Sanshokuin Sumireko leaned in, her presence brushing against the silence of the library. Rin Kuga shifted slightly, not out of shyness but to keep the air between them clear. His gaze remained fixed on the notebook in his hand, its cover stamped with four stark characters: Dancing with Sickness. Not a book. A diary disguised as one, its weight heavier than the paper it carried.
He already knew whose hand had written those words. The original story had hinted at the owner, though the full contents had never been revealed. Curiosity tugged at him, and with a flick of his wrist he opened the notebook.
Sumireko's voice broke the hush, hesitant but firm. "Rin-kun… isn't it wrong to pry into someone's diary?"
His brow furrowed for a moment, then smoothed. Morality was a fragile construct, easily bent. What does it matter to me? He ignored her words and kept reading.
Her lips puffed into a small pout, softening her features into something unexpectedly endearing. Annoyance lingered, but she didn't press further. Instead, she leaned closer, eyes tracing the ink alongside his.
"Oh… it's a classmate's diary. A girl with a serious illness. That's… so pitiful." Her voice trembled, sympathy bleeding through. She looked up, searching his face for the same ache. His expression remained cold, untouched, as if carved from stone.
The entries disappointed him. They mirrored the original text almost exactly—no hidden truths, no revelations. Only trivial notes, scraps of daily life. Nothing of value. With a sharp snap, he closed the notebook. The sound cracked through the quiet like a gavel.
Sumireko flinched. "Rin-kun, you're too heartless. That girl's suffering is written all over those pages, and you don't even react."
Her words hung in the air, but Rin's face betrayed nothing. He handed the notebook to her without ceremony, dropping it into her arms as if it were meaningless. "Who's to say it's real?" His tone was flat, deliberate. Then he turned, walking toward the shelves, searching for something worth his time.
The library door burst open. A rush of air carried in a girl with flowing black hair, her uniform clinging to her frame from hurried steps. Yamauchi Sakura. Panic sharpened her movements; she had fled class the moment she realized her notebook was missing. Her eyes locked on it instantly, clutched in Sumireko's hands.
She ran forward, voice trembling. "Um… that notebook is mine. Could you give it back, please?"
Rin paused among the shelves, the scent of old paper thick around him. He studied her from the shadows. In the original tale, her fate had been cruel, her life cut short by illness. The diary's words had been ordinary, but the life behind them was not. The Ohma Zi-O within him stirred, gears of time grinding faintly in his chest. He could intervene. He could bend the tragedy, rewrite the thread.
Should I change this fate? The thought pressed against him.