The rain was still light by the time classes ended. Not enough for umbrellas, but enough to soak your sleeves if you stood around too long.
Kaito stayed behind a little, pretending to organize his books. Really, he just didn't want to walk through the halls when they were full of people. Something about crowds made him feel even more alone than usual.
"You always the last to leave?" a voice said.
Kaito turned. It was the girl with the sketchpad—the one by the window. She stood near the door, bag slung over one shoulder, headphones around her neck.
"I guess," Kaito muttered. "You too?"
She shrugged. "I like quiet."
He nodded. "Me too."
She gave a small smile, not forced, not overly friendly. Just real.
"I'm Rika," she said. "Transfer student. Third week here, still not sure if I exist."
"Kaito," he replied, a little surprised he said it out loud.
She didn't ask anything else. Just waved casually and walked out.
That was it. A five-second conversation. But somehow, it stuck with him.
Outside, the schoolyard smelled like wet pavement and cheap deodorant. Kaito kept his hood up, walked slowly, not ready to go home yet.
On the sidewalk ahead, he saw three boys messing around near the vending machines. One of them was Ren, a second-year, skinny with sharp eyes. Ren used to follow Kaito around during basketball season, asking to shoot with him after practice.
Now he barely nodded when they passed.
Kaito kept walking until he heard it—
"Yo! Kaito!"
He turned.
It wasn't Ren. It was someone else. A taller guy, thick glasses, carrying a soccer ball. Kaito recognized him from the next class over. His name was Toma, if he remembered right.
"You play sports, right?" Toma asked.
Kaito hesitated. "Used to."
"You're the knee injury guy?"
He winced a little. "Yeah. That's me."
Toma scratched the back of his neck. "Sorry, that came out wrong. I meant—Coach Sugi talked about you once. You were fast, right?"
"Before," Kaito said flatly.
Toma didn't back off. "You ever think of coaching?"
Kaito blinked. "What?"
"Like, helping out. A few of us meet after school—just pickup games. It's nothing serious, but... I dunno. You look like you could teach better than our captain."
Kaito looked at him, unsure what to say.
"I'll think about it," he mumbled.
Toma grinned. "Cool. No pressure."
Then he ran off to catch up with his friends, bouncing the ball on his knee like it was nothing.
Kaito walked home slowly, his thoughts heavy.
Back when he played basketball, everything felt simple. Get stronger. Run faster. Win. But now? He didn't even know who he was outside that world. He didn't want pity. He didn't want people saying, "You were great once."
Still… Rika's calm voice, Emi's soft concern, Toma's awkward offer—they were like small sparks in a dark room. Nothing huge. But not nothing.
He passed a small bakery near his apartment. The smell of sweet bread reminded him of something—his mom, when he was still in grade school, always buying melon pan after a long day.
She didn't do that anymore. Not because she didn't care, but because she didn't know how to reach him. Kaito hadn't let her in for a while now.
He stopped, turned back, and bought one. Just one melon pan.
At home, he dropped his bag by the door. His mom was still at work. The apartment was quiet. He sat by the window, holding the warm bread in his hand.
For the first time in months, Kaito didn't feel like a ghost. Just… a tired kid with a long way to go.
And maybe, that was enough for now.