voice breaking. "Don't you dare leave me like that."
Miyaka stared at him, eyes wide, lips trembling. "Why do you care so much? You have everything. Friends. Laughter. You don't know what it's like to feel invisible."
Subarashī's face softened. He let out a shaky breath. "You're wrong." And then, for the first time in anyone's memory, the hero dropped the act. His voice broke as he said, "I was going to do it once too."
Miyaka's breath caught. "…What?"
He looked away, ashamed. "Before all the drama. Before the jokes. I stood right there—on this same roof—ready to end it all. I thought if I couldn't be the kind of hero people loved, maybe disappearing was the only good I could do."
The rain fell heavier. The silence between them was unbearable.
Miyaka's tears spilled freely now. "Then why… didn't you?"
Subarashī's voice trembled. "Because you laughed that day. You said, 'You can't die, idiot, you still owe me ramen.' That one stupid sentence kept me alive."
He reached out, resting his hand on her head. "I became the hero because I wanted to be strong enough to save you if you ever fell where I almost did. So you wouldn't fade like are mother, from suicide to."
The Hug that Saved Two Lives
She broke. Completely. Sobbing into his shoulder, clutching his uniform with trembling fingers. "I'm so sorry, Brother…"
He smiled weakly through his tears. "Don't be sorry. Just… be here." They stayed like that—two broken siblings in the storm, holding onto the one thing that still tied them to this world: each other.
Cue the Chaotic Rescue Party
Of course, this beautiful cinematic moment couldn't last. Because right as the lightning struck again, a familiar voice echoed from below:
"DID SOMEONE SAY EMOTIONAL CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT?!"
Riyura came soaring up on a hoverboard—wearing, for reasons unknown, a bright yellow chicken costume complete with inflatable wings. He was holding a bucket of popcorn and crying way too hard.
"You guys are breaking my soul!" he yelled midair before nearly crashing into a flagpole.
Miyaka blinked through her tears. "Riyura… what are you wearing?"
He sniffled dramatically. "A disguise… of emotional support."
Shoehead's voice echoed from below: "HE STOLE IT FROM THE DRAMA CLUB AGAIN!" Even Subarashī couldn't hold it in. He started laughing—a deep, tearful, ridiculous laugh that mixed grief and joy in equal measure.
Miyaka laughed too. Through the pain, through the tears, through everything that hurt. For the first time in years, her laughter wasn't a mask anymore.
The Quiet After the Chaos
Later, as the storm passed, the trio sat on the rooftop wrapped in borrowed blankets from the nurse's office. The sky was still wet, the air cold, but the silence wasn't empty anymore.
Riyura stared up at the stars, his grin fading into something softer. "Y'know… I get it." Subarashī raised an eyebrow. "Get what?"
Riyura's eyes didn't leave the stars. "The mask thing. Acting happy so no one sees how broken you really are." Neither sibling said anything. They didn't need to.
He smiled faintly. "Back at my old school, I used to get in trouble for being weird. Tried to help people, but they just called me crazy. I thought maybe being a clown would make it easier. Turns out… being a clown's still lonely when no one laughs with you."
Subarashī looked down. "Riyura…"
He waved it off quickly, eyes glimmering with both humor and hurt. "It's fine. I just figured—maybe all the weird, loud stuff we do actually helps someone. Maybe we're all idiots trying to make the world a little less cold."
Miyaka's hand found his, gentle. "It does help." And that was enough.
The Dawn of a New Bond
When the sun finally rose, the world felt different. Lighter. Warmer. Fragile—but alive.
The three of them sat at the edge of the rooftop, legs dangling, watching the golden light spread across the schoolyard. There were no heroic poses, no exaggerated catchphrases—just silence, the kind that healed instead of hurt.
Riyura stretched his arms and sighed. "So, what now?"
Subarashī stood, his hair still messy from the night's storm. "Now? We keep living. Loudly." Miyaka smiled through tired eyes. "Even if it hurts sometimes?" He grinned. "Especially then."
They laughed. The sound echoed softly into the morning.
Down below, the school began to finish classes. Students chattered, bells rang, and somewhere a pigeon stole someone's breakfast again. Life went on—ridiculous, imperfect, and beautiful.
And for once, Miyaka didn't feel like a shadow. She felt seen.
Closing Scene: The Chicken, the Hero, and the Heir
As they started down from the roof, Riyura's hoverboard sputtered to life again, now covered in duct tape. Miyaka blinked. "Wait—you're flying that thing again?"
He saluted dramatically. "The Chicken of Hope never retires!" Then it exploded. Smoke billowed. Riyura coughed, hair singed, grinning like an idiot. "Worth it."
Subarashī burst out laughing so hard he fell onto the ground. Miyaka followed suit, tears of laughter mixing with the last of her sadness. Above them, the morning sun rose higher—bright, golden, unstoppable.
Three broken hearts. Three idiots. And somehow, together… they were okay.
TO BE CONTINUED...