The bell rang with a lazy chime, and the classroom emptied like water draining from a cracked glass. Evening light spilled through the windows of Class 2-B, staining the desks orange and red, as if the day itself were bleeding out.
Haruto Tanaka sat alone near the back, pen tapping against his notebook.
His math textbook lay closed in front of him, untouched since the last period.
On his page, instead of formulas, he had written a list of names.
He drew a thin line connecting two of them.
Then another.
To anyone else, it would have looked like idle doodling, a bored student killing time before club activities. To Haruto, the lines meant something very specific.
"Tanaka-kun, you're still here?"
The voice snapped the moment like chalk on a board. Haruto clicked his pen and looked up. Aiko Nakamura stood in the doorway, school bag slung over her shoulder, dark hair tied neatly with a red ribbon. The usual stern expression sat on her face—the look of someone who cared too much about grades and rules.
"Ah, Nakamura-san." Haruto offered an apologetic smile. "Homeroom notes. I… might have missed a few things."
"You always do." She sighed, stepping into the room. "You know midterms are next month, right? You're in the middle range now, but if you slip any further, you'll fall below the class average."
"Scary," he said lightly. "I'll try not to shame the great Seiran High."
Aiko frowned at his notebook. For a moment, her eyes narrowed at the web of names and lines.
"What's that?"
Haruto's hand shifted almost lazily, closing the notebook halfway. "Just… trying to remember who's in which group for the cultural festival. You know my memory's awful."
It wasn't a lie.
Just not the whole truth.
Aiko relaxed a little. "Right, the festival. The class meeting for that is tomorrow. Don't forget."
"I won't."
She turned to leave, then paused. "Also, the class fund… Don't be late with your contribution this time. We almost came up short last semester because someone paid on the last day."
"Someone sounds irresponsible," Haruto said.
"Someone was you."
He smiled again, sheepish and mild. "Right."
Aiko shook her head, muttering something about hopeless people, and left. Her footsteps echoed down the hall, fading into the hum of distant clubs, laughter, and the thuds of balls in the gym.
Haruto waited until the sound disappeared. Then he opened the notebook again.
Names. Twenty-five of them. Every student in Class 2-B. Next to each, a small note written in cramped, neat handwriting.
Ryuuji Sato – soccer, impulsive, hates losing
Mika Fujimoto – 1st year, rich, admires Aiko
Kenji Mori – 3rd year, rumors: debts, fights
Aiko Nakamura – top grades, hates disorder
He ran his pen through a few words and rewrote them more precisely.
The door slammed open.
"Haruto!"
This time it was louder, rougher. Ryuuji Sato burst into the room, still in his practice jersey, a soccer ball tucked under his arm. Sweat clung to his forehead, but his grin was bright and uncomplicated.
"There you are, man. I've been looking for you."
Haruto shut the notebook and slipped it into his bag. "Practice already done?"
"Coach gave us a break before running drills again. Thought I'd drag you to the courtyard. The cherry blossoms are insane today. Perfect mood boost before we die from suicides."
Ryuuji didn't wait for an answer. He grabbed Haruto's arm, hauling him to his feet.
"Come on, you can't stay moping around in here forever. You'll turn into that creepy ghost from 3-C."
"I thought you liked horror," Haruto said.
"Only in movies. Real life horror's just depressing."
Haruto let himself be pulled out into the hallway. Students flowed past them in clusters—laughing, gossiping, complaining about homework. Posters for the upcoming cultural festival were already plastered on the walls: haunted house, maid café, band performance.
Outside, the air was cool and smelled faintly of dirt and flowers. The courtyard was bathed in the glow of the setting sun, cherry blossoms drifting lazily through the air. A few students took photos under the trees. Some couples shared the same bench, shoulders barely touching.
"See?" Ryuuji said, throwing his arms wide. "Perfect. If life stayed like this forever, I'd die happy."
"Dying kind of ruins the 'forever' part."
"Details, details."
Ryuuji bumped Haruto's shoulder with his own. "You're spacing out again. You okay? You were weird in class, too."
"Weird how?"
"I don't know. You just… looked like you were thinking too hard." Ryuuji squinted at him. "Like when you're trying to remember if you turned off the gas at home."
Haruto laughed softly. "I'm just tired. Exams, festival planning, Nakamura-san's death glare… It's a lot."
"Yeah, Aiko can be intense." Ryuuji scratched his head. "But she means well. She's just allergic to slackers."
Haruto watched a petal land on Ryuuji's hair.
"Do you trust her?" he asked.
"Huh? Nakamura? Sure. She's annoying, but she's straight. No lies, no games."
No games, huh.
Haruto brushed the petal away. "You're lucky you can say that so easily."
Ryuuji stared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing."
For a brief moment, something passed through Haruto's eyes—something sharp, measuring, like a blade glinting behind a friendly smile. Ryuuji didn't catch it. He was already distracted, juggling the soccer ball with his knee.
A shout came from across the yard. "Sato! Break's over!"
Coach.
Ryuuji winced. "Damn. Hey, you'll wait for me, right? After practice, let's hit the convenience store. My treat. I need someone to listen to me complain about Coach."
"Sure," Haruto said. "I'll be here."
"You promise?"
"Yeah."
Ryuuji grinned. "Okay. Don't run away, traitor."
He sprinted back toward the field, ball under his arm.
Haruto watched him go, hands in his pockets. The wind tugged at his hair, carrying away the sound of Ryuuji's laughter.
Promise, huh.
He stared at the spot where his friend had stood, then turned toward the edge of the courtyard. There, near the vending machines, a girl in a first-year uniform struggled with a stack of printouts. A gust of wind slipped underneath the papers, sending them spiraling into the air like frantic birds.
"Ah! No, no, no—!"
Haruto walked over as pages scattered across the path. Students stepped around them, some glancing over, none stopping.
He bent down, picking one up. "Class 1-C Festival Survey," he read. "You dropped these."
The girl looked up, cheeks flushed. She had soft brown hair and wide eyes—Mika Fujimoto, if his notes were right.
"Th-thank you! I'm so sorry, I didn't secure them properly and—"
"It happens." He gathered more sheets before they blew away. "You're Fujimoto-san, from 1-C, right?"
She blinked. "Um, yes… Have we met?"
"We have P.E. in the same gym slot sometimes," Haruto said smoothly. "You cheer for the soccer team."
Her face lit up. "You noticed?"
"Hard not to," he replied. "You're… enthusiastic."
She laughed, embarrassed. "I just really like watching Sato-senpai play. He's amazing, isn't he?"
"Yeah," Haruto said. "He's something."
They finished collecting the printouts. Haruto sorted them into a neat stack and handed them back.
"Thank you so much," Mika said, bowing slightly. "I thought I'd have to re-print all of them. The teacher would have killed me."
"Glad I could save your life," Haruto said.
She hesitated, glancing at his uniform. "Um… You're second year, right? Tanaka-senpai?"
He tilted his head. "You know my name?"
Mika fidgeted. "I… asked someone. You always talk with Sato-senpai, so…"
Interesting.
"I see," Haruto said. "You're a fan."
"N-no, it's not like that!" she spluttered, going red. "I just… admire his effort. And his smile. And his… everything."
Haruto's lips curled in amusement. "He's pretty dense. If you don't tell him, he'll never notice."
"I know," she groaned. "I tried to give him an energy drink once and I was so nervous I tripped and spilled it. He thought I was just clumsy."
Haruto imagined that scene easily. Ryuuji laughing, helping her up, completely unaware.
"Maybe you just need a little help," he said.
"H-help?"
"If you want, I can introduce you properly. As more than 'that girl who cheers a lot'."
Mika stared at him, hope flickering in her eyes. "You'd do that?"
"Why not? It's more fun if both sides know what game they're playing."
"Game?" she repeated.
"Figure of speech." He smiled. "Think about it, Fujimoto-san. If you decide you want my help, I'll be around. You can find me in Class 2-B."
She clutched the papers tighter. "O-okay. Thank you, Tanaka-senpai."
He walked away before she could say more.
As he crossed the courtyard again, his gaze swept over the students—laughing, arguing, confessing, complaining. So many words. So many tiny, invisible strings.
He pulled out his phone. A notification blinked on the screen:
[Class 2-B Group Chat]
Aiko: Reminder: Class fund payment due by Friday. 3000 yen per person. No exceptions.
Below that, messages piled up.
Shun: Can we delay it a bit? I'm broke.
Mina: Same! Why so much??
Aiko: It's for the festival props and costumes. We agreed on this.
Unknown number: If someone can't pay, maybe they can "borrow" from the right person… with interest.
Haruto tapped the unknown number. The profile picture was blank. The line of text sent a ripple through the group chat—nervous emojis, question marks, jokes that didn't quite land.
A new message appeared.
Unknown number: Seiran's full of rich kids, right? There's no need to panic… as long as you're willing to take on a little debt.
Ryuuji: Who the hell is this?
Aiko: Stop joking. If you're a classmate, show your name.
No reply came.
Haruto locked his phone, face unreadable.
Debt, huh.
He looked up at the school building, at the windows glowing with afternoon light.
People always panicked when money got involved. It was predictable. Cracks appeared. Friendships bent. Trust stretched thin.
He glanced back toward the first-year wing, where Mika was disappearing inside. Then to the field, where Ryuuji ran drills until his legs gave out. Finally, to the second-floor windows of 2-B, where Aiko was probably rearranging her notes for tomorrow's meeting.
Three names.
Three lines in his notebook.
A faint breeze brushed his cheek, carrying the scent of blossoms and something sharper underneath—anticipation.
Haruto smiled, small and almost gentle.
Maybe today would be more interesting than he thought.