We didn't say a word that whole day.
I just shared my textbooks with her, and that was it.
When the final bell rang, I grabbed my bag without looking back and rushed to my part-time job.
My mother passed away years ago.
My father... well, he's still around, but calling him "family" feels wrong. He drinks, he gambles, and when he's home, the house feels heavier than when it's empty.
That's why I work after school.
Maybe that's also why my grades have been slipping—
In my first year, I used to be in the top five.
Then it became the top ten.
Now I barely cling to the top twenty.
My job is at a four-star restaurant, known for its beautiful white-brick exterior and warm, golden interior.
Honestly, I don't even belong somewhere that fancy.
I only got the job because of Arata—an old friend, and the only one I can call a friend anymore.
Arata is the owner's son, but he never acts stuck up about it.
If anything, he's the kind of guy who makes you feel like you're already doing your best, even when you're falling apart inside.
He's smart in ways that don't show up on report cards.
Kind in ways that most people wouldn't even bother to be.
Sometimes, I think Arata is the only reason I haven't disappeared altogether.
The restaurant is quiet, and most customers have left. Isamu is wiping down tables, tired but moving automatically. Arata leans against the counter, arms crossed, a sly grin on his face.
Arata (smirking):
"Oi, Isamu. Guess what?"
Isamu (without looking up):
"If it's another weird seasonal menu idea, just text me. I'm tired."
Arata (laughing):
"Not that. We're getting a new part-timer."
Isamu (still wiping the table):
"Huh. Good. Maybe I can finally work fewer shifts."
Arata (teasing):
"Don't get too comfy. You'll be in charge of training her."
Isamu (pauses, frowning slightly):
"Her?"
Arata (nodding, smug):
"Yeah. Some girl your age. Cute too. Pink hair."
[Isamu freezes. The cloth in his hand drops to the floor.]
Isamu (stiffly):
"...Pink hair?"
Arata (grinning wider):
"Yeah. Real standout. Short hair, small build, kinda fiery looking. You know her?"
Isamu (heart pounding):
"...Maybe."
Arata (laughs):
"Small world, huh? Guess you'll be working and studying with her now."
Isamu (half to himself, muttering):
"Yeah. Intense is one way to put it."
[Arata watches him carefully, curious now.]
Arata:
"What's up? You look like you just saw a ghost."
Isamu (sighs, rubbing his forehead):
"...She's in my class. And she already turned my life upside down once."
Arata (grinning mischievously):
"Perfect. Then you two should get along great."
[Isamu slumps into a chair, covering his face with his hands.]
Isamu (groaning):
"...I'm doomed."
Arata (chuckling):
"Relax. If she's as scary as you make her sound, maybe you'll finally learn how to stand up for yourself."
Isamu (muttering):
"...This is crazy."
[He lifts his head slightly, staring at the empty seat across from him like he's trying to talk to someone who isn't there.]
Isamu:
"I didn't come here to make friends. Or get involved. I just needed the money. I just needed a place to stand."
[He leans back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling.]
Isamu (quietly):
"Mom always said, if you work hard, things will get better.
But here I am, working till my bones ache...
and somehow... somehow it's still so damn complicated."
[He lets out a long, tired sigh. His voice drops even lower.]
Isamu:
"First it was school. Then it was her.
Now even here... even here, she's following me."
[He closes his eyes for a second, gathering his thoughts.]
Isamu (whispering):
"Akemi Ai...
What the hell are you thinking, coming to work here?
You... You're like a storm I can't escape."
[He taps the table lightly with his fingers, a restless habit.]
Isamu (half-smiling to himself):
"And Arata... you're hiding something.
I know you too well.
You're smiling too much. Talking too careful.
You think I'm stupid?"
[He lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head.]
Isamu:
"I don't care if she's here.
I don't care if you're hiding something.
As long as I can keep working.
As long as I can survive."
[He picks up his bag slowly, standing up to leave.]
Isamu (quietly, almost like a promise to himself):
"I won't get involved.
No matter what happens.
I can't afford to."
He walks toward the exit, his shadow stretching long behind him in the dim light — not knowing that no matter what he tells himself... some storms are impossible to run from.
The alarm buzzed angrily on the cracked screen of Isamu's cheap phone.
He groaned, dragging himself out of the thin futon laid out on the cold wooden floor.
The tiny apartment smelled faintly of detergent and instant coffee — the scent of survival.
He moved on autopilot: wash face, brush teeth, pull on the wrinkled school uniform.
Everything he wore, everything he carried, was a little faded, a little tired — like him.
Standing by the window, he looked out at the grey Osaka sky.
The morning traffic hummed softly, distant and uncaring.
Another day.
Another shift.
Another fight to stay invisible.
His bag felt heavier than usual. Maybe it was because inside it, under the textbooks and notes, his heart was still tied up in knots — from Ai's sudden appearance at work, from Arata's strange behavior, from the unspoken sense that something was already changing too fast for him to stop.
He pulled his hood up before stepping outside, as if it could shield him from the world.
Down the narrow stairway, across the cracked sidewalk, into the crowded station.
Faces blurred past him. Laughter and chatter like white noise.
He thought about Ai.
Pink hair flashing in the sunlight.
Eyes that could pierce through steel.
A voice that could sound sweet or cruel, depending on the moment.
What did she want?
Why was she everywhere he went?
He shook the thought off violently, focusing instead on counting the stops to school.
Just survive today.
That's all you have to do.
He told himself that over and over.
But deep down, he already knew —
Today wouldn't be anything close to "normal."