The city slept beneath the rain again.Tokyo always seemed cleanest when it was hiding something.
Ren Ishikawa sat at his desk long after midnight, a single lamp lighting the room.The page in front of him was blank except for one word written in the corner:
Miyu.
He hadn't said that name out loud in years.
The sound of the rain blurred into memory — another night, another desk, ten years ago.
Flashback — "When the World Felt Small"
The classroom was empty except for the sound of a pencil scratching on paper.Seventeen-year-old Ren sat by the window, writing in his black notebook.Outside, the evening sun turned the school courtyard gold, but he didn't notice.He was writing something private — a poem, though he'd never call it that.
"Some people burn quietly.Others take the world with them."
A soft voice interrupted him."You always write things that sound like warnings."
Ren looked up. Miyu Takahashi stood in the doorway, holding two canned coffees.She tossed one to him. "Here. You look like you need it."
He caught it without smiling, but his eyes softened a little. "You shouldn't sneak into classrooms after hours."
"Neither should you," she replied, sitting beside him. "So, what's today's code name for sadness?"
He hesitated. "…'Nocturne.'"
She tilted her head. "Nocturne?"
"It's a word for music played in the dark," he said quietly."Something you listen to when everyone else is asleep."
She smiled faintly. "Then maybe I'll be your first audience."
The Online World
That same night, Ren uploaded another poem to his secret forum.He used the same alias — Nocturne.His words floated anonymously into the digital void, where strangers replied with sympathy or silence.
But one username began appearing more often: Eidolon.
Eidolon: "Your words feel like static before a storm. Who are you really writing for?"Nocturne: "For people who listen too much."Eidolon: "Then maybe we're both guilty."
Ren stared at the glowing screen, something strange tightening in his chest.There was something familiar in that voice — the rhythm of how they typed, the way they understood.But he didn't question it. He didn't want to break the illusion.Sometimes, it's easier to talk to ghosts.
The Rumors Begin
A week later, Ren found his locker vandalized.Red marker scrawled across it in jagged letters:
"Ghost Boy.""Creep Poet.""Maybe he'll write his suicide next."
Laughter echoed down the hall.The same perfect classmates who smiled at teachers were whispering behind his back now.
Ren stood silently, expression blank.Miyu rushed over, furious. "Who did this?!"
He shrugged. "It doesn't matter."
"It does," she snapped. "You can't just ignore it!"
He looked at her then — eyes dark, tired. "I'm used to being invisible. They're just making it literal."
Miyu clenched her fists, her voice trembling. "You can't keep pretending this doesn't hurt."
He said nothing. But later that night, the next poem appeared online.
"The loudest people fear silence the most.""The rest of us learn to live there."
The Spark That Burned
Days passed.Miyu started sitting with him less often.Not out of choice — out of fear. Her friends had started talking, too.
"You shouldn't hang around him.""He's weird.""He'll drag you down."
Ren noticed the distance, but he didn't say anything.Instead, he filled page after page of the black notebook — poems, fragments, sketches, anger disguised as philosophy.
One afternoon, he found Miyu crying behind the school gym.When he asked what happened, she shook her head."They found my messages," she said. "To you. They think I like you."
He froze. "And?"
"They'll ruin me," she whispered. "I'm sorry, Ren… I just— I can't anymore."
She ran before he could answer.
For a moment, Ren just stood there, staring at the empty space she'd left behind.Then he walked to the trash bin and dropped his notebook inside.But as he turned to leave, he saw it catch fire — someone had lit it.
The pages curled, blackened, disappeared.He didn't stop it. He just watched.
"Guess I finally learned how to disappear properly," he muttered.
Present — The Ghost in the Data
The rain outside Ren's apartment grew heavier.He stared at the reflection of the burned notebook's twin — the one he'd kept all these years.The same handwriting. The same scars on the edges.
His data terminal chimed softly. A new message appeared, from an untraceable sender:
From:EidolonSubject:You still write in the dark, don't you?Attachment:Audio File — "Nocturne_for_One.wav"
Ren's hand trembled, just slightly, before he clicked play.
A piano began to play.The same melody from the crime scene.
Then, her voice — older, softer, but unmistakable.
"I told you once… silence doesn't lie back.But I think I finally understand why you loved it."
The message ended. Static filled the room.
Ren leaned back, eyes closed. For a moment, he almost smiled — not from warmth, but from recognition.
"So it's you," he whispered."You found me first."
Closing Scene
The camera pans out — Ren sitting alone under the soft glow of the desk lamp, the rain whispering against the window.On his screen, the cursor blinks beside the words he types in reply:
Nocturne: "Every ghost I've met has been human once."
He doesn't hit send.
End of Chapter 3 — "The Burned Notebook."