The classroom smelled like warm air and impatience.
Desks were half-occupied by backpacks instead of notebooks, conversations drifting louder than the teacher's voice as the final lesson of the year crawled toward its end. Summer sat just outside the windows, close enough to taste.
Kenji leaned back in his chair, stretching so hard it popped.
"Finally," he groaned. "One more day and we're free."
Vincent didn't look up from his desk, arms crossed. "Free to sweat to death. Yokosaki summers hit different."
Nikki grinned from across the aisle. "That's because you always wear black, genius."
Vincent shrugged. "Comfort is a myth."
A few rows over, Miylen laughed softly, resting her chin in her hands. "He's got a point though. I'm not built for this heat."
Onori adjusted her posture, calm as ever. "You're all complaining already and summer hasn't even started."
Their voices blended into an easy rhythm—familiar, comfortable.
Akira didn't join in.
He sat by the window, elbow on the desk, staring past the glass. Clouds drifted lazily above the schoolyard, white and slow, carried by a wind that didn't care about schedules or finals or the strange weight sitting in his chest.
The sunlight hit his eyes just right, turning them glassy. Distant.
Nikki noticed.
"Yo," she said, leaning forward. "Akira. You good? You've been zoning out all day."
Akira blinked, pulled back into the room like someone waking from a dream.
"Huh? Yeah. Just… thinking."
Kenji twisted in his seat to face him. "Thinking about what?"
Akira hesitated, then shrugged. "Nothing important. Just feels weird, y'know? Our first summer break here starts tomorrow."
He smiled—but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
For a moment, no one joked. Vincent studied him quietly. Nikki's grin softened. Miylen tilted her head, curious. Onori said nothing, but she noticed the way Akira's fingers tightened around the edge of his desk.
The bell rang before anyone could press him further.
Outside the gates, the school spilled its energy into the streets.
Students talked about fireworks festivals, summer jobs, trips to the beach. Laughter echoed off concrete walls as uniforms loosened and rules faded.
The group walked together, backpacks slung low.
"So," Vincent said, breaking the noise, "what's the move tomorrow? Beach? Arcade? That ramen shop near the pier?"
"You're planning too far ahead, Vin," Miylen said lightly.
Onori smiled. "You guys can come by my family dojo if you want. Big open space. We can chill there and figure something out."
Kenji's eyes lit up. "Bet. I'll bring snacks."
"And I'll bring a first-aid kit," Nikki added. "Just in case you two start wrestling again."
Laughter rolled through them.
Akira walked a few steps behind.
The wind brushed through his hair, carrying something else with it—faint, familiar voices layered beneath the present. For a heartbeat, he heard names that didn't belong to Yokosaki.
Different laughter.
Different streets.
A different fire.
Akira.
He blinked.
The sound vanished.
He looked up to see the group still ahead of him, arguing about snacks like nothing had changed.
But something had.
That evening, the Genesis family dojo glowed with sunset light.
Shoes were kicked aside. Casual clothes replaced uniforms. Chips and juice boxes littered the floor as everyone sat in a loose, messy circle. Laughter bounced off the wooden walls, warm and unguarded.
"Man," Kenji said, lying flat on his back, "can't believe the year's already over."
"Yeah," Nikki said, sipping from a juice box. "We started off brawling in hallways… now look at us."
Vincent huffed. "Still brawling. Just smarter."
"Barely smarter," Miylen added.
The laughter came easily again.
Then it faded.
The sun dipped lower, painting the paper doors gold. The light caught Akira's face, softening the sharp edges, highlighting the tired lines he never talked about.
Onori noticed first.
"You spaced out again," she said gently. "What's on your mind?"
Akira hesitated. He shrugged, forcing that same half-smile.
"Just thinking about… where we go from here."
"Summer plans?" Vincent asked.
"Yeah," Akira said quietly. "Something like that."
No one pushed him.
But as the light faded, the unfinished feeling lingered—like a sentence cut short.
Later that night, Akira stood alone on his apartment rooftop.
The city lights stretched endlessly below him, buzzing with life that didn't slow down just because school ended. Somewhere, fireworks popped early. Somewhere else, engines roared down empty roads.
He pulled out his phone.
Scrolled.
Old contacts stared back at him—no photos, no last names. Just initials.
D.
C.
K.
R.
His thumb hovered over one name.
He thought of cracked pavement. Of smoke. Of loyalty earned the hard way.
Then he locked the screen and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
"Not yet," he muttered to himself.
The wind moved across the rooftop, carrying summer with it.
Below, Yokosaki slept.
Above, the clouds kept drifting—slow, patient, waiting.
And Akira knew, deep down, that the break coming tomorrow wasn't really a break at all.
It was a pause.
Before everything started moving again.