On his way to the rooftop, Reiji passed a girl hunched over the railing near the stairwell. Her posture was terrible, shoulders slumped, and her eyes were dark, unfocused—like she hadn't slept in days.
He glanced briefly, then looked away.
If memory serves me right… her name is Haruka Shion. Top of the school. Number one in every subject—math, science, literature, all of it. She's basically perfect. So why does she look like that?
A beat.
Wait. Why am I even thinking about this? Why would I care about someone I gave meaning to?
His steps slowed just a little.
...Am I being affected?
His eyes narrowed.
That girl… that witch… she must've done something to me.
I walked down the hallway, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the floor. My hands were in my pockets. My mind was somewhere else entirely—still caught in that strange haze from yesterday.
That girl.
Her words.
Her smirk.
The way she looked at me like she wasn't trying to figure me out—but already had.
I let out a small sigh and rounded the corner.
And there she was again.
Shirakawa Nao, standing in front of the announcement board with a clipboard in hand, talking to two students who immediately scurried off after a quick exchange.
Our eyes met.
Again.
I blinked.
Is this really just a coincidence?
She tilted her head slightly and offered a calm smile—not bright, not fake. Just… gentle.
"You again?" she said.
I clicked my tongue. "I could say the same."
She tapped her clipboard. "Actually, perfect timing."
I raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"
"I heard you were a fast runner in middle school," she said, flipping the page and looking at a list. "We need someone to replace our class's runner for the relay. He sprained his ankle during practice today."
I stared at her for a second, not sure if I should feel annoyed or impressed.
Of course she knows about that.
"I never said I'd join the festival."
"You also never said you wouldn't," she said without missing a beat.
I narrowed my eyes. "And why would I run for a class I don't care about?"
She looked up from the clipboard, meeting my gaze without flinching.
"You don't have to care about them. Just run for yourself. Or don't. But I figured someone who keeps saying 'people only exist because I give them meaning' might want to prove that meaning… by winning."
I paused.
That silence again.
The one she always left behind like an echo.
Then I smirked faintly, half out of amusement, half out of irritation.
"You really enjoy twisting my words, don't you?"
"Only because they're interesting to untangle," she said. "So, what do you say?"
I looked at the clipboard.
Then at her.
Then back at the hallway behind me.
Why does it feel like something's starting... even though I didn't ask for it?
"...Fine."
She blinked. "That's a yes?"
"That's a 'don't misunderstand why I'm doing this.' I'm not doing it for anyone. Not even you."
"Of course not," she said, almost laughing.
"But... thank you."
And then she walked away, just like that—no explanations, no drama.
Leaving me standing there in the quiet hallway.
Still wondering…
Is this really just a coincidence?
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