The final bell hadn't rung yet, but the room already felt hollow.
Late afternoon light slipped through the tall windows of the classroom, painting warm streaks across pale desks and the varnished floor.
Dust danced lazily in the air, untouched by the slow-moving ceiling fans that hummed like they'd given up long ago.
One by one, students around the room checked the clock, packed their bags early, or scrolled through their phones just out of sight.
But in the third row, by the far window, a boy sat with his chin resting in his hand, elbow anchored against the desk.
His uniform was crisp, but a little undone — top button loose, tie slightly off-center.
The white and black sleeves of his blazer were rolled just past his wrists, yellow-trimmed in the school's colors, like everyone else.
He wasn't tall. Wasn't built.
He had a soft, clean face — not striking, but subtly magnetic. More cute than handsome, with warm brown skin, and thick, braided hair pulled tight in rows that ran to the back of his head.
One of the front locks, stark white among the rest, hung slightly over his brow. His dark brown eyes were calm, almost sleepy, but there was something alive behind them. Like he was thinking something he'd never say out loud.
He stared out the window, unfocused — beyond the rooftops, beyond the clouds, beyond the real.
On his desk, just in front of his folded arm, lay a black cat no one else could see.
It was sprawled lazily across the surface, limbs stretched in every direction, tail flicking now and then like it had somewhere better to be.
Its fur was sleek and ink-dark, so dark it looked like it might soak in the sunlight. Its eyes were yellow, not the soft kind, but sharp — geometric slits of gold and judgment, cold and burning at the same time.
The cat didn't move when it spoke. Its mouth didn't even open.
But the voice still came — deep, low, and bored into the bones. Masculine in that ancient way that sounded like it had never changed.
"How much longer must we sit through this farce."
The boy's eyes didn't leave the window.
"You know I'm not allowed to talk in class," he murmured, barely moving his lips. "That was the agreement."
"You made that agreement," the cat replied flatly, voice like dry thunder. "I merely tolerated it. Against my will."
"You say that about everything." He blinked slowly. "You tolerate the rain, the sun, sleep, girls who talk too loud, soup."
"The soup was cold."
"It was ramen."
"Cold ramen is a crime."
The boy's mouth twitched at the corner.
"You're a talking cat. Maybe don't lecture me about crimes."
The cat rolled onto its side with an exaggerated grunt, flicking its tail toward his face.
"I could be doing something important," it grumbled. "I could be unraveling forbidden knowledge. Or napping somewhere not next to a window. Why does it always have to be the window seat?"
The boy looked down at it for the first time, finally moving from the glass.
"Because I like the window."
"And I hate it."
"We're even."
That might've gone on — the usual low-burn bickering they'd perfected over what felt like years — but a cough echoed through the room.
The boy blinked. Looked up.
Everyone was staring at him.
Some students half-turned in their seats. Others had just paused in their packing, heads tilted, curious or creeped out. A few were whispering. A girl near the front raised an eyebrow and pointed subtly toward her temple, miming the universal signal for crazy.
He froze.
The cat vanished like it had never existed.
From the front of the room, the teacher lowered her chalk and adjusted her glasses, eyeing him like she was deciding whether to bother.
"Haru Tadashima, perhaps if you spent less time talking to yourself and more time focusing on the lesson, you wouldn't be failing half of them."
The room gave a little laugh — not mean, but enough to make the silence worse.
He blinked once. Straightened slightly.
"…Sorry."
The teacher turned back to the board with a sigh.
And the boy — Haru — let out a breath, already wondering how many days it had been since his last normal one.
The bell rang with its usual half-hearted chime — more like a tired suggestion than a command.
Chairs scraped. Bags zipped.
Students shuffled out in waves, some laughing, some already calling their friends, others just bolting for the gates.
Haru moved slower.
He didn't stand right away. He waited — like he always did — until most of the class had emptied out. It was easier that way. Less... eyes.
But they were still there.
The voices.
Soft. Quiet. Barely above whispers. But he heard them all.
"How is he even still in school?"
"He's barely here. I think he was gone for like three weeks last month."
"My cousin said he saw him near a police station."
"He's probably some NEET freak. Look at his hair."
"I bet he fakes mental illness to get out of class."
"No, seriously, my sister thinks he's, like, in a hospital or something. Like the... y'know, padded kind."
"Creepy otaku types always end up like that."
A few eyes drifted toward him.
Then away.
Always away.
Like he wasn't someone you wanted to make eye contact with for too long. Like they thought it might be contagious.
Haru didn't react. Not on the outside.
But inside, the silence felt heavier than the noise.
He pulled on his blazer, slung his bag over one shoulder, and stepped into the hallway — the clamor of footsteps and after-school chatter washing over him in waves that somehow made him feel even more isolated.
Down the corridor.
Past bulletin boards.
Past couples huddled by lockers.
Past students who turned to glance at him, then turned faster the second he looked back.
Out the front doors.
Into the open air.
The sky was a soft wash of orange and blue now, the clouds like smudges of gold across a fading canvas. The breeze tugged at the loose edge of his blazer as he stepped into the schoolyard.
And then—
"I am never coming back in there again," the cat said, now perched on his shoulder as if it had never left.
Its tone was dramatic. Flat. Deeply offended. "Do you know what it's like being surrounded by that many humans? The smell alone was—"
Haru kept walking.
"I'm serious," the cat grunted. "Every time the atmosphere is suffocating. And the fluorescent lights—don't get me started on the lights. Who designed that place, a sadist with a vendetta against common dignity?"
Haru didn't reply.
"They were staring at you again, by the way," the cat went on, lazily flicking his tail. "All of them. You could cut the judgment in the air with a knife. If I could've, I would've—"
"…Azrael."
The word came sharp. Quiet, but sharp. A blade drawn, not swung.
The cat — Azrael — stopped.
His tail stilled. His body went rigid for a beat.
"…Right."
Silence followed. The good kind. The one that didn't feel like everyone was watching, or whispering, or inventing a story to fill in the blanks they didn't understand.
Haru exhaled as the school vanished behind him, swallowed by rows of houses and the low rustle of trees.
He walked a little slower.
Stared ahead at the pavement.
And finally thought—
Why do I even come here anymore?
The thought didn't echo.
It just sank.
Haru walked in silence, hands in his pockets, the school building fading behind him like a bad dream.
The streets were alive — laughing teens, couples walking too close, and the soft whirr of vending machines echoing under the golden evening light.
He passed them all.
A boy leaning against his girlfriend's shoulder. Another couple sharing earphones, laughing at something only they could hear.
Haru didn't look long. He didn't need to.
He felt it — that quiet ache just under the ribs. That reminder.
You're not part of that world.
He dipped into a small store tucked between an apartment block and a karaoke joint. The bell above the door gave a soft chime as the sliding door clicked shut behind him.
It was cramped, lined with bright packaging and cheap neon signs, shelves stacked with snacks, fizzy drinks, fried this, candied that. The kind of place designed to make you forget what you came in for.
Haru didn't hesitate.
He knew exactly what he shouldn't get.
A packet of spicy crisps. A microwaveable bun stuffed with some mystery meat. A chocolate bar wrapped in loud purple foil. And a drink in a can so aggressively carbonated it hissed in his hand.
Azrael perched on a nearby shelf, paws tucked, tail flicking like a slow metronome.
"This is how it starts," he said flatly. "First the salt. Then the sugar. Then you're thirty kilos heavier and winded after a single flight of stairs."
Haru arched a brow. "That's rich coming from someone who hasn't moved in two days."
"I'm conserving energy," Azrael replied. "For the apocalypse. Which, incidentally, you may not survive if you keep eating that garbage."
Haru gave the faintest smirk, more out of spite than amusement, and stepped up to the counter with a quiet sigh.
The cashier barely looked up.
Then a voice behind him broke the moment.
"Oooh~ what's this? A whole week's worth of junk food in one go? Is there a secret party I wasn't invited to?"
Haru blinked.
He knew that voice.
"Miyu…"
"Who else?" she said, already stepping into his peripheral.
He turned — and there she was.
Miyu.
Petite. That was the first word that always came to mind — small in height, but somehow never overshadowed. She had a presence, the kind that made a room feel more awake the moment she stepped in.
Her dark hair was tied into a high ponytail that swept behind her like a streak of ink, thick and playful, with strands of violet ribbon woven in — not for function, just flair.
Her bangs framed a mischievous, sharp-edged face — all soft cheeks and fierce violet eyes.
And those eyes…
Large, luminous, outlined just enough to make them pop — like they were drawn by an artist who knew exactly what they were doing.
Vivid purple, striking and strange, like starlight trapped in crystal. They shimmered when she smiled — and she smiled a lot. Not in the soft, sweet way girls usually did, but in this daring, crooked way that made Haru's chest tighten every time.
She was pretty — not the obvious kind, but the kind that crept up on you, disarmed you. The kind that made Haru's thoughts trail off mid-sentence.
Her fitted violet-black jacket hugged her frame just right, with stylized mesh underlayers, sleeves tied loosely at the arms, and a utility belt slung low across one hip.
Decorative throwing stars clipped to the side. She didn't walk — she bounced, light and springy, like a ninja who'd found a reason to mess with him.
And for reasons he couldn't explain — or admit — Haru didn't mind being her favorite target. Not one bit.
The shopkeeper's eyes nearly bulged from his head.
"Y-young lady… you—those eyes—how do you…? They're just—wow," he mumbled, clearly more focused on her face than anything remotely professional.
"They're from birth," Miyu said sweetly, tilting her head with a teasing grin. "Just lucky, I guess."
She leaned in slightly, winked.
"And no, you can't touch them."
The shopkeeper flushed and fumbled for his scanner, muttering an apology.
Haru, meanwhile, cleared his throat, adjusting his bag strap and very consciously not looking directly at her.
"…Why are you here?"
She grinned. "I'll tell you outside."
And just like that, she spun on her heel and strode toward the door, glancing back over her shoulder with a wink that hit like a sucker punch.
"Don't keep me waiting, Haa-chan~"
She called over with a smirk, already halfway through the door.
"Or I may start having too much fun without you..."
Haru blinked twice.
Then again.
The register beeped. He fumbled for coins.
"Uh—sorry, yeah—uh…"
Azrael groaned from above the fridge.
"This is why I tell you not to eat sugar. Your brain short-circuits around women."
"Shut up," Haru muttered, quickly shoving the snacks into his bag, cheeks faintly pink as he rushed to follow Miyu out the door.
Haru stepped out into the fading afternoon light, the door's bell giving a soft ring as it shut behind him. The street was mostly quiet now — just a few kids on bikes down the road, and the breeze tugging at the trees lining the pavement.
He scanned left, then right.
No sign of her.
He frowned.
"…Miyu?"
No answer.
Then he looked down at his hands.
They were empty.
"…Wait."
A rustle.
He turned — and sure enough, there she was.
Sitting cross-legged on the curb like it was a throne, chewing happily on his spicy crisps with the drink propped beside her. One hand already halfway through the chocolate bar.
"Uhhh… Miyu..."
She looked up mid-bite and grinned, shameless.
"Yes Haa-chan~"
"You can't just steal my food," Haru said, deadpan — though his voice caught slightly at the end.
Miyu blinked, tilted her head like a confused puppy. "Steal? Excuse me, I'm helping."
"Helping?" he echoed, trying not to flinch under the weight of her playful stare.
"You're the one who said you need to stop eating junk," she said, gesturing vaguely with a crisp. "I'm just being a good friend."
Haru looked away, scratching his neck. She crunched.
Azrael, now perched on the fence behind them, gave a slow flick of his tail. "She's a menace."
Miyu crunched another crisp, cheek puffed like a chipmunk mid-heist.
"So where's The Lord of Cats today?" she asked, brushing crumbs from her lap. "Don't tell me he finally ascended to that nap dimension he's always grumbling about."
Haru glanced around, then sighed through his nose. "Azrael."
Nothing.
A beat passed.
Then, with a faint shimmer — like heat rising from asphalt — the air above Miyu's lap rippled.
Azrael materialized out of thin air mid-step, touched down daintily on her thighs… and instantly recoiled.
"Absolutely not," he said flatly, already turning to leap off.
"Oh no you don't," Miyu snatched him mid-pivot, arms scooping around his middle before he could vanish again.
Azrael thrashed once — not hard, more like offended dignity. "Unhand me, gremlin."
"You appeared on me," she said, grinning as she locked him in place. "I call dibs."
"You only see me because I let you," he growled, eyes narrow slits of gold. "This is a privilege. A sacred trust."
Miyu nodded solemnly. "And I'm abusing it immediately."
Azrael let out a long, suffering exhale. "Haru, control your woman."
Haru just leaned against a nearby pole, watching them with a faint smirk.
"She's not my—"
He stopped. Reconsidered.
"…You did land on her, though."
Azrael twisted in her grip like a man accepting his fate.
"I am an ancient being of consequence," he muttered.
"You're a cat," Miyu said, already petting him between the ears.
Azrael froze.
His ears twitched.
He leaned away. Then toward. Then away again — torn between instinct and indignation.
"This is manipulation."
"Is it working?"
"…No," he said, loudly, as his head drooped into her hand.
A second later: a low, reluctant purr.
Miyu gasped. "Oh my gosh, is this what victory tastes like? It's warm and fuzzy and sounds like a motorcycle."
Azrael groaned, eyes closed. "I hate this. I hate everything. I hate being weak."
"Shhh," she cooed, scratching under his chin. "Let it happen."
Haru watched the chaos unfold, trying — and failing — not to laugh under his breath.
It wasn't just funny.
It was adorable.
The way Azrael tried to cling to his pride while melting like butter.
The way Miyu grinned like she'd just bested a demon in a game of Uno.
The way the sun hit them both in that golden hour kind of way.
He looked down for a second. Hands still in his pockets.
"…This is dangerous," he muttered.
Azrael cracked one eye open. "What is?"
Haru glanced back at them, at her — and shrugged.
"…Nothing."
But he smiled this time. Just a little.
Azrael, by now fully melted into Miyu's lap like a villain-turned-victim, gave a final dramatic sigh as she scratched behind his ears.
"I should sue," he mumbled, barely audible. "For emotional damages."
Miyu just grinned, proud and smug and entirely too pleased with herself.
But Haru's eyes stayed on her a beat longer than usual — and this time, when he spoke, his voice was quieter.
"…What are you doing here? In my World."
Miyu didn't answer right away.
She gave Azrael one last indulgent scratch behind the ears before gently nudging him off her lap.
He landed with a quiet thud and a grumble, tail flicking in protest.
Then she stood.
Brushed her hands together. Looked Haru dead in the eye.
"I came to get you," she said.
Haru didn't blink. Didn't ask what she meant.
He already knew.
She tilted her head, that usual smirk playing at her lips — but there was something under it now. Not just mischief. Not just play.
"The C-Team has been given their next mission."
The words hit like a pressure drop.
Haru closed his eyes, just for a second.
And sighed — not the dramatic kind, not annoyed. Just… resigned. Like the weight had returned to his shoulders before he'd even taken a step.
Miyu stepped closer, grinning as she pointed at his chest like she was picking him out of a lineup.
"And we need our Captain…"
A sigh.
A single thought passed through his mind.
"…So much for a normal day..."