---
The room was still empty when I arrived the next morning.
I say "still," but I couldn't be sure it had been empty when I left. I'd closed the door behind me the day before, walked down the stairs, and hadn't looked back. Kurose hadn't said she'd return. And she hadn't said she wouldn't.
I'd checked the note again before leaving yesterday. The scent had faded, but the words were still legible. I hadn't moved it.
This morning, the note was gone.
In its place was a hairpin.
Gold, matte, with a tiny pearl pressed into the side. Placed exactly where the note had been—centered between two table slats, perfectly parallel with the grain.
I didn't touch it. I wasn't sure if it was a trap, or a gift, or both. It didn't match Kurose's style. She didn't wear accessories.
Except…
No. I was probably wrong.
---
Class that morning was typical in the sense that everything felt slightly off.
A breeze had pushed in through the open third-floor windows, scattering a few worksheets off desks before the bell. Mr. Yamazaki forgot to erase the board from yesterday's class and pretended it was intentional, circling old vocabulary like we were reviewing. Half the class looked like they hadn't slept. The other half pretended they had.
I took my seat near the back window.
No one said anything for a while.
Then it began.
The whisper.
It started two rows over.
"…he was with her yesterday."
"Huh? Kurose?"
"Yeah. 2C. I saw them talking."
Another voice chimed in, louder than a whisper should've been:
"He sat with her. For, like, twenty minutes."
I turned my head slightly.
Matsuda and Shiraishi. Softball team. Always thirty seconds behind on gossip, but enthusiastic once they caught up.
"I thought that club was shut down," Shiraishi whispered. "Why's she there?"
"Because she's Kurose," Matsuda replied, like that explained anything.
They didn't notice me listening.
"She used to be in the student council, right?" Shiraishi asked.
"Only for a semester. Then she just quit."
"Maybe she's waiting for someone."
Matsuda leaned in. "She's always waiting for someone."
The girls giggled in that half-curious, half-scared way people do when they talk about something they don't want to believe but sort of do. Then they went quiet again.
The whisper had started to circle, like a tide gathering itself.
---
"Hey."
I blinked. Rikuya was suddenly in the seat next to mine.
He never sat there.
He also never smiled like that.
"You didn't come to lunch yesterday."
"I wasn't hungry."
"That's a lie." He said it easily, picking at a hangnail on his left thumb. "You always eat when it rains. You say it makes everything taste warmer."
"I never said that."
"You did. Once."
I sighed.
Rikuya leaned closer. "So. You and Kurose."
"There's no 'me and Kurose.'"
"Then why were you alone in a room with her for twenty minutes?"
"Who told you twenty?"
He grinned. "See? You were with her."
I leaned my elbow on the desk, resting my chin in my palm.
"She poured me tea."
He blinked.
"That's it?" he asked.
"That's enough."
He snorted.
"You think she's cute, right?"
I didn't answer.
He leaned in a little more. "I'd be careful if I were you."
"That's usually my line."
"No, I'm serious. Kurose's… not dangerous, exactly. But she makes people nervous."
"Because she thinks before she speaks?"
"No." He paused. "Because she knows what you're going to say before you do."
That was close enough to accurate that I stayed quiet.
Rikuya glanced around.
"Rumor is, she used to date a third-year."
I raised an eyebrow.
"A senior?"
"Not anymore."
"Dropped out?"
"Something like that."
He scratched the back of his neck. "You ever hear about the Literature Club incident?"
I stared at him.
"What kind of name is that?"
"The kind that has a title but no Wikipedia entry."
I waited.
He didn't elaborate.
"Then don't call it that," I said flatly.
He grinned. "Fair."
The bell rang.
Rikuya stood, stretching. "Just saying. If you go back to that clubroom… maybe ask her about the third-year."
I looked at him.
He smiled wider. "You want to know, don't you?"
He walked off before I could answer.
---
After classes ended, I passed Room 2C again on the way to the stairwell. I hadn't planned to. My legs just took me there.
The hallway was dim.
I stood in front of the door.
No smell this time. No warmth. Just silence.
I didn't slide it open.
I just rested my hand on the edge and listened.
For breathing. For footsteps. For movement. For any sign that someone inside was pretending not to be.
And then, just as I turned to go—
A voice from behind the door:
"You're late."
---