Quick heads-up:
( ) = Kaze's inner monologues
A relaxed, almost negligent atmosphere settled quietly over the room, the kind that only appeared late at night when obligations temporarily loosened their grip. A teenage boy — sleepy, drained, and faintly irritated by his own awareness — let his body fall backward onto the soft duvet, as though surrendering to gravity rather than choosing rest. His half-lidded eyes drifted toward the nightstand, where the alarm clock sat like an alarm clock, its digital glow cutting cleanly through the darkness. He pressed the button with minimal effort, just enough to illuminate the numbers: 10:49 p.m. Still early. At least, early by the standards of someone like him — an unremarkable student living comfortably on the fringes of expectation, neither admired nor scrutinised, existing in that narrow space where time felt negotiable.
(I guess I still can scroll through the videos for a while…)
He reached lazily toward the nightstand and retrieved his phone, the movement slow and unmotivated, as if even lifting his arm demanded justification. The device rested naturally in his hand, familiar and unthreatening. Video after video slid across the screen — short, loud, desperate attempts at humor that rarely succeeded. What amused him wasn't the content itself, but the sheer audacity of it all: how far people were willing to stretch themselves thin for fleeting validation, for numbers that meant nothing the moment the screen went dark. Just as his thoughts began drifting toward indifference again, a notification appeared — an incoming message from an unknown number — pulling his attention back with unwelcome sharpness.
(Who will it be in this timing?)
He squinted at the screen, forcing his tired eyes open wider than they wanted to be, scrolling through what felt like an unnecessarily long chain of messages. The length alone was exhausting. Whoever this was clearly had no understanding of efficiency, nor mercy for someone already halfway asleep.
"Seriously? Can't this guy just simplify?"
The first readable line finally revealed itself:
"Hi, I am Sato Itsuki, I think you're Takuya Kaze, right? I got your number from the homeclass teacher."
(I don't trust Izumi-sen anymore...)
That single sentence was followed by an avalanche of explanation, emotion, and urgency — most of which he condensed mentally without effort.
"Someone just caught us dating in the mall this afternoon, they took tons of pictures and sent them to the friend group."
(Author's note: This message has been completely simplified by Kaze)
He replied without enthusiasm, fingers moving more out of habit than concern.
"Oh, which friend group?"
The response came quickly.
"The one that has every classmates of ours."
His eyebrow twitched almost imperceptibly.
"Well, why I am not informed about this?"
The answer arrived with brutal honesty.
"Loner, you're not in the group chat!"
(Tch — this girl!)
He sighed softly, already predicting the reason behind this sudden outreach.
"Well, I bet you just joined it today because the gossip girls want to ask you about our relationship!"
On the other side of the screen, Itsuki felt the metaphorical impact immediately — like an arrow striking cleanly at its mark. There was no need for elaboration.
"Bingo... You win, happy?"
Kaze allowed himself a small, fleeting sense of satisfaction — not joy, just the dull comfort of being correct.
"What's more important is what are you going to do in order to address this? The rumor will spread all around the school..."
The reply came faster than expected.
"A-All around the school?! A-About us?!"
"Stuttering in the text is awkward, girl... But yes, you're on the right page at least."
A pause followed, heavier than the previous ones.
"Actually, I don't mind at all..."
His thumb hovered over the screen for half a second longer than usual.
"You just want us to be official so badly, huh??!!!"
The denial arrived immediately — too fast, too sharp.
"No! Me? Like you? No way!"
The words struck him with unexpected precision, not painful enough to wound, but enough to register.
(I will think of you as a tsundere by now to comfort myself.)
He exhaled slowly, the weight of the situation settling into something manageable — temporary, therefore tolerable.
"I will handle this eventually, it's late now, talk tomorrow face to face."
"Okay..."
He set the phone down, ready to let the matter dissolve into tomorrow, but the ringtone exploded into the silence before he could relax again. Once. Twice. Again. Each time he declined, irritation growing steadily, until persistence wore him down more effectively than logic ever could. In the end, he answered — not out of fondness, but because avoidance required more energy than he was willing to spend. It was his first real voice call with anyone in a long time. Worse, the caller was a girl.
"Yes? What now?"
"Kaze-kun..."
Silence followed — long, awkward, and strangely intimate. No voices, only the faint sound of fabric shifting through the speaker. He pressed the phone closer to his ear, wondering briefly if the call had glitched.
(So she's on the bed as well, huh? I thought she would be studying like a monotone boring robot…)
"Hello? Don't make me wait any longer..."
"Goodnight, Kaze-kun..."
"Yeah, yeah. Goodnight..."
He hesitated, thoughts looping without direction, before the words escaped him naturally.
"Goodnight, Itsuki-san..."
"H-Huh?!"
"I mean... It's not 12.00 a.m. yet, the bet is still working... So having a little boyfriend-girlfriend talk is kinda normal, no?"
"I guess so, yeah... B-Bye...!!!"
The call ended abruptly, leaving only silence behind. Kaze dropped the phone onto the bed and rolled onto his side, then onto his back, then back again — restless, agitated, far more awake than he wanted to be.
(Kuh — What the hell did I just say?! It's so stupid, dunderheaded, daft, idiotic, anserine-like and utterly-ignored!!!!)
He eventually lay still, staring up at the ceiling as he reached over to switch off the bedside lamp. Darkness flooded the room, heavy and absolute. In it, thoughts grew louder, not frightening but deeply confusing — like just imagine a manservant biting corpses in the darkness.
(Good. I'm not sleepy anymore after all those embarrassments…)
…
…he realized, somewhere between frustration and resignation, that things had shifted subtly but irreversibly. After the rumor spread, he could only face Yagami Kazumi — because she understood the bet, because facts were easier than feelings. And now, after tonight, he couldn't even face Sato Itsuki either.
End of Chapter