Chapter 07: The Door That Stays Closed
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Spring returns quietly, borne on the wind like a whispered apology. Petals drift down from the cherry trees lining the main road of Tokisadame High School, painting the path in soft pink. Laughter and footsteps echo off the stone steps as students pour through the gates with fresh bags, new uniforms, and the same anticipation that comes with the start of something new.
Daiki Nakano stands at the foot of the building, watching them come and go.
His coat sways in the breeze, catching petals in the folds. He raises a hand, brushing one from his shoulder. Walking inside the building, he navigates through the hallway. After reaching his destination, he looks up at the classroom plaque before him: Class 3-2. The familiar white-on-black characters greet him like an old friend—and not the kind he's happy to see.
He exhales slowly, running a hand over the back of his neck. "Another year," he murmurs. "Another batch of kids."
And another season without her.
He closes his eyes for a second too long. The sunlight is soft this morning, warmer than he remembers. The air smells of new beginnings, but for him, the season has always meant endings.
"Are you having trouble, Nakano-sensei?"
He turns his head. Standing beside him is Mafuyu Kirisu, perfectly composed in her usual sharp blazer and skirt. She holds a coffee cup between her gloved fingers, steaming curling from the lid.
"You're glaring at the door," she adds, sipping casually. "If it owes you money, I doubt it'll pay."
Daiki smirks faintly. "It owes me a peaceful year."
Kirisu raises an eyebrow. "You chose this job."
"I chose teaching." His gaze returns to the sign. "No one told me they came with side quests."
The door creaks open, and the chaos hits him like a wave. The chatter, the chairs scraping, the shrill cry of a student realizing they brought the wrong notebook. He steps inside, and like last year, the room falls into an awkward hush. Then it begins—the whispers, the stifled giggles.
He opened the door, and the chaos of youth spilled into his senses—chatter, laughter, the scrape of chairs, the unmistakable shriek of a student realizing they forgot their pencil case. He stepped in, his presence immediately silencing part of the room. A few students straightened up too fast, while others whispered excitedly.
"That's him. The famous sensei."
"No way, isn't he dating that pink-haired model? Ichika or something?"
Daiki sighed internally. His desk had barely gathered any dust since last semester, yet the legends had only grown.
Daiki sets his briefcase down at the desk without acknowledging the rumors. His presence alone is enough to silence the louder ones. He lifts a stick of chalk and scrawls a greeting on the board.
Welcome to Class 3-2.
Then he turns, voice calm, expression unreadable.
"Good morning. I'm Nakano Daiki. I'll be your homeroom teacher this year. Let's make it a good one."
A beat. Then, with practiced flatness: "Don't die. Don't blow anything up. And if you awaken any supernatural powers… keep them out of my classroom."
Laughter. Nervous, confused, maybe even a little thrilled.
He moves on with attendance.
Most of them think he's joking.
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By lunch, the school is alive with energy. Students fill the courtyard and rooftop, swapping stories from break, testing club recruitment gimmicks, and already forming their little social ecosystems. Daiki sidesteps a group trying to rope him into the baseball team's welcome video and escapes to the school's rooftop, where peace still exists—at least for now.
He sits on a bench beneath the railing's shadow, opens the bento Miku prepared for him. Tamagoyaki, neatly arranged. Rice balls with seaweed smiles. Octopus-shaped sausages. A small note tucked beside the chopsticks: "Eat properly. Or else. – Miku."
A small smile tugs at his lips.
Then, just as quickly, it fades.
"You always scolded me for eating alone," he says softly, his voice nearly lost to the wind. "Said it made me look lonely."
The wind picks up slightly. It brushes his bangs into his eyes and carries the sound of distant laughter from the school courtyard.
He eats in silence.
The clouds pass slowly overhead. The breeze carried the sound of laughter from the courtyard below, but Daiki stayed still, watching the sky with unreadable eyes.
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Evening comes with familiar warmth.
The Nakano household buzzes like a festival. Yotsuba is running laps in the living room again, dumbbells in hand, shouting encouragement to nobody. Itsuki and Ichika argue over the nutritional value of vitamin C, while Nino flips through a magazine, visibly annoyed by both.
Miku is in the kitchen, humming something quietly as she stirs a pot of curry.
Daiki enters, loosening his tie and stepping out of his shoes with practiced efficiency.
"You look like someone who just survived a war," Ichika calls from the couch.
"Close enough," Daiki replies.
"Any stalkers yet?" Nino teases. "That transfer student from last year set a pretty high bar."
"Too early to tell."
They laugh, and the mood lifts. Even Daiki chuckles—just once.
They sit together for dinner. Chicken curry, warm miso soup, fresh salad. The table is filled with clinking utensils and overlapping conversations. Daiki listens more than he speaks. That's always been his way. But tonight, the noise is comforting. It fills a quiet space inside him he tries not to think about.
Afterward, he helps Miku with dishes. They don't speak much. She hands him a plate; he dries it. Her humming continues—soft, steady.
Then it hits him.
The tune.
He pauses mid-wipe, eyes narrowing. That song—it's familiar. Not just because it's something he's heard before. But because he knows who used to play it.
Masami.
It was her favorite warm-up. The melody she hummed when she wasn't thinking. The one she played on that cracked guitar she loved more than sleep.
His hands still. The dish in his hand nearly slips. Miku glances at him but says nothing. She just hums a little quieter and hands him another plate.
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The house sleeps by midnight.
Except Daiki.
He walks slowly down the hallway, socks quiet on the floorboards. The lights are dim. He passes each bedroom—closed doors, soft breaths, the occasional snore.
He stops before the last door.
It's locked. Always has been.
His hand reaches for the handle but doesn't touch it.
Behind that door is a time capsule. A room frozen five years in the past. Masami Iwasawa's safe place, when she had nowhere else to go. Her guitar still stands in the corner. Her jacket hangs on the chair. Her notebook rests beneath the window, closed forever on the last line she ever wrote.
She started living with his family when they became friends.
She never left. She is still living inside that room.
Daiki lowers his hand.
He turns away. His footsteps are quiet as he walks back to his room. The door remains closed.
In his room, Daiki sits on the edge of his bed, phone in hand.
A text from Onodera: "Thinking of you. Let me know if you want to talk."
Another from Chitoge: "Raku's up to his neck in family meetings, but he asked me to check on you. You, okay?"
One more from Kaoru: "You coming this year? I'll light incense either way."
Daiki doesn't reply.
Instead, he scrolls to an old voice memo saved five years ago. It's scratchy. Low quality.
But her voice is clear.
"Okay… ready?"
[guitar strum]
"For you who have stumbled, I give you this song and the courage…"
He doesn't play the whole clip. He just sits with the silence afterward.
His grip tightens around the phone. He sets it on the nightstand, exhales, and lies down fully clothed, eyes open toward the ceiling.
It's spring again.
But it still feels like winter in his heart.
Two weeks.
Then it would be five years.
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Author's Note;
I'm here again with the second volume of this fanfiction. Did you know? This is the only arc I've actually drafted from start to finish. In most of my fanfiction, I just winged it and did that Moon Knight meme.
Some of you might have noticed that this writing style is very choppy. I'm sorry about that. After I've written the chapter, I usually give it to AI to fix the grammar and sentence structure. Please tell me if you dislike this style—I'll try to go back to Grammarly.
I want to continue writing like before, but the responsibilities of adulthood are starting to eat me alive.
Now, Zimrence out! I'll see you in the next chapter.