CHAPTER 2
676 Words
Inside, the morning clamor dissolved instantly. Akira walked to his spot in the back, dropped his bag with a heavy thud, and pulled out his chair. The harsh scrape of metal on wood made several students flinch.
"You’re late again, Hayase," a voice called out.
It was Takumi, the class representative, sitting in the front row. He was trying to maintain a posture of authority, but his fingers gripped his pen too tightly.
"Just be proud I still came, Rep," Akira leaned back, the wood groaning. "Some days, even the walk from the gate feels like too much effort."
"Your attendance reflects on the class," Takumi’s jaw tightened. "We’re supposed to be a unit. Your delinquency drags our average down."
"Then carry the class harder," Akira replied, staring at a scratch on his desk.
"If you’re so worried about the average, do my damn homework too. That’ll fix your numbers."
A few students exchanged glances, but they quickly looked away when Akira’s gaze drifted toward the center of the room. From her seat near the window, Miyu spoke. Her voice wasn't loud, but it had a strange clarity that cut through the lingering tension.
"You look tired, Akira."
Akira’s head snapped toward her. Unlike everyone else, Miyu wasn't avoiding him. She was sitting with her chin resting on her interlaced fingers, observing him with a calm, relaxed intensity.
"Didn’t sleep?" she asked.
"Why do you care?" Akira replied, his tone defensive.
"Because I can tell that something is wrong with you," she said, unfazed. "Your anger feels different today. Usually, you’re just annoyed at the world. Today, you look like you’re annoyed at yourself."
A faint tension flickered across Akira’s expression. It was a flicker of fatigue, a shadow of something heavy and old.
"Nothing’s wrong," he snapped.
"Are you sure?" she tilted her head.
"Because you’ve been staring at your desk for more than 5 minutes."
Silence stretched between them. The rest of the class watched the exchange like spectators at a high wire act, waiting for someone to fall. Akira was the first to break. He looked away, his gaze drifting past her toward the sunlit courtyard.
"Mind your damn business, Miyu. You don't get paid to be my therapist."
Miyu didn't respond with a retort. She just kept that steady, observant gaze on him. The classroom door opened again, and the teacher entered. The man stopped for a split second, sensing the lingering electricity, before walking to the lectern.
Akira rested his chin on his palm, his eyes fixed on the world outside. Down in the courtyard, he could see a group of students laughing. They looked light. They looked like they belonged to the earth, untouched by the suffocating heaviness in his chest. His fingers curled slightly against his sleeve, the fabric bunching under his grip.
"This place… feels like a cage," he murmured. "A gilded, polite little cage."
Behind him, Miyu’s voice reached him, a soft whisper that felt like a secret.
"Then why haven’t you left? The gates aren't locked, Akira."
Akira didn't answer. He couldn't. But for the first time that morning, the wall of fear and hostility he built around himself didn't feel like a fortress. It felt like a shell. And for the first time, he could feel the cracks.
The classroom was still dead quiet when the door hit the wall again. It wasn't a slam this time, more like someone had kicked it open just for the hell of it.
A guy strolled in, rocking the same trashed uniform and a row of silver hoops in his ears. But where Akira looked like a walking storm, this guy was all grins and trouble. He didn't care about the atmosphere, he just brought his own.
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