The gym thrummed with the low whir of electric looms and the soft click-clack of hand-woven shuttles. Tables overflowed with silken drapes and intricate tapestries, each display more elaborate than the last, framed by the bright, almost blinding smiles of the 'perfect' crowd. Today was the Festival of Threads, our big TLE and HE event. Everyone was showing off their looms from handcrafted ones to historical ones, tricked out sewing machines, even family heirlooms. The whole thing was supposed to be about honoring fabric and culture, but really? It was just another popular contest with a cash prize taped to the end.
Music played, teachers circled with clipboards, and students laughed like they weren't all secretly trying to outdo each other. Cloth and smiles everywhere... but if you look closely, the tension was tighter than any thread in the room.
Something about today felt... off. And I wasn't the only one who felt it.
I'm Ryuuga Kaito.
Not much to say beyond that.
The kind of guy teachers forget to call on even when my hand's halfway up, and classmates forget to talk to even when I'm right beside them. Just there. I don't fail, I don't stand out, and I don't bother anyone unless they bother me first.
Some people call that peaceful. I call it survival.
In a class like mine where half the students look like celebrities and the other half act like gods. You learn to keep your head down. Keep your voice low. Let the popular ones run the show. Terashite, Haru, and Hikari. The whole perfect crowd. Always laughing, always shining, always untouchable.
Me? I just watched. I see everything. I remember everything. I know who's fake, who's cruel, and who gets away with it because they're pretty or rich or both.
And I know I'm not one of them.
Terashite Kouki.
Even the way his name sounded annoying to me.
Tall, pale, well-built. He had this natural calm to him, like someone who didn't need to try. His voice was soft-spoken but deep, the kind of voice people listened to without thinking twice. He wasn't loud, but he always got attention. Not because he demanded it, but because the room just... shifted when he showed up.
And right now, he is leaning over Aishite Kagami's desk.
Of course he was.
Aishite Kagami
the student council president. The icon of our school. Elegant, quiet, polite to everyone, and terrifyingly reliable. There was this natural grace to how she carried herself, like a painting brought to life. She spoke softly, always kindly. She never snapped, never lost her cool.
And yet here was that guy again, all up in her space like she was just another casual conversation.
"Tch," Terashite clicked his tongue, his gaze sharp on Aishite's loom. "Your pattern's shifting again. You're pulling the left too hard. Or is that a 'bold design choice'?"
His voice was smooth, but sharp. Not yelling. Not aggressive. Just… cutting.
Aishite glanced at him briefly, her fingers still meticulously adjusting a thread, barely responding. "I've measured the tension. It's correct."
"Uh-huh. Sure," he said, lips curling into a lazy grin. "Then I guess uneven threads are in fashion now. Should've known Kagami's entering the abstract era."
She didn't react. Not a sigh, not a frown. Just calmly continued working on her loom.
"Seriously, though," he added, tilting his head. "If this is your best work, I'm gonna start worrying about the council's fabric budget."
His voice was harsh but teasing. Almost playful. Which somehow made it worse.
And Aishite? She gave him a tiny nod. Just that. No anger, no refusal. Like she was used to it.
Like she... accepted it.
That was when the whispers started.
"Is he seriously doing this again?"
"She's not even saying anything... why does she just let him?"
"It's like she's his pet or something…"
That last part hit a nerve, cold and sharp, coiling in my gut.
And before I could even stop myself, my feet were moving. My voice, flat as ever, came out from behind clenched teeth.
"…Why do you keep bothering her?"
Terashite turned slightly. His eyes landed on me with that unreadable calm.
"Oh. The ghost talks."
I ignored the sting. "She's obviously not comfortable. Stop hovering like a creep."
He blinked. Then he smiled.
"If she wasn't comfortable, I wouldn't be here," he said, turning back toward Aishite casually. "Right, Aishite?"
She didn't answer.
Didn't nod.
Didn't look away either.
Just… stayed still.
"You see?" Terashite added, facing me again. "Now you've made it weird. You're creeping her out, Kaito."
I felt something in my chest clench.
"She's not saying anything because you don't give her space to."
He shrugged. "You don't know her. And you barely know me."
"I don't need to. It's obvious."
"Oh, you're one of those." He stepped closer. "The kind that thinks silence means distress. Must be exhausting pretending to be a knight in shining armor."
My eyes narrowed. "Maybe someone needs to be."
His tone changed. No more grin.
"You sure you wanna do this?"
I hesitated. My hands clenched. I didn't even know what I wanted to do, hit him? Pull him away? Something. Anything.
And then he stepped toward me.
He didn't raise a fist. Didn't shout. But his presence felt like a wall, looming over me.
"If you really wanna stand for something," he said, voice cold, each word a chip of ice, "you better have the spine to finish it."
I froze.
My body wanted to step back. My pride wouldn't let me.
And then…
"Alright, alright, cool down, guys," came Yuuki Haru's voice smooth, gentle, perfectly timed.
He stepped between us like he was floating, that soft expression never fading.
"Kaito, man, we're all just messing around. Having fun, you know? Let's not make this into some drama."
Beside him, the always-sparkling Kirameki Hikari arrived with a graceful twirl of her hair.
Getting close with Terashite, she snuggled.
"You pissed off the class ghost again?" she said to Terashite, voice sweet as sugar, but eyes sharp with amusement. "I swear, you collect loner complaints like badges."
I bit my tongue.
Yuuki Haru. The rich and popular boy that everyone liked. Smart, athletic, rich, polite to everyone. His parents probably owning multiple businesses.
Kirameki Hikari. Our school's resident idol. Famous even outside campus. Long lashes, a dreamy voice, and eyes that could make you forget your own name.
And of course, they were defending Terashite.
Not because he was right.
But because he was him.
And me?
I was just background noise again.
They never showed up when I got insulted or cornered.
But the second Terashite might actually get in trouble the elite and high profile students showed up like it was instinct. Shifting the blame to me.
Like they were protecting an asset.
I didn't say anything else.
Because what would it matter?
My attempt to stand up for Aishite had clearly been a mistake, a foolish knight rushing in where no one wanted him.
I turned and walked back to my own table, the familiar rhythm of my grandmother's loom suddenly feeling hollow. I glanced back at Aishite and Terashite. He was still leaning into her space, badgering her with that smooth, cutting voice, and she was responding. To my absolute frustration, Aishite, who usually barely acknowledged anyone, who offered only silent help, was actually talking and even smiling faintly, her soft voice engaged in their constant back-and-forth. The sight of it twisted something cold and sharp in my gut she just let him do this, even entertained his prodding. It burned.
As their familiar bickering echoed through the bustling hall, a strange ripple began to spread. A shimmer in the air, a low hum that vibrated through the floor, growing in intensity. Outside, the sky flickered, not with lightning, but with an unnatural, pulsating glow that seeped through the windows. The laughter died, replaced by murmurs of confusion, then gasps of alarm. The very fabric of reality seemed to stretch, thin, and pull.
Single thread pulled wrong.
A flicker.
The gym shook.
Machines sputtered.
Looms trembled.
Then they moved on their own, looms spinning invisible thread, warping light and cloth into impossible patterns. Threads folded space. Cloth glowed. And then—
BOOM.
Everything went white.
The sound of students screaming echoed as one.
And then… silence.