The day starts off like any other—until it doesn't.
Just after the final bell rings, as I'm halfway through stuffing my notebook into my bag, our homeroom teacher clears her throat.
"Yuuto," she says, already exhausted from grading. "Can you grab the worksheets from 2-S3? They forgot to send them."
2-S3.
Tachibana's class.
My fingers freeze on my zipper.
Say no. Just tell her no. Anyone else can—
"…Sure."
Great. Brilliant. Genius.
The walk across campus feels like marching toward an execution. My hands are already sweating before I even reach the second-year building—a place that still feels forbidden territory to me.
When I slide the door open, the classroom is mostly empty. A few students linger around, chatting lazily. No sign of—
The worksheets. There. Front desk.
Perfect. Just grab them and—
The door opens behind me.
And she walks in.
Tachibana.
Her hair catching sunlight. Her steps confident. A presence I could never ignore, even when I tried.
Right beside her is Miyu Tanaka—small frame, energetic eyes, clutching a stack of colored sticky notes. Tanaka-san was in my class last year. The type who would argue with the teacher one second then nap through lunch the next.
My grip tightens around the worksheets. My breathing goes uneven.
Don't look. Don't stare. Don't think.
Tachibana. Tachibana. Tachibana.
Never say Rina.
Not again.
Miyu notices me first.
"Oh takahashi-kun?"
Her tone isn't harsh. Just surprised.
"T-Tanaka-san…"
I bow slightly, trying not to look at Tachibana.
Look anywhere else. The floor works. The floor is safe.
Tachibana finally meets my eyes.
There's no shock. No fear. Just… a calm calculation, like she's trying to decide if acknowledging me is worth the effort.
She exhales softly and walks past me.
Like I'm air.
The familiar sting hits.
Not because she's cold—
but because I earned it.
Miyu watches the tension with raised brows, but doesn't comment. She gives me a small nod before heading to her desk.
I should leave.
I got what I came for. I should—
My feet don't listen.
"Tachibana-san."
Her name comes out fragile. The kind of word that feels like it might shatter if spoken too loudly.
She stops. Slowly turns. Arms crossing.
"…What?"
I force myself to look up.
"I… I wanted to apologize," I say quietly. "For last year. For everything. For making you uncomfortable. I'm sorry."
Silence.
Then:
"It took you a whole year to say that?"
I nod. "I didn't know how."
She sighs, rubbing her temple.
"You really are something, Yuuto."
Not mocking. Not angry.
Just tired.
She grabs her bag, ready to leave.
I panic.
If she walks away now, then nothing changes.
I stay the same weak idiot.
The same coward.
"Tachibana-san."
Again.
"…You can hit me if you want. If that would make you feel better. If that would make you forgive m—"
SLAP.
My head turns from the force.
A warmth spreads across my cheek—sharp, hot, humiliating.
Miyu gasps. "R-Rina!?"
But Tachibana steps closer, eyes blazing—not with hatred…
but with frustration.
"You really think that fixes anything?" she snaps. "A slap won't change the past. And it definitely won't change you."
I can't breathe.
"You apologized. Fine. I heard you."
Her voice tightens.
"But don't pretend that's growth. You're just hoping pain is enough so you don't have to do the real work."
Her words hit harder than the slap ever could.
"You always hesitate," she continues. "Last year. Even now."
Her next words are quieter—almost a whisper meant only for me.
"If you want to change, then change. Don't ask people to hurt you for motivation."
She steps past me, shoulder brushing mine.
Then leaves the room.
Miyu hesitates, then pats my arm lightly.
"…That's just who she is. Don't take it too hard, Takahashi-kun."
A gentle smile.
"And it's okay if you call me Miyu, you know? We were classmates too."
Then she follows her best friend out.
I stand alone in the quiet classroom, heart pounding.
Face burning.
But…
She acknowledged me.
Not as a threat.
Not as a stalker.
As someone who might change.
Maybe—
just maybe—
that's a start.