April 15th

  I woke up to my sister nagging me, her voice growing louder and louder until I finally stirred.Just before heading out, I hesitated. Should I bring it with me? There was a lingering feeling inside me, a quiet unease, telling me not to leave it behind.

  i sit up from the spot where i once id and looked down at her still shouting unaware that im now awake.

  "Hanako," i called out, rubbing my sleepy eyes. "im up. please stop it, its early."

  she finally hears me, and gives me a thumbs up before scampering away out of sight.

  Her early morning energy makes me envious. i wish i could wake up like that every morning.

  i got up from my attic room, and headed down to the bathroom to clean myself up. going through it on autopilot mode. when i returned to my room to get dressed for school. my eyes id on the diary again, sitting exactly where i had st tossed it at.

  Just before heading out, I hesitated. Should I bring it with me? There was a lingering feeling within me—a silent disquiet—telling me not to leave it behind, as if something was bound to happen.

  After much pondering, I finally picked it up, only to feel a wave of disgust at the feel of the cover against my hands. Before I could dwell on it any longer, I shoved it into my bag.

  Without wasting any more time, I headed downstairs to the kitchen.

  "Morning," I said to Hanako and my mom, pretending like nothing had happened yesterday.

  Before finally leaving, I grabbed a piece of bread and took a bite as I made my way to my bike.

  and soon enough, i was pedaling to my destination, but as the wheels spun something in my head also spun. i thought about the diary in my bag and wondered if today would be any different from the rest—or if it would just be another day swallowed by routine.

  The chain-link fence rattled in the spring wind as I leaned my bike against the rack. I barely had any time to wipe my palms on my trousers before a heavy sp between my shoulders nearly sent me flying into the handlebars.

  "YO! Taro!" Kazuki's voice boomed across the courtyard, scattering a group of first-years like startled sparrows. My body jerked in surprise, eyes snapping wide—like he’d set off a firecracker next to my ear.

  "The silent treatment again?" He grinned, all teeth. "What, you trying to be a mime now?"

  My grip on my bag strap turned white-knuckled. The diary inside suddenly swayed like a pendulum, its weight dragging at my conscience more than my shoulder.

  "I'm—" The words gummed up in my throat.

  Kazuki snorted, kicking a pebble that skittered off the bike rack. "Dude, you're always tired. You're like a zombie who forgot to eat some brains." He threw an arm around my shoulders, his suffocating body heat making my skin crawl. "C'mon, we're gonna be te.”

  He dragged me forward like a disobedient dog on a leash. I kept my gaze locked on the ground, avoiding to look at anyone. The diary in my bag might as well have been screaming. Every passing student felt like a potential witness, every ugh in the hallway felt judgmental.

  When we finally reached the cssroom, I wrenched free and bolted for my seat, the chair creaked ominously as I sat into it. i shove my face into the desk and covered my whole head with my arms. Safe. For now.

  But Kazuki plopped right in front of me—a grinning tomcat swatting at wounded prey. He spun in his chair, jabbing at my arms, my shoulders, the back of my head.

  "Oi. Oi. taro-chan don't give me that silent treatment, pwese??"

  Each poke nded like a live wire, faster now, peppered by his idiotic nyeh-nyeh noises. My jaw locked so tight I tasted blood.

  “Kazuki… just stop it” I pleaded, hoping he would actually listen. Silly me as if he would ever listen.

  “hmmm? Not until you show your face.”

  I lifted my head just enough for one bloodshot eye to gre over my forearm barrier. Kazuki's grinning face swam in my vision - all teeth and annoying. Then I smashed my face back into the desk, arms forming an iron barricade.

  "Mannnn," he drawled, poking at my elbow. "You're no fun. C'mon, cheer up or something. You're always sooo tired sooo gloomy—what'd you even do yesterday?"

  That question stabbed through me. My head jerked up, arms crossing defensively as my palm pressed against my cheek.

  “... Nothing…”

  Kazuki's eyebrow raised. For once, his grin faltered. "Nothing? So..." He leaned in, chair creaking. "You just skipped school to do nothing?"

  I locked onto his gaze, my voice ft as a bde. "Yeah."

  As if I'd ever tell the real reason.

  Kazuki's eyes narrowed—actually narrowing. I could practically hear rusty gears grinding in his thick skull. My nails carved half-moons into my palms.

  Then—

  "Booooooring!" His hands shot up like fireworks, shattering the moment. "You're like a broken vending machine—nothing but disappointment!"

  His animalistic ugh exploded through the room, turning heads our way. I slumped lower in my seat, eyes darting to the clock.

  "Come on. Where the hell is the—"

  The door creaked open. Salvation in a tweed jacket.

  Kazuki leaned in, his whisper a shitty sing-song "Well there's your savior, Taro~" His knee bumped mine under the desk—hard. "Won't st long though."

  I didn't flinch. "Whatever. Just gd to get a break from your bullshit."

  His grin sharpened as the teacher's chalk screeched across the board. Round one ended. Round two was coming.

  The css fell into that dead silence and mundane the only thing exciting was the clocks ticking closer to end of the first css.

  The teacher's voice droned on about quadratic equations, each number dissolving before it reached my brain.

  Where would she be now? I wondered.

  The library? Too obvious. That little park bench where we used to share melon bread? Gone—repced by a vending machine.

  Asking around wasn't an option. Not even the teachers. Especially not the teachers.

  My pencil tip snapped against the notebook.

  No matter how desperate I get.

  Which left me exactly where I started—pying detective with no clues. I'd have to hit every possible spot before my shift: the old arcade, the riverside path, that convenience store she liked with the cat-shaped bread.

  Man... this is going to be tight.

  I tapped my sneaker against the desk leg, counting minutes. Could've waited till after work—but no. Every hour she stayed missing felt like another missed opportunity.

  The bell screamed. I was out of my seat before the echo died.

  "Hey, Taro!" Kazuki's voice cwed at my back. "We got PE!"

  PE.

  My fingers froze on the doorframe. The teacher's clipboard fshed before me—one absence from a call home. One call from her finding out I'm slipping again.

  I turned. Kazuki grinned, already holding my forgotten gym shoes by the ces like a trophy.

  I had about 50 minutes until I could run.

  “Now where did you get my shoes?”

  Kazuki grinned, dangling them just out of reach before finally extending his arm. "Somewhere you forgot 'em."

  How informative. Like hell I'd remember where I st tossed them. I snatched the shoes, the left one still warm from his grip. The ces were frayed—same as st week, same as always.

  "Try not to lose 'em again, Zombie Boy." He knocked his shoulder against mine as he passed, the contact just shy of painful.

  "Yeah, sure." I scoffed, shoving the shoes in my bag. "Let's head to the locker room."

  The walk there was its own kind of torture. First-years scattered like roaches in our path, their whispers hissing against the tile:

  "—that's him—""—heard he got suspended st year-"

  I leveled a gre that should've burned holes through them. Kazuki solved it quicker—a sudden flick to my head. "Ignore the NPCs."

  The locker room smelled like Axe body spray and regret. I wrenched open my locker, the diary's spine pressing against the metal like a loaded gun. Kazuki leaned against the neighboring locker, tossing a deodorant can in slow sweeps.

  "You're jumpier than a cat in a dog park."

  No shit. My PE shirt went on inside-out, the tag cwing at my neck. Kazuki hip-checked the locker shut, nearly taking my fingers with it. "Move it. Coach'll make us run extra ps if you drag ass again."

  45 minutes left.

  Sunlight stabbed my eyes as we hit the track. At the far fence, a girl adjusted her knee brace—that hesitant movement, the way her hair slipped free—

  Just like Miyu's used to.

  My stomach dropped. Then she turned.

  Wrong face. Wrong life.

  Kazuki cracked his neck beside me. "Ready to lose, slowpoke?"

  The track stretched like a noose. Halfway through, another girl—tucking hair behind her ear, that same nervous habit—turned with the wrong smile. Always the wrong goddamn smile.

  Kazuki fell into step beside me, not even winded. "If you run any slower," he huffed, "we'll have to bury you here."

  35 minutes left.

  The coach’s whistle screeched across the field. "Volleyball rotations! Fujimoto, Moriyama—Team C!"

  Kazuki smirked, spinning a volleyball on his finger. "Try not to spike it into your own face this time."

  The net loomed like a guillotine. I flexed my fingers—still stiff from clutching the locker door too hard.

  First serve. The ball came at me like a meteor.

  THWACK.

  My palms stung from the impact, sending it straight into the net. A teammate groaned. Kazuki just shook his head and rotated positions without comment.

  Second serve. I barely reacted in time—

  SMACK.

  The ball ricocheted off my forearm, shooting into the bleachers. The coach pinched the bridge of his nose. "Moriyama. Sit out."

  Kazuki tossed me a water bottle as I trudged to the bench. "That was almost impressive."

  I caught it, the pstic cold against my burning palms. 17 minutes left. The clock’s second hand taunted me with each sluggish tick.

  "You can catch a water bottle but not a volleyball?" Kazuki called from the court. "Maybe you should try volley-water-ball or some shit."

  I smirked, twisting the cap off. "You know sports aren't my thing."

  "Neither's breathing, apparently," he shot back, already turning to receive the next serve.15 minutes left.

  I sat benched until the final whistle pierced through my ears. Kazuki was already stripping off his sweat-soaked shirt as we trudged off the court.

  "Damn, even your shadow's slow today," he said, flicking my ear. "You gonna make it to the showers alive?"

  I batted his hand away. "Wouldn't you love that? One less person to annoy."

  He barked a ugh and threw his arm around my shoulders, his skin tacky with sweat. "Nah, who else would I practice my killer serves on?"

  The hallway tiles were slick underfoot. A janitor mopped near the drinking fountains, the chemical lemon smell mixing with the stench of gym clothes. Kazuki hip-checked me toward the locker room.

  "You're buying me a sports drink after this," he said. "Payment for putting up with your zombie act."

  "Like hell I am."

  "Like hell you won't,"

  10 minutes left

  Opening the door to the shower room felt like opening a door to a boiler room.

  The shower room's steam hit me like a wall. Kazuki was already ciming the best showerhead, turning the water scalding.

  "Damn, Taro," he called over the spray, scrubbing at his hair. "You look like you fought a cat and lost."

  “Man, shut up.” I shot back before I turned my shower knob until the water burned. Let it drown out everything - the chatter, the ughter, the way my hands still stung from those failed receives.

  5 minutes. The clock above the door ticked like a bomb.

  I turned the shower knob harder. Scalding water blistered my shoulders—anything to drown out Kazuki’s off-key singing from the next stall.

  4 minutes.My fingers pruned. The steam thickened. Somewhere behind me, a freshman yelped as someone snapped a towel at his legs.

  3 minutes.Kazuki’s voice cut through the haze: “You gonna grow gills in there?”

  I didn’t answer. The tiles under my feet vibrated with every second.

  2 minutes.The water ran cold. I shut it off. Dripping, I reached for my towel—

  1 minute.—just as the bell screamed.

  Kazuki was already dressed, tossing my crumpled uniform at my chest. “Move your ass or we’re te.”

  null minutes.The bomb exploded.

  I shoulder-checked my locker open - the diary tumbled into my hands, pages sticking to my damp fingers.

  Kazuki's voice chased me down the hall. "Moriyama! The hell—?"

  I was already gone, sneakers screeching against floor, the diary thumping against my ribs like a second heartbeat.

  By second period, the world had apparently decided to keep turning. Kazuki spun in his chair, grinning at me like a cat on catnips.

  "Why do chemists like nitrates so much?" He didn’t wait for an answer. "Because they’re cheaper than day rates!"

  His ugh cracked through the cssroom. I stared at my textbook, where the chemical formus blurred into what if I just—

  The teacher’s voice cut in: "Fujimoto. Moriyama. Focus."

  Kazuki saluted. "Yes, sir! Just expanding my b partner’s horizons."

  I dug my nails into my face. Free will was a myth invented to make people like him think they were funny.

  The rest of day went exactly like that 5 hours of unfunny jokes.

  I dug my nails into my cheeks until the sting drowned out Kazuki's "Why did the acid break up with the base? It found her too basic!"

  The rest of the day went something like this:?Kazuki's terrible puns?Me counting the cracks in the ceiling?The clock ughing at me

  School ended at 3:24 PM, I fshed three fingers and ran before Kazuki could unch into another joke.

  Outside, the sun gred. Shit. Shift started in thirty—maybe enough time for one pce. Riverside? Arcade? Didn’t matter.

  I was already sprinting when my hand spped against my bag—the diary still there, its corners digging into my ribs with every stride.

  The bus stop clock blinked 3:41 as I skidded to a halt.

  Damn it.The bus hissed to a stop just as I heard it— "TARO! HEY, DIPSHIT!"

  Kazuki's voice cut through the traffic noise like a dull axe. I didn't turn around. Just stepped onto the bus and let the doors wheeze shut between us.

  What the hell. Does that guy not have a single introvert bone in his body?

  Through the grimy window, I watched him panting at the curb, hands on his knees. For half a second, I almost felt bad. Then he flipped me off with both hands, grinning like a maniac, and I remembered why I'd run.

  The bus seats smelled like old gum and regret. I jammed my earbuds in and cranked the volume until the music drowned out everything—especially the thought of Kazuki asking *questions*.

  How'd I even end up with him?

  Simple. He'd tched onto me freshman year like a stray dog ciming territory. The school's resident weirdo—too quiet to fight back, too broken to be interesting. Perfect target.

  The bass thumped against my skull. Thank god he never dug deeper.

  Had he asked Sora or Momoka about me, he'd have seen it—the rot behind this human mask.

  The bus lurched to a stop. I was out before the doors fully opened, sneakers spping against pavement as I bolted down the block.

  The café jutted from the intersection like a victorian era holdout with its sunflower-yellow awning cshing against the gray modern storefronts. The scent hit me from five meters away like a Gardenia flower giving of the smell of burnt espresso beans.

  I wrenched the door open as my phone blinked 3:58.

  Yuki gnced up from the espresso machine, her half-rim gsses reflecting the cafe lights. "You're early," she observed, voice calm compared to Kazuki's usual screeching. "World ending today or something?"

  I ducked behind the counter, my bag thumping against the fridge. "Bus was faster than usual."

  She slid a clean apron across the counter without looking up from the milk she was steaming. "Mm. Well, you're on register first. Try not to scare the customers more than usual." The corner of her mouth twitched - the closest she got to Kazuki-level teasing.

  "Yeah yeah, I'll get to it once I dump my stuff." My voice came out ftter than I intended, face already settling into what Kazuki called my "zombie who missed breakfast" look.

  At least Yuki wasn't Kazuki. Small mercies.

  The employee locker smelled like stale coffee grounds and someone's forgotten gym socks. I yanked open my locker, the metal door vibrating with the force. The diary stared up at me from my bag as I shoved it onto the top shelf—just far enough back that no casual gnce would spot it.

  My work shirt clung to my still-damp back as I buttoned it. The embroidered café logo itched against my colrbone, same as every shift.

  half a minute ter, I emerged to find Yuki already herding a group of middle schoolers toward the register. She didn't look up, just jerked her chin toward the POS system like This is your circus now.

  The first kid ordered an iced mocha with extra caramel. I punched it in, fingers only trembling a little.

  For twenty-seven minutes, it was the usual dance:

  "Large cold brew, no ice"

  "Matcha tte with oat milk"

  "Can I get a—"

  Then the door chimed.

  My heart stopped mid-beat—literally stopped—because there she was.

  Miyu.

  Not a ghost. Not a maybe-her.

  Miyu.

  Her sandals tapped on the floorboards. The café lights caught the flyaways escaping her ponytail—just like they used to. She was scanning the menu like a normal person, like this wasn’t the first time we’d stood in the same room in years.

  My hands froze over the register. "Welcome to—" My voice cracked. Shit.

  i cleared my throat before repeating myself "Sorry, welcome to Cafe serendipity what can i get for you?"

  she smiled at me and at that moment i was panicking but held it in biting down on my teeth as she held the menu with her two hands

  "Cafe au it," looking back up at me. "with honey instead of sugar."

  The words burned my tongue as I repeated them to the kitchen.

  Yuki appeared out of nowhere at my elbow afterward, wiping a portafilter with undue focus. "You two know each other?"

  "Never seen her before." The lie came out smoother than I expected.

  Yuki's eyebrow arched. "Funny. She ordered like a regur."

  "Guess she's got taste." I turned away before my face could expose me.

  The café fell unnaturally quiet after Miyu’s arrival—no new customers, no background chatter, just the espresso machine’s dying hiss.

  I should make her drink myself.

  The thought hit like a rogue wave. Before I could second-guess it, I was already stepping toward the machine, bumping Yuki aside with my hip.

  “I got this one,” I muttered.

  Yuki’s eyes narrowed but she surrendered the portafilter without comment. My hands moved on autopilot—steaming the milk cooler than standard ,she always hated scalding drinks, drizzling honey in slow spirals.

  The cup trembled slightly as I set it on the counter. Too te, I realized my mistake—I’d drawn the little star foam art she used to love.

  The cup trembled in my hand as I set it down. Too te, I saw the wobbly heart shape in the foam—a habit I'd picked up in middle school, back when making fancy coffee felt like being grown up. Back when Miyu would giggle at my failed attempts during our rare café outings.

  Her spoon froze halfway to the cup. For one suspended second, her face did something complicated—nostalgia and hurt crashing like waves. Then she stirred aggressively, dissolving the heart into beige nothingness.

  "Thanks," she said, voice carefully ft. But her pinky finger tapped three rapid beats against the ceramic—the same nervous tic she'd had since fourth grade.

  I swallowed hard. Seven years was long enough to forget a childhood habit. Apparently not long enough to unlearn one.

  Yuki's cough cut through the silence like a knife. Again. Again. Until I realized—Shit.Three full seconds I'd been staring at Miyu's hands.

  I jerked back behind the counter so fast my apron strings whipped the register.

  Yuki leaned in, her whisper scalding my ear: "Never seen her, huh?" She snapped a lid onto a takeaway cup with unnecessary force. "Something's fishier than st week's tuna special."

  The bell's jingle still hung in the air when it hit me—The diary.

  My stomach dropped. All that panic, and I hadn't even...

  Could I have done it?

  The image fshed unbidden: Me ducking to the lockers, the diary's spine sticking to my sweaty palms as I slid it across the counter with her change.

  The honey-stained napkin curled like a sneer.

  No.

  Not with Yuki's gaze hot on my neck. Not when Miyu's hands had trembled that way. My god, it could've gone real bad - a sp, a scream, the whole café watching as my past detonated in front of me.

  I scrubbed at an invisible coffee ring until my wrist ached. The diary could wait.

  Seven years. What were five more minutes?

  The rag in my hands reeked of bleach. I scrubbed harder, as if I could erase the ghost of her order from the counter. As if I could scour away seven years in the space between espresso shots.

  Yuki's shadow loomed by the syrup bottles. "You missed a spot." She kicked my ankle lightly—not quite kind, not quite harsh. Just Yuki.

  The diary weighed heavy in my locker. Miyu's cup sat abandoned at table three. Somewhere beyond the café windows, the city pulsed on, oblivious.

  I threw the rag into the sink.

  Tomorrow, I lied to myself. I'll do it tomorrow.