All content in this novel is for fictional and entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. This story may include emotionally heavy or distressing themes. Reader discretion is advised.
My hand reaches out from under the blanket, searching blindly until my fingers smack the button.
Another dream.
Same voice.
Same warmth in the dark.
I stare at the ceiling for a moment before swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The floor is cold against my feet.
My uniform hangs neatly on the back of the door. I slip on my skirt, smooth the fabric down, and button my blouse carefully, one button at a time. I grab my bag and head downstairs.
The smell of soy sauce and sizzling meat drifts down the hallway.
The kitchen is warm and slightly foggy from steam rising off the stovetop. Dad stands at the stove in an apron over his casual shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal faded traces of his old tattoos.
As he flips slices of tamagoyaki, he says, "Good morning," without turning around. "Did you sleep well? The lights in your room were on."
"Morning. Yeah, I was just studying."
I can't exactly tell him I was binge-watching anime to avoid thinking.
Hiro sits at the table, hoodie hanging loosely off his shoulders, scrolling through his phone.
"Yo," he says, glancing up. "You look like a zombie."
"Shut up," I mumble, pulling out a chair.
Dad sets down bowls of rice, kenchin jiru, and freshly made tamagoyaki. "Eat up."
Hiro and I press our hands together. "Thanks for the food."
I pick up my chopsticks and stuff my mouth with rice. The dream clings to me like smoke. Itd be weird if I bring it now after all these years.
Dad slurps his soup. "Remember, both of you need to go shopping today. I texted you the list last night."
I check my phone.
Dad:
A box of tissues, wet wipes, portable power bank, snacks for the road, and Hon Gyokuro tea for Grandma.
"I got it," I say.
"Did you pack?" Dad asks. "We'll be there for a while."
"Not yet. I'll do it when I get back."
"Same," Hiro grins. "We're using your card, right?"
Dad exhales slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Don't go overboard." His voice softens just a little. "And remember why we're going there in the first place."
The room goes quiet for half a second.
I lower my eyes to my bowl. "Yeah. I know."
Hiro doesn't joke this time. He just picks at his rice.
I finish quickly, rinse my bowl in the sink, and grab my bag. "I'm off!"
"Be careful," Dad says.
Hiro waves his chopsticks at me. "Don't fall asleep in class again."
I glare at him, but it's half-hearted. Then I slide the door shut behind me.
----------
The morning air is cool. People drift down the road in small groups, voices overlapping. As I turn the corner, Takumi steps into my path.
"Morning, Shirasaki-san." His bag hangs off one shoulder like he forgot it was there.
"Morning Takumi-kun."
We walk side by side down the road and I don't waste time. "So about last night..."
He scratches the back of his neck. "Weird, huh? What about it?"
"Was that the only copy?" I ask.
"Yeah," he says, lowering his voice like he's sharing a secret. "I asked Mrs. Tachibana, She's been there forever, right? I figured if anyone would know anything, it'd be her."
I grip the strap of my bag strap tighter, "Do you still have it?"
"Yeah. You want it?"
"Yeah, I wanna take a closer look."
"Ok I'll drop it off at your place tonight."
"Thanks"
We pass through the front gate and step into the school building. The noise from outside fades behind us. The hallway is already quiet, fluorescent lights humming overhead. Our footsteps echo against the polished floor.
Takumi glances toward our classroom at the end of the corridor and slides the door open.
Fujimoto-sensei stops writing. The chalk stays pressed to the board, leaving a short, crooked line where his hand froze. He turns slowly, eyes moving from Takumi to me.
"...How kind of you two to join us."
Every head in the room turns at once. Someone near the back snickers. We both bow quickly.
"We're sorry, sir. We lost track of time."
Fujimoto-sensei sighs and taps the chalk against the board, leaving a small white dot. "If you want to go on a date, do it on your own time."
Takumi blushes beet red, "What? No, we're not a couple!"
"Hands up. Outside. Now."
Fujimoto-sensei is scary when he's angry. I'd rather not drag this out any longer. We step back into the hallway. The door slides shut with a soft thud behind us.
Takumi raises his arms above his head, jaw tightening. "Great."
I lean my back against the cool wall, lifting my arms the same way. "You're the one who stopped to talk."
"You asked the questions," he mutters, staring straight ahead.
Time stretches. My shoulders start to burn, but neither of us moves.
Finally, the door slides open again.
Fujimoto-sensei peers out. "Come, sit down"
We lower our arms and walk back inside. Takumi rubs his shoulders as he walks to his seat.
I sit down without a word.
-----------
The final bell rings, echoing down the hallway.
I close my notebook slowly. Takumi is already halfway out of his seat.
"Shirasaki-san," he says, slinging his bag over one shoulder. "You wanna walk home together?"
"I'm sorry, but I can't. My brother's picking me up," I reply, standing. "I'm going to visit my grandma this weekend."
He blinks. "Oh... is everything okay?"
"She's... in her last moments."
Takumi reaches his hand out, like he wants to comfort me, but he pulls it back almost immediately.
"I'm sorry to hear that."
I don't say anything.
We walk out of the classroom together. The hallway smells faintly of chalk dust and floor cleaner. Sunlight pours through the tall windows at the end of the corridor, turning the dust in the air into drifting gold specks.
Outside, the late afternoon air is warm. Students cluster in groups near the gate, some already changing into club uniforms. The baseball team jogs past, shouting to each other. A girl struggles with a cello case nearly as big as she is.
A black-and-red motorcycle is parked just outside the gate, gleaming in the sunlight like it belongs in an action movie. A small crowd of girls surrounds it. Some pretend to check their phones while sneaking glances. Others giggle behind their hands.
And in the center of it all stands Hiro.
He leans casually against the bike, one foot crossed over the other, hands in his pockets. His dark hoodie hangs open. He looks like he stepped out of a magazine cover.
One girl steps forward, cheeks pink.
"Um... excuse me... are you waiting for someone?"
Hiro flashes a polite smile. "Yeah."
"Oh... are you... single? I was hoping to get your number?"
He tilts his head slightly, as if considering it. Then he lifts his left hand and wiggles his fingers. "Sorry. I've got a fiancée."
The girls gasp softly. Someone in the crowd whispers, "Guys that handsome don't stay single for long..."
Blegh. Fiancée, my ass. He doesn't even look guilty about lying.
Another girl leans over the motorcycle. "Does your fiancée go to our school?"
Hiro scratches the back of his neck. "No, I'm just waiting for my little sister."
I step closer, irritation bubbling in my chest. He notices me immediately and raises a hand.
"Oh, there she is."
Every head turns toward me at once.
I march up to him and punch him in the stomach. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him fold slightly.
"Oof—! What was that for?!"
"You're making a scene!" I grab his collar and start dragging him toward the motorcycle. "Let's just go!"
The girls stare, shocked. Hiro smirks as I shove a helmet into his chest.
"Get on," I mutter.
----------
The mall is bright and crowded. Pop music blasts from hidden speakers, echoing off the high ceilings. The smell of yakitori skewers and sweet crepes drifts through the air, mixing with the scent of new clothes and perfume.
Hiro and I move through the aisles of the store, shopping basket swinging lightly from my wrist as we follow the list on our phones.
"Yep. Got the wet wipes and snacks too," I say, dropping another pack of chips into the basket. The plastic crinkles loudly.
"What about the portable power bank?"
"It should be in the next aisle. Can you check?" I glance down at the list again, tapping the screen. "Oh—and we still need the tea leaves for Grandma."
Hiro hums absentmindedly and turns the corner without looking up from his phone.
We make our way to the register and Hiro pulls out his wallet to pay.
With the bags in hand, we step back into the main corridor of the mall.
"Okay," Hiro says, adjusting the weight of the shopping bags in both hands. "All that's left is the dento hon gyokuro."
We strap the shopping bags securely to the back of the motorcycle, and Hiro tosses me a helmet.
"You good?" he asks.
"Yeah."
The engine roars to life beneath us, the vibration humming through my legs as I climb on behind him. We pull out of the mall parking lot and merge into the street. Wind pushes against my uniform skirt, cool and steady. The city blurs past in streaks of traffic lights flashing from red to green, storefront signs flickering on, pedestrians waiting at crosswalks.
I rest my head lightly against Hiro's back, watching rows of clothing stores and cafés slide by in a continuous line of glass windows and reflected sunlight.
After a few blocks, Hiro slows down and pulls up towards a small traditional tea house tucked between two modern buildings.
He pulls into a narrow parking space along the curb. The motorcycle settles with a soft click as he turns off the engine.
I swing my leg off and remove my helmet.
Right across from the tea house my eyes land on an upscale clothing boutique with tall glass windows. Everything inside looks expensive.
And through the glass—I spot a familiar face.
My eyes widened and my breath stops for a split second.
She's standing near a display table, examining a soft cream-colored sweater. Her hair is neatly tied back. She looks older than in the photos—but it's her. One of the girls from the group pictures.
My heart starts pounding. What am I supposed to do? I can't just go up to a stranger. For all I know she might not even remember anything about the yearbook.
But if I don't—
"What wrong?" Hiro says looking back at me.
I didn't even realize that I stopped walking midway but I want answers.
"I'll be right back," I mutter.
"Where are you going?"
"I just need to check something!"
"Mio—!"
I'm already running toward the shop.
"I'll be back! Just go get the tea!" I shout over my shoulder.
"Hurry up!" he yells.
The bell above the door chimes as I push open the door inside.
The store is quiet. Soft piano music plays overhead. The air smells faintly of linen and perfume.
I freeze near the entrance. Where—
I scan the racks and the clothes around that hung neatly. Mannequins posed like they're judging me.
I walk further in, pretending to look at the clothes. My reflection stares back at me in the mirrors between the displays.
Then I see her, by the cashier. And beside her—a baby stroller.
A small blanket is tucked carefully around the baby inside. A plush toy dangles from the handle, swaying gently as she shifts her weight.
The cashier scans folded clothes.
My palms start to sweat. What the hell am I doing?
I wait until she finishes paying. She thanks the cashier softly and adjusted the stroller, checking on the baby with a gentle smile.
She looks... completely at ease.
Just a grown woman with a child.
And here I am. A sixteen-year-old who sprinted into a store without a plan.
Idiot. Idiot. Mio, what were you thinking?
I just had to run in here like some wannabe detective.
Now you're pulling her into your crap for no reason.
I step forward anyway.
"Um—excuse me."
She turns. Her expression shifts from happy to slightly cautious. "Yes?"
My mind goes completely blank. Nice job, Mio.
"Uh... that dress looks really nice on you," I blurt out. What the hell, Mio?
She blinks, surprised. "Oh—thank you. I just bought it."
A small smile tugs at her lips as the stroller wheel squeaks softly, rocking back and forth.
She's still smiling at me—politely. Waiting. Heat crawls up my neck.
I bow quickly. "Sorry! I didn't mean to bother you. That was weird."
"It's... okay," she says, though there's a faint worried look in her eyes now.
I inhale sharply. Well, there's no backing out now.
"My name is Mio Shirasaki," I say, forcing myself to meet her gaze.
There's a brief pause.
"...Nice to meet you," she replies automatically, her tone polite but cautious. Her eyes linger on me a second too long. Her posture stiffens almost imperceptibly.
"I was wondering..." My fingers twist nervously in the hem of my sleeve. "You went to Kurokawa High School, right?"
----------Chapter #5 Ends----------