The next morning, Seiji felt tired.
School felt even more foreign.
Especially without the amulet—in its absence, Seiji couldn't shake off the sense of emptiness. He missed its comforting weight around his neck.
But he didn't want to risk it here, at school. At least, not yet.
Until he fully understood how it worked.
Its power is greater than I think. What if I do something I'll regret?
And then, on top of all of this, there was also Ayame…
He spotted her near the stairwell, surrounded by her usual orbit of admirers—guys pretending not to look at her, girls pretending not to compare themselves to her.
Ayame stood in the center. She always did.
Masashi was saying something beside Seiji, but Seiji didn't hear.
He was looking at Ayame, trying to understand how she could be so different from yesterday.
She's much colder. But she's still incredibly beautiful.
Ayame saw Seiji.
And her entire body locked.
Her hand tightened around her notebook.
Her expression changed for a fraction of a second—surprise, recognition, fear of that recognition.
Then it snapped back into place.
Cold. Dismissive.
And strained.
What the hell is wrong with her?
Ayame turned away.
Even Masashi noticed. "Jeez." He snorted. "She didn't even blink at you. Ice Queen as usual."
Seiji thought of the encounter at the store.
His lips curled a little. "You sure?"
She's just pretending she doesn't remember.
Ayame went down the hall, her back straight, perfectly composed—except for the way she kept glancing over her shoulder, as if checking whether Seiji was following.
He didn't follow.
He wasn't planning to.
She must've recognized me. So if she's pretending, I'll give her time to pretend. Unless she's trying to convince herself yesterday had been a glitch.
Life was so much more complicated without the amulet…
He passed Ayame's classroom after the final bell. She was right by the door, two books in her hands, ready to leave.
She was alone.
"Hi, Ayame," Seiji said. Confidently. Maybe too confidently.
Ayame didn't raise her eyes at first. She finished looking at her books with slow, deliberate precision.
When she finally looked at Seiji, there was no warmth.
Only a flat, grey distance.
She recoiled. Not jumped back, but leaned back, withdrew, as if she had suddenly encountered a foul odor.
"Don't," she said.
The word hurt.
Don't what?
"I just wanted to—"
"Don't address me by my first name." She looked him up and down, her lip curling in revulsion. "I don't know what came over me at the store. Must have been the heat. Don't talk to me again."
She walked past him.
The draft she left behind was freezing.
Seiji stood still.
The hallway suddenly felt very loud, and he felt very small.