CHAPTER 10: SINISTER FREEDOM TURBULENCE
***
Back in the present, Wyne found herself standing in the mouth of the alley, the silence of the corridor feeling heavy and oppressive.
She had never expected her day to take such a sharp, jagged turn.
This was supposed to be the "final voyage," a day of pure, unadulterated fun with Margaret and Trizha to cement their bond before the inevitable changes of adulthood pulled them apart.
But Margaret's request echoed in her mind. Wyne knew she couldn't just ignore it.
She had felt the invisible tremor in Margaret's voice—a hidden tension that her friend had desperately tried to bury beneath her thick, emotionless facade.
If Margaret was nervous, then the world was truly off its axis.
Wyne wanted to help her, and if that meant stepping into the darkness to protect their group, she would do it.
But instead, it was Margaret who did it in the end.
She began to walk deeper into the dark alley, her boots clattering loudly against the damp stone.
Each step was a deliberate choice, a pulse of sound in the gloom as she moved to confront the shadow that had been haunting their footsteps.
That's everything she told me, Wyne thought, her eyes darting between the piles of discarded crates and the moss-covered walls.
But who could it be? Who would be desperate enough to tail three high school girls through a crowded festival?
Is it that Founder Yuri again? Is she playing some sick game of hide-and-seek with us?
Wyne approached the far end of the alley where the light began to bleed back in from the "empty zone" plaza.
As she drew closer, the silhouette of a person began to coalesce against the glare of the sun.
It was the figure of a man—tall, broad-shouldered, and imposing.
Finally, she reached the edge of the shadows.
The sunlight caught the figure, illuminating him in sharp detail.
He was a large young man, standing at the very exit of the alley with his back to her.
He seemed focused on the crowd in the plaza, his fierce, cat-like eyes scanning the sea of students with a predatory intensity.
He hadn't noticed Wyne behind him yet. He was too busy watching.
Wyne froze, her breath hitching in her throat.
A look of pure, unadulterated shock washed over her features as the realization hit her like a physical blow.
Margaret had been right—she did know this person.
She knew him all too well.
"N-nomoro?!" Wyne shouted, her voice cracking as it echoed off the narrow walls.
The large figure stiffened.
Slowly, he turned his head over his shoulder, his sharp eyes locking onto hers.
It was indeed Nomoro Ketatsuki, the boy who had crossed their paths before under far more violent circumstances.
He had been the phantom following them, a fact that had been looming over their trip like a gathering storm.
Wyne took an instinctive step back, her heart hammering against her ribs.
A bead of cold sweat rolled down her cheek.
Nomoro looked surprised to see her, though he was far better at masking his emotions than she was.
Seeing her obvious terror and caution, he slowly raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.
He looked awkward, his own brow damp with nervous sweat as he tried to diminish his intimidating stature.
"I know... I know how this looks," Nomoro said, his voice low and raspy. "Just... calm down for a second."
"Yeah, I'm not buying it!" Wyne barked, her voice rising in a defensive panic.
She immediately dropped into a karate stance.
It was a messy, unrefined posture—her feet were too wide apart, and her hands were trembling—but it was the best defense her eleven-year-old self's training could provide.
Her face was a mask of sheer determination, though her eyes betrayed the fear of a girl who remembered exactly how easily this man had caught her punch during their last encounter.
"I'll have you know that I practiced Karate when I was eleven!" Wyne yelled, her voice echoing. "I'm a registered yellow belt! So don't you dare take another step toward me, you stalker!"
Nomoro stared at her for a long moment, his cat-like eyes blinking slowly as he took in her shaky stance.
"Yeah... I can tell that much. Your left foot is turned too far inward."
"Y-yeah, whatever!" Wyne snapped, her face flushing a deep crimson. "Correcting my form won't save you! Just... just tell me why you were following us! Why are you tailing Trizha and the rest of us like some kind of creep?"
Nomoro's hands slowly dropped to his sides.
He lowered his guard completely, realizing that attempting to play nice wasn't going to get him through Wyne's wall of suspicion.
He straightened his back, his massive frame seeming to grow even larger in the narrow space.
His expression flattened into a mask of stone—immovable, cold, and unreadable.
In the dim light of the alley, his eyes seemed to catch a faint, yellowish glow, making him look less like a student and more like a mountain lion cornered in a cave.
Wyne felt the familiar weight of his presence pressing down on her, the same intimidation that had paralyzed her before.
Finally, he spoke.
"I want to go to Trizha, and…"
"..."
The answer he gave was short, but it hit Wyne with the force of an earthquake, causing her defensive stance to collapse instantly as her expression shifted from anger to pure, bewildered shock.