The alarm went off at exactly 6:00 AM.
Akari Tanaka didn't hit snooze.
She never did. Her hand shot out like a reflex, silencing the shrill beeping in a single swipe. Then she sat up, rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and rolled her shoulders once—just to wake everything up. The room was still dark, only a faint glow leaking through the blinds, but she could already hear the soft hum of the city outside, the occasional early bird, a distant rumble of a bus engine down the hill.
She slipped out of bed, tied her hair up into a tight ponytail, and pulled on a black tank top and a pair of well-worn running shorts. Her running shoes were already waiting by the door. No need to think about it. The routine was the same every morning.
She grabbed her headphones off the dresser and slid them on. The music kicked in as she stepped outside—a driving beat, low and pulsing, enough to shake off the cobwebs still clinging to her brain.
The neighborhood was still asleep. Dim streetlights cast long shadows over quiet roads. But this was her favorite time. The world felt like it belonged to her for a little while. No noise, no distractions. Just her breath, her heartbeat, the rhythm of her steps.
She started with a light jog around the block, letting her body warm up, her muscles stretch and loosen. Her pace quickened as she hit her stride, shoes hitting pavement in even, steady beats. Her breath came in practiced intervals, not rushed, not forced. She'd been running every morning since she was thirteen. Not for weight, or looks, or approval—just for the clarity it gave her. The calm.
After the run, she moved to the park near the end of the street. It wasn't much—a grassy patch with some benches and a pull-up bar—but it did the job. She switched her playlist to something a little more aggressive and dropped into a round of circuit training. Ten push-ups. Fifteen squats. Twenty lunges. Plank. Side planks. Pull-ups. Rest. Repeat.
Her tank top clung to her back with sweat, her ponytail swinging as she moved between reps. Muscles burned, heart pounded, the cold morning air stinging at the edges of her breath. But it was a *good* kind of burn. The kind that reminded her she was alive and sharp and ready to face whatever the day threw at her.
By the time she finished her final set of pull-ups, the sun had started to peek over the rooftops. She stood with her hands on her hips, catching her breath, sweat running in a line down her neck. Her arms trembled slightly, pleasantly sore. She wiped her forehead with her wristband and finally, *finally* allowed herself to stop moving.
Forty-five minutes. Right on time.
---
Back home, she peeled off her shirt, still damp from sweat, and tossed it into the laundry basket before heading straight into the bathroom. The hot water hit her back like a reward. She sighed, letting it wash over her, steam curling around her like the final lap of a victory run.
She didn't linger. In less than ten minutes, she was out, dressed, and toweling her hair dry in front of the mirror. Her school uniform looked freshly ironed—because she'd ironed it herself the night before. Her tie was simple, tight, functional. She never tried to "make it cute" like her sister did with half the dress code.
Downstairs, the smell of grilled fish and miso soup greeted her. She padded into the kitchen, where her father was already sipping tea and scrolling through the morning news on his tablet. Her mom was plating rice and slicing pickled daikon with machine-like efficiency.
Her younger sister, Mika, sat at the table with one leg tucked under the other, hair still a disaster, eyes barely open.
"Morning," Akari said, sliding into her usual seat.
"Why are you sweaty already?" Mika mumbled, not looking up.
"I ran. Like I do. Every day."
Mika groaned and let her head fall onto the table. "You're making the rest of us look bad. Again."
"That's because I *am* better than you," Akari said, without missing a beat.
Their mom gave her a warning glance over the rim of her teacup. "Play nice."
"I *am* playing," Akari said innocently, then took a bite of rice.
Mika peeked up from her slouch. "Bet you're only doing all this prep so *he* notices."
Akari didn't look up.
"Who?" she said casually.
"You *know* who."
"Nope. Still drawing a blank."
Mika grinned. "Tall, dark, narcissistic. Smells like shampoo and superiority?"
Akari fought the urge to throw a rice ball at her. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."
Their dad looked up from his tablet. "You talking about that Fujiwara boy again?"
"Dad," Akari groaned, sinking lower in her seat.
"He's a good student," her dad said. "Bit... dramatic. But polite."
"Polite," Akari muttered. "He called our dog 'visually unappealing' once."
"*But polite*," her dad repeated, unfazed.
Their mom chuckled, placing a plate of grilled salmon in front of her. "Tell Ren good morning when you see him."
"I won't."
"You *will*."
Akari sighed. This was her life now—everyone assuming she was in some sort of unspoken, one-sided romance. Just because she and Ren walked to school together. Just because he said ridiculous things with a straight face and she laughed at them. Just because they'd known each other since the age of six and maybe—*maybe*—he had the kind of stupid, infuriating face that stuck in your brain longer than it should.
She shook the thought off like water and finished her breakfast in silence.
---
By 7:45, she was standing outside Ren's house, her arms crossed and foot tapping.
She'd already knocked once. She knew better than to knock twice. Knowing Ren, he was still putting the final touches on his "naturally effortless" hair or deciding which exact shade of smug best matched his uniform.
She leaned back against the low stone wall, stretching one leg across the sidewalk, eyes tracking the slow crawl of a cloud overhead. Her schoolbag sat by her side, neat and square. Her headphones hung around her neck, still playing faintly.
It wasn't like she minded waiting.
Okay—she minded a little.
But she told herself it was just part of the package. Being friends with Ren meant accepting that the boy would never leave the house without looking like a magazine cover. It was part of his... brand.
And she supposed she liked the brand. Sometimes. Against her better judgment.
The door finally opened.
Ren stepped out, blazer crisp, shoes shining, hair falling into place like it had been styled by divine intervention. He slung his bag over one shoulder and offered a smile so practiced it could've run for office.
"Apologies for the delay," he said, as if announcing it to a crowd. "Had to negotiate with my mirror. It's emotionally needy in the mornings."
Akari stared at him for a long moment, then shook her head. "You're unbelievable."
"I know," he said, falling into step beside her as they started down the sidewalk. "But I'm very consistent about it."
She glanced sideways at him.
He caught her looking and grinned, that trademark Fujiwara confidence radiating like heat off asphalt. She rolled her eyes, but something in her chest tightened all the same.
And just like that, the two of them disappeared down the street, side by side, on their way to the first day of high school—one completely self-assured, the other trying not to trip over feelings she hadn't yet admitted were growing.