5:00 p.m. The final bell didn't ring so much as it groaned—like it was just as tired of this place as we were. The moment it dragged itself through the halls, desks screeched back, chairs toppled, and the great exodus began. High school kids scattering like pigeons in a park when you stomp too hard.
Me? I didn't stomp. I just sat there. Bag half-zipped, books stacked like bricks of obligation. The room thinned out quick, laughter dripping down the hallways, footsteps fading, lockers slamming like someone closing the door on another chapter of their teenage melodrama.
I stood up last. Typical. Always last. You'd think the last person out of class would be mysterious, cool, someone people whisper about. Nope. It's just me. Haruto. Walking cliché of "background character who never gets the girl."
The hallway stretched in front of me, empty now. Silent. And silence in a high school isn't peace—it's creepy. The walls still buzz faintly with all the noise they swallowed all day. The fading sunlight pushed through the glass windows, stripes of gold slashing across the lockers. For a second, I just stood there, letting it hit my face. Pretending it meant something. Pretending I was in one of those anime where the loner is secretly the chosen one. Spoiler: I'm not.
By the time I shoved my books into my locker, the world outside was already painting itself red and orange. The sun dipping low like it was clocking out of its shift, same as me.
I stepped through the front gates, and the breeze hit. The kind that carries chalk dust, old asphalt, and that faint metallic taste of a day finally giving up. The streets stretched out ahead—long, narrow, lined with vending machines humming like they were bored too. Shops rolling down shutters. Salarymen dragging briefcases like corpses on leashes. Kids laughing somewhere distant. But not here. Never here.
I pulled out my phone. My one loyal companion. No notifications. Of course. No pings, no "where are you, bro?", no "let's hang out." Just a cold, blank screen staring back like a mirror. If phones could sigh, mine would've.
Fine. Whatever. I flicked open my anime updates instead. The latest episode of that isekai dropped today—the one where the loser guy gets truck-kun'd and wakes up with godlike powers and a harem that falls in love with him just because he's… breathing.
I snorted out loud. "Yeah, sure. Totally realistic. Meanwhile, I can't even get a text back from the class rep about homework."
Still, I kept scrolling. Because that's what I do. Laugh at the tropes. Pretend I'm above them. But secretly? Secretly, I wouldn't mind if a glowing magic circle opened up under my feet right now and ripped me out of this world.
The road home felt longer than usual. My sneakers thudded against the pavement, steady, lonely. Streetlights flickered on one by one, like they were keeping track of me. Illuminating every step just to remind me: yeah, you're still here. No portals. No monsters. Just Haruto.
I walked. Through a city that never noticed me. Through a world that never texted me back.
stepped off the cracked sidewalk and onto the narrow streets. The city wasn't exactly city—it was a collection of concrete boxes, tangled wires, and streetlights that flickered like they had better things to do. The air carried the faint smell of fried food, exhaust, and desperation. Perfect cocktail for a teenager who's allergic to human interaction.
A couple walked past, holding hands, smiling like idiots who didn't know the world was a dumpster fire disguised as a romantic comedy. I glanced at them. They didn't notice me. Lucky them. If someone looked at me that way, I'd probably trip over my own feet trying to escape.
An old man sat on his stoop, tossing crumbs to three feral cats that eyed him like little judgmental critics. He hummed something tuneless, lost in his own private opera of loneliness. I wondered briefly if I'd ever end up humming to cats someday, pretending someone was listening. Nope. Too far ahead for that kind of tragedy.
A train roared past in the distance, lights stabbing into the sunset like it was trying to remind me that life moves faster than I do. Kids pressed their noses to the windows, their faces pink with excitement or boredom—same difference. And me? Still walking, bag heavy on my shoulder, phone dead in notifications but alive in my hand.
I scrolled some more at the isekai updates. Of course, the protagonist just got a new skill. "Levitate 9000" or something dumb like that. I snorted. Levitate your way out of reality, huh? Yeah, me too.
The streetlights flickered on fully now, casting long, thin shadows that chased me like sarcastic ghosts. Perfect. Just the company I need.
I passed a group of kids on bicycles. Laughing, yelling, making the night a little brighter for themselves. I caught a glimpse of the rims, the spinning wheels, the way one kid's hoodie flapped like a cape. I didn't need friends. They made the world louder, messier. Observation was enough. Always.
By the time I turned onto my street, the sun had bled almost entirely behind the buildings. Sky still glowed, residual light painting the windows like someone had thrown a watercolor set across the city. And I thought, as always: look at it. Beautiful. But not for me. Never for me.
My house came into view—a small, tidy box of a building that smelled faintly of laundry detergent and old wood. I was alone here. Just me, and the quiet hum of civilization outside. I unlocked the door, went inside, and changed into my casuals: soft gray hoodie, black jeans, sneakers slightly scuffed, sleeves pushed up like I might do something productive. Spoiler: I wouldn't.
I made quick noodles. Ate fast. Slurped the broth like it owed me money. Clock ticked—already past six.
Then, pause. Midstep, hand on the lock. That weird tingle crawling up my spine. Someone's watching.
I shook it off. Lunatic. No one follows me home. My life isn't that interesting.
I shut the door. Locked it. Turned to the back of the house, toward the alley. My bicycle waited there. Old. Scratched. Worth every penny I scrimped for. I inspected it, sighed. First day at work, huh.
And that's when I heard it—the question. Not aloud, but hovering in the city's evening air:
"Where's he going?"
I froze.
Not because someone actually said it. I knew. Knew exactly who it was.
And sure enough, from a few streets away, someone was watching. Observing. Smiling. Waiting.
Of course. It's always her.