The classroom had long emptied.
Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, painting long golden stripes across the floor. Dust floated lazily in the air, caught between silence and motion.
Ichigo sat at his desk, arms folded, gaze distant.
He looked calm — too calm, as though the world around him had already quieted into memory.
Ayanokōji approached soundlessly, moving with the same subtle precision that made him almost invisible.
Even his chair didn't creak when he stopped beside Ichigo.
— You're not the type to tell stories just to get attention, — Ayanokōji said evenly.
Ichigo didn't look up.
— And you're not the type to start conversations without reason.
Ayanokōji's expression didn't change.
— Your "experiment"… You actually did it, didn't you?
Ichigo turned his gaze toward the window, where the evening light flickered faintly like embers.
— How else could I know what's real, and what's just imagination?
He smiled — just a ghost of a smile.
— The candle doesn't lie.
Ayanokōji's tone remained calm, but there was a shadow beneath his words.
— People who seek truth through pain aren't curious. They're searching for something to feel.
Ichigo met his eyes at last.
The look he gave wasn't defiant, just quiet — tired.
— Or maybe they're just trying to prove they still can feel.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Two different kinds of silence met between them — one cold and analytical, the other forged by years of scars.
Finally, Ayanokōji said quietly:
— You're dangerous, Ichigo. But perhaps that's exactly the kind of person who survives here.
Ichigo's faint smile returned.
— Here, in school? Or in life?
Ayanokōji turned toward the door.
— Is there a difference?
Ichigo watched him go, that unreadable calm never leaving his face.
Yet something unspoken hung in the air between them — a strange tension, not of hostility, but of recognition.
When Ayanokōji's silhouette disappeared beyond the door, the classroom fell completely still again.
The last of the sunlight faded, leaving only the faint smell of wax and the memory of a candle's flame.