Yona stepped into the quiet of his house, the door clicking shut behind him. The weight of the day sat heavy on his shoulders—Noir's voice still echoed in his ears, and Mia's distant eyes wouldn't leave his mind. He dropped his bag by the door and exhaled, running a hand through his hair.
He barely had time to breathe when a knock came at the door.
He hesitated. It was too late for visitors. His steps were slow, cautious, as he approached. When he opened the door, the last person he expected to see was standing there.
Lena.
She looked exactly like she did on the rooftop—composed on the outside, but something unreadable stirred behind her calm eyes.
"What brought you here?" Yona asked quietly.
She glanced down the hallway behind him, then back at him. "Can we talk? I guess it's better that we're alone."
He blinked, caught off guard. "Sorry… I'm not alone. My grandfather is here."
Lena tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing just a bit, as if that wasn't the answer she'd hoped for.
"Then… can we go somewhere else?" she asked, her voice soft, but there was something beneath it—urgency.
Yona stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind him. The night air was cool and quiet, a contrast to the heat brewing in his chest.
"What do you want to talk about?"
Lena looked at him for a long moment, then leaned in slightly. "Noir isn't the only one who remembers you, Yona."
His breath caught.
"I didn't say anything earlier because it wasn't my place. But now… things are changing, and I can't just stand back anymore." Her eyes glinted under the porch light, serious and strangely sad. "You should've stayed gone."
He stared at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Lena looked away, the corners of her mouth twitching like she was struggling to keep something buried.
"Back then… the things that happened… the people that were hurt—" Her voice cracked for a moment before she steadied it. "You can pretend you're someone new, but the past doesn't care who you're trying to be now."
Yona's fists clenched at his sides. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" she whispered. "Do you even know what's coming?"
The wind picked up, rustling the trees around them. Yona's heart pounded, but he kept his voice calm. "If you came to warn me, say it straight."
She stepped back, her eyes unreadable. "Just… be careful. People are watching. And not all of them are as forgiving as Noir."
Yona took a step closer. His voice dropped. "Are you the one… sending those messages?"
Her eyes met his—and held.
She didn't blink. Didn't flinch. Just looked at him for a long, breathless moment.
Then she turned… and walked away.
Not a word. Not a glance back.
Yona stood frozen under the porch light, the question hanging heavy in the night air.
Inside, behind the closed door, the lights flicked off in the hallway. His grandfather was still awake.
And watching.
------------------------
Days passed, but the air at school never quite cleared. Whispers still drifted between classrooms like smoke. And in Room 2-B, everything felt... off.
At midday, the classroom buzzed with low chatter and rustling papers, but Mia sat still in her seat, unmoving, her lunch untouched. Her eyes were fixed—on Aria.
Aria sat two rows ahead, near the window, pretending to read, her fingers tight around her book, her gaze deliberately avoiding everyone—especially Mia. Since that day on the rooftop, she hadn't said a word to her. Hadn't walked with her. Hadn't even looked her in the eye.
Mia's heart ached in a way she couldn't name.
Then—Yona walked in. He caught sight of Mia, noticed how her gaze hadn't moved. He followed it… and saw Aria.
He sat beside Mia, speaking gently. "Are you okay?"
Mia didn't turn her head. "I just… don't know what's going on anymore. It feels like everything's shifting."
Yona's eyes softened. He glanced back toward Aria—her stiff posture, the way her foot tapped nervously beneath the desk—and he understood.
"Why don't you walk together home today?"
Mia finally looked at him, a flicker of hope in her eyes. "That's what I was thinking too."
Without another word, she stood.
A few heads turned as Mia crossed the room, her steps quiet but sure. When she reached Aria's desk, she paused—just long enough for Aria to sense her.
"Aria," Mia said softly.
Aria looked up, startled. Their eyes met, and for a moment, time seemed to hold still.
"Let's walk home together today."
Aria blinked, unsure, a storm of emotion flickering behind her eyes—guilt, fear, longing. She didn't speak. Not yet.
But she didn't say no either.
-------------------------------
For a moment, Aria didn't answer. She just looked at Mia—really looked at her. And behind those calm, distant eyes was something deeper. Something Mia couldn't quite name.
Then, slowly, Aria stood.
"All right," she said quietly, her voice unreadable. "Let's walk."
Before Mia could respond, the classroom door slid open with a soft shhk. Heads turned.
A girl stepped inside—elegant, quiet, like the room had summoned her.
Ayumi.
She wasn't a student here, but she wasn't a stranger either. Mia's cousin—a college student who sometimes visited unannounced when she didn't have class. She never explained her timing, just showed up like a ghost between lives.
Today was one of those days.
But something felt different.
She didn't stop near Mia, didn't acknowledge anyone. Instead, her steps carried her straight across the classroom, past the stares and whispers, toward Aria.
Aria stilled the moment she saw her.
Mia blinked. "Wait… you two know each other?"
Ayumi didn't even glance at her. "Of course. She talks to me."
"Since when?" Mia asked, frowning.
Ayumi tilted her head, her voice calm. "She shares things. She always has."
That answer didn't sit right. And Aria… Aria said nothing at all.
Yona stepped forward, his instincts prickling. "Ayumi… how do you really know Aria?"
Ayumi finally looked at him. A slow, thin smile curved her lips. "Everyone knows someone. If they pay enough attention."
Aria turned away. "Let's go," she said quietly.
She walked to the door. Mia followed, though her gaze lingered a second longer on Ayumi—uncertain, tense.
Yona remained behind. His eyes were on Ayumi, narrowing slightly.
As the door clicked shut behind Aria and Mia, Ayumi looked around the silent room… then moved toward Aria's empty desk.
She sat down slowly—deliberately—folding her legs and settling in like she belonged.
Then, without asking, she reached down, picked up Aria's notebook, and flipped it open.
She began to write.
No hesitation.
Just quiet scribbles, page after page.
Yona watched her, unsettled.
Ayumi didn't look up.
But as she turned a page, she spoke, soft and almost thoughtful:
"You should be careful."
Yona's jaw tightened. "Why?"
She didn't answer.
Didn't glance his way.
She just kept writing—calm, eerie, almost content. The scratch of her pen against Aria's notebook the only sound in the room.
As the door clicked shut behind Mia and Aria, yona watched Ayumi in silence
She was smiling .
Not the kind of smile you trust
The kind of smile that hides something .
------------------------
Just as Ayumi flipped another page of Aria's notebook, the classroom door creaked open.
A hush swept through the room like a sudden chill.
A girl entered—hesitant, but with a silent storm in her eyes.
Yui.
The whispers began instantly, like wind through dry leaves.
"Isn't that the girl who confessed to him?"
"…Wasn't she in that rooftop fight?"
"I thought she transferred…"
Yui heard them. Every word.
But she didn't flinch. Her eyes shimmered with exhaustion and something fragile beneath—like a thread about to snap.
She walked steadily through the rows, her eyes locked on Kana, who sat frozen.
"Yui…" Kana's voice was low, wary—guarded.
Yui stopped in front of her, trying to steady her breath. "I didn't know where else to go," she said. Her voice was tight, trembling. "They're saying he's changing again. That he's… vanishing."
Kana's face paled. Her lips parted, but no words came.
"I tried again, Kana," Yui continued, pain creeping into her voice. "I thought maybe if I just showed up again, if I gave him time… if I apologized differently… he'd let me back in. But nothing works."
Kana's hands clenched in her lap.
"I thought staying away would protect him. Or maybe protect me. But something's wrong now. You feel it too, don't you?"
Kana looked up, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's not just him anymore."
"I know," Yui whispered. "I don't care what happened between us. I don't care about pride. I just… I need your help."
The silence between them stretched long and aching.
Then Kana finally spoke—softly, and with a quiet kind of sorrow. "I can't. Not anymore."
Yui stood frozen. The words hung in the air like a final breath. Slowly, she turned away, her eyes glassy and distant.
As she passed Aria's empty desk, Ayumi—still seated there, calm and ghostlike—watched her without a word.
Just as Yui passed, Ayumi's voice slipped through the silence, cool and deliberate:
"Desperation makes people brave. But it also makes them reckless."
Yui paused for half a second, her gaze flicking to Ayumi.
Their eyes met—Yui searching, Ayumi unreadable.
But no more words came.
Yui continued toward the door.
And just before she stepped out, she stopped… and turned.
Her eyes met Kana's one last time—silent, wounded, searching for something that might not be there anymore.
Then, quietly, she left.
Ayumi finally stood, closed the notebook, and turned toward Yona, who had been watching the whole scene, his shoulders tense.
"You should be careful," Ayumi said again, voice low but weighty.
Yona frowned, his tone rougher now. "Careful of what?"
Ayumi looked at him, and something in her gaze chilled the air.
Like she saw something even he couldn't.
"Of what wakes up when people stop pretending they're fine."
He swallowed, but before he could reply, Ayumi walked to the door, each step light, almost soundless.
She paused at the threshold, not looking back.
"And careful of who you trust… even if they wear a smile."
Then she stepped out, leaving behind only silence—and tension like a wire pulled too tight.
--------------------------------------
As the door clicked shut behind Ayumi , the air in the classroom barely shifted—but eyes began to glance, move, whisper.
Near the back, Daiki leaned against his desk, his arms folded. His friends exchanged looks before one of them subtly nudged him and jerked his head toward Kana.
Daiki caught the signal. His eyes narrowed a bit—not in annoyance, but in calculation. Then he pushed off his desk and casually walked over to Kana's seat.
She was still staring at the floor, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. But when Daiki stopped beside her desk, she glanced up.
He gave her a crooked smile—not mocking, but not entirely friendly either. Just... knowing.
"Kana," he said, with a tone more curious than confrontational. "Didn't expect you to be part of all this."
She blinked. "What?"
He chuckled lightly, tilting his head toward the door where Yui had exited. "The girl who confessed to that arrogant guy… and you, right in the middle of it all? That's a big surprise."
Kana looked away, her lips tightening. "It's not like that."
Daiki leaned a little closer, voice lower now, more serious. "Maybe not. But you've got more pieces to this puzzle than anyone else here, don't you?"
Kana didn't respond.
Daiki's smile faded just slightly. "Whatever's going on… it's not just about that guy anymore, is it?"
Her eyes slowly met his—and for a moment, he saw it. The weight behind them. The things she wasn't saying.
He straightened up again, not pressing further. "Guess I'll be keeping an eye on you too."
Then he turned, walking back toward his friends with a quiet shrug.
Kana sat still. Her hands curled lightly over the edges of her skirt. And beneath her breath, barely audible, she whispered:
"It's like you'll die if you don't stick your nose into things that don't concern you."
Outside the window, clouds had started to gather.
And somewhere in the distance, thunder echoed—soft but certain.
---------------------
Just as the low rumble of thunder trembled through the windows, the classroom door swung open.
Mr. Sakamoto, their homeroom teacher, stepped inside, phone in hand, concern on his face.
"Everyone, listen up," he said. "There's a storm warning—heavy rain, lightning, strong winds. You're all dismissed early today. Head home immediately and stay safe."
Chairs scraped. Bags zipped. Conversations buzzed through the room as students quickly packed and filed out. Some moved with excitement, others with wariness.
Yona stayed seated.
He moved slowly, almost distracted, collecting his things while watching the door like he was waiting for someone.
And he was.
Lena hadn't left either.
She stayed quietly in the corner, her gaze fixed on Yona, pretending to organize her books as one student after another left. But the truth was, she hadn't moved—not physically, at least. She was waiting for the moment when everything else fell away and it was just her and him again.
Few minutes later, the school was still. Outside, the sky had gone grey. The storm hadn't begun yet, but the wind was picking up, a reminder that time was running out.
Yona is alone now.
Then he heard footsteps.
He didn't need to look up to know it was her. But he did.
Lena stood there—still, hesitant, yet something about her posture suggested she wasn't going to turn away. Her face was sad, but beneath it, there was something more—something raw, vulnerable, like she was on the edge of breaking and yet refusing to give up.
He looked at her for a long moment, the air between them thick with the silence that neither of them could fill. There was no anger in his gaze, no hostility. Just a deep, quiet sorrow—resignation that had settled too comfortably in his heart.
Lena's heart pounded in her chest as she took a step closer. She couldn't stay away. She needed him to see her again. to look at her the way he used to. everything fell apart.
Her voice trembled, barely a whisper, but it felt like it could shatter the stillness of the room.
"Do you believe me?"
He didn't answer right away. He turned his gaze to the window, the wind picking up and making the trees sway violently outside. But Lena wouldn't let him escape again. She wouldn't let him keep looking away.
To be continue ...