The scent of yakitori still clung faintly to my shirt.
Even after the fireworks, the shared candy apple, and the quiet, aching moment beneath the shrine archway—her words echoed.
> "You're still the boy I loved."
She hadn't said it outright. Not in so many words. But her voice, her trembling hands, the way she couldn't quite look at me when she said I hadn't changed… it was there. I knew it. Felt it like the afterglow of those summer lights.
I had barely slept that night.
My room was a mess of half-folded yukata, torn festival pamphlets, and scribbled lists for stage duties I could no longer care about. All I could think about was her. Izumi. How close we'd stood beneath that lantern light. How her fingers had brushed mine. How the world had paused in those seconds, delicate as thread.
And how quickly it had unraveled the next morning.
---
"Ryou, wake up—hurry!"
Kaito's voice blasted through my phone like a siren. I groaned into my pillow.
"What time is it…?"
"Time to panic. President's dad is at school."
"…Huh?"
"Not kidding. He pulled up in a black sedan, suited bodyguards and everything. He's in the faculty room right now with Principal Takeda. And guess what?"
"What?"
"They asked for you."
My stomach dropped.
---
I sprinted to school with my tie half-knotted and my bag clutched like a lifeline. A few students lingered outside the gates, murmuring in small groups. I heard phrases like "government sponsor," "private funding," and "fiancée."
> Fiancée?
The world spun.
I pushed past the front entrance, panting. Mina caught sight of me near the stairwell and rushed over, eyes wide.
"Ryou! You heard?"
"What's going on? Who's her—her fiancée?"
Her expression faltered.
"You should go to the rooftop," she said gently. "Izumi's up there. She might explain it better."
---
The rooftop was usually locked.
But today, the door creaked open at a push.
Izumi stood near the railing, hair loose and swaying in the wind. She wasn't in her uniform. A clean white blouse and pleated skirt—too pristine, too ceremonial. Like she was dressed for something that wasn't school.
Something final.
She didn't turn around when she heard me. But I saw her shoulders stiffen.
"You came," she said softly.
"You didn't," I replied. "To school, I mean."
A faint smile. "I figured today would be better spent… preparing."
"Preparing for what?"
Silence.
Then, slowly, she turned. Her eyes were unreadable.
"I need to tell you something."
I nodded, heart pounding.
"I'm engaged."
The words landed like bricks.
"To who?"
She looked away. "His name is Kurogane Souma. He's the son of one of my father's political allies. They met at some ministerial conference. The idea's been floating for a while, but now it's official."
Official.
The word echoed with the finality of a slammed door.
"When were you going to tell me?"
"I didn't know how," she whispered. "It wasn't supposed to happen this fast. I thought—maybe if the festival went well, I could convince him to wait. But he came to school today. He wanted to meet the boy I've been spending time with."
My breath caught.
"Me?"
She nodded.
"I told him you were a classmate. A stage assistant. Nothing more. But he's not stupid. He sees things."
"And what does he think he sees?"
"That I'm slipping away from him."
She closed her eyes for a moment, as if the wind might carry away the weight of her words.
"I don't love him, Ryou."
"You don't even know him," I said sharply.
"I've met him twice. Once at a formal dinner, once during New Year's. He's… polite. Calculated. He smiles when he should. Bows perfectly. Says all the right things."
"But?"
"But I don't feel anything. Not even fear. Just emptiness. Like standing in a museum looking at a portrait someone else painted of a life I'll never live."
My hands curled into fists.
"You don't have to go through with it."
She laughed bitterly. "In my world, Ryou, things don't work that way."
"Then screw your world."
That made her look at me.
"Izumi… I know I'm not some perfect student council heir. I know I forgot what we were. What you meant to me. But I remember now. Or at least—I'm trying to."
I stepped closer.
"You can't just marry someone because it makes your father look good."
"People do it all the time."
"You're not people. You're you."
Her voice wavered. "And who is that, exactly?"
"The girl who waits beneath cherry blossoms for a boy who said he'd marry her. The girl who calls him clumsy and saves him from tangled wires. The girl who laughed when we got cotton candy stuck in our hair."
Something behind her eyes cracked.
"Izumi, you're not someone's deal. You're not a transaction. You're not his."
The wind roared around us.
And then—like glass shattering—her composure broke.
She stepped into me and buried her face in my shoulder. Her hands clenched the front of my shirt.
"I don't want to do this," she whispered.
"Then don't."
"But if I say no, everything changes. My school sponsorship. My family's status. My father's pride."
"Let it."
"You don't understand," she cried. "He's not just my father—he's everything to our name. If I refuse, he might never speak to me again."
I hesitated—then wrapped my arms around her.
"Izumi… what do you want?"
Her breath hitched.
"I want to choose."
"Then I'll fight with you."
She looked up, eyes red-rimmed. "Even if it means going against someone like my father?"
I nodded. "Especially then."
And in that moment—I saw it. Not just sadness or fear.
But love.
The real kind. The kind that blooms not in easy seasons but through storms and impossible odds.
---
Later that afternoon, I was summoned to the principal's office.
Souma was waiting.
He sat with perfect posture, hair slicked back, school blazer crisp and spotless. His smile was polite. But his eyes—sharp. Calculating.
"So you're the famous Ryou."
"I wouldn't say famous."
"Mm. Modesty. Admirable. I suppose Izumi's taste in friends hasn't changed."
He stood and extended a hand. I shook it.
"Just so we're clear," he said softly, "this engagement isn't about love. It's about legacy. Stability. Politics."
"Sounds romantic."
His smile twitched. "Izumi's father believes in tradition. In unity. In power passed through generations. You, I'm afraid, are a detour."
"I'm not afraid of detours," I replied.
A pause.
"Neither am I," he said. "But I know how to end them."
His voice was cold.
And then he left.
---
The next day, the school buzzed again.
Not with festival prep—but gossip.
Posters had appeared overnight. Elegant calligraphy printed on thick paper, posted outside the auditorium, the library, even the main gate.
> "Engagement Announcement – Ishikawa Family & Kurogane House, Official Statement – Ceremony: September 3rd."
Izumi didn't show up to school.
Not that day.
Not the next.
When I texted her, I got no reply. When I called—voicemail. It was like she'd vanished.
And every hour, the silence grew heavier.
I'd lost her once to time and memory.
I wasn't going to lose her again.
Not without fighting.
---
On the third day, I stood in front of the Ishikawa estate gates.
The guard looked at me with disdain.
"You again?"
"Tell her I'm here."
"She's not seeing anyone."
"Then tell her I'm breaking the gate down."
The man blinked. "What?"
I stepped back—then charged forward.
He panicked. "Okay, okay! Wait here!"
He disappeared inside.
Five minutes passed. Ten.
And then—someone appeared at the front steps.
Izumi.
Wearing a formal kimono. Hair tied. Pale lips.
She looked like a bride in mourning.
I froze.
She stepped forward, then paused.
We stared at each other across the courtyard.
I didn't speak.
I didn't have to.
Her eyes said it all.
> I don't want this.
> Save me.
And in that moment—I swore.
If it took breaking walls, doors, or promises…
I was going to take her back.
AUTHOR — CrimsonBorN / Step
Twitter / X account: ANC_CrimsonBorN