⊹ Prologue: Fog, Rain, and Silence
Rain veiled the world in a sheet of shimmering silver, swallowing distant city lights and shrouding the old park in gentle quiet. The world seemed immovably still—trees blurred in drifting fog, the cobblestones slick and shining beneath a row of half-lit street lamps. Under a gnarled, soaking tree, alone on a crumbling bench, a boy hunched forward, rainwater trickling from his hair, trailing along the sharp line of his cheek.
Renji Aokawa barely moved as the storm gathered around him. In his numb hands, he cradled a small gift, scuffed paper warped by moisture, the pink ribbon heavy and unraveling. Next to it, an unopened envelope—edges beginning to curl—rested on the wood, ink bleeding into the paper where raindrops struck.
In faded lines, a trembling apology:
"To Yui Himamato… I'm sorry."
Renji's expression was a study in emptiness. Not anger, not even sorrow—just a kind of hollow patience. His eyes stared into the blank, rain-shrouded paths ahead, waiting for nothing. Only the rain made a sound—a hush over everything, masking the ache of the world.
A rogue wind caught the envelope, making it tremble. The frame faded to black, swallowing Renji and his wordless sorrow.
⊹ Six Hours Earlier: Morning — The Beginning
A faint buzz cracked dawn's silence.
Renji's small bedroom, trapped between shadow and weak morning light, was a landscape of neglect. Pill bottles lined the edge of the nightstand beside an overturned photograph—its glass dusty from nights untouched. His uniform, pressed but unworn, hung on the back of a battered chair, seemingly untouched by the rush of life outside. The phone's screen lit up: "7:04 AM — 1st Day of College."
Renji's hand reached, missed the charger, and the cable scraped to the floor.
"…Late again…"
His voice, a threadbare whisper. He barely recognized it anymore.
He sat up slowly, every movement weighted. He blinked toward the ceiling for too long, as if searching for something—motivation, or perhaps just the presence of another morning survived. The air smelled faintly of rain and old papers.
The mirror over his dresser caught his face: eyes shadowed, cheeks hollow, lips pressed in silent defeat. He brushed his teeth mechanically. Down the hall, the house was silent. No footsteps. No breakfast rattling in the kitchen. At his desk, his notebook remained closed, a pen pressed between its covers.
He fingered the crescent-moon keychain dangling from his bag—a familiar gift, metal turning warm under his thumb. Uniform buttoned, bag zipped, and beneath it all, a feeling like choking. With each motion, it was clearer: the world kept turning whether he wanted it or not.
He slipped out the door, locking it quietly behind him.
⊹ The Walk: Outside in the Drizzle
A drizzle threaded through overcast morning as Renji stepped into narrow neighborhood streets. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, headphones settling over his ears. The world muted until only soft piano notes echoed—a song that once meant something more.
Every step felt like crossing an ocean.
Children darted past in bright raincoats.
Elderly neighbors called hello to each other across gardens.
But Renji drifted among them unseen; he was a ghost in his own world, part of nothing, hunger and hope lightyears from his mind.
"It's been six months… but everything still tastes like yesterday."
His memory—a dangerous tide—pulled him off balance. This route was one he used to walk with someone else. Now he watched his reflection in rain puddles, wavering, unrecognizable.
⊹ The Train: Between Worlds
He passed through the press of travelers, head down, as the metallic smell of wet air filled the station. The clatter of train doors, the hum of conversation, the flash of uniforms and backpacks.
Renji boarded wordlessly, sliding into a window seat. Around him, the carriage buzzed with anticipation—students muttering about majors, clubs, hopes for the coming semester. Across the aisle, a group snapped selfies, one grinning and making V-signs as the others giggled.
Renji caught his own reflection in the train glass—a boy with his face, but with none of his spirit.
He gazed out as the city shifted past: narrow alleyways, neon signs, the endless sprawl of Tokyo in the rain.
"They say college is where you begin again…
But what if you never finished ending?"
The train's gentle rocking made him ache to close his eyes, but he couldn't. Too afraid of what he'd see.
⊹ Arrival: Life in Motion
An ironwork campus gate welcomed hundreds. Banners, balloons, the smell of coffee and blossoming trees. Laughter and excitement, clusters of friends meeting again and strangers sharing nervous smiles.
Renji slipped from the crowd and out of the energy.
As he crossed the open quad, he withdrew his headphones.
Now, the world was too loud—the rush of footsteps, introductions, the clamor of possibility. It left him raw and exposed, every word and smile a contrast to the hollowness in his chest.
At the edge of the gathering, he found refuge on a bench beneath a broad tree. The cold seeped through his uniform. He checked the time but wished he could speed it up. His arms folded, chest tight. Around him, life happened.
"Maybe this time… I'll just disappear quietly."
⊹ The Welcome: Professor Minami
A hush drifted over the crowd as Professor Minami—a gentle soul in wire-framed glasses—took the stage. The PA crackled; the professor smiled, voice warm and genuine.
"Good morning, everyone! Welcome to your first day of college at Misora University."
Applause washed over Renji, distant, unreal.
"Today marks a new chapter. You'll grow, stumble, love, laugh… maybe even cry.
But, more importantly—you'll discover the strength to become who you really are."
Cameras clicked.
Students nodded and smiled.
Some rolled their eyes.
Some looked hopeful, as if believing the words were just for them.
Renji blinked, mouth set in a straight line. The speech was the kind of hope he could no longer afford.
"Who I really am…?
That version of me disappeared six months ago."
He pressed his hand around the keychain, letting silence defend him from the world's eager promise.
To be continued…