Six months earlier, on a mild autumn day

  “Kagayaki... Kagayaki! Are you listening?” said a man in his fifties, his voice cutting through the quiet murmur of the classroom.

  One of the boys near the back of the room lifted his head from his folded arms.

  He was of average build, unremarkable at first glance except for the hair that fell to the middle of his neck in uneven brown strands, half-concealing his right eye. The left one, warm and dark, blinked against the overhead lights with the dull confusion of someone dragged out of sleep against his will.

  “Asleep in my class again?! Normally, I wouldn’t care what you do, but your attitude is clearly showing in your grades!” the teacher scolded, tapping the edge of his desk with a rolled-up worksheet.

  The boy offered no apology. He straightened in his chair, fixed the man with a sharp, unwavering glare, and said nothing. A few of the students nearby exchanged glances. They had seen that look before.

  The teacher, either too experienced or too tired to take the bait, let out a short breath and moved on. He hit the boy with a different question instead.

  “By the way, do you know anything about Aizawa? Her mother said she caught a cold, but I haven’t heard a word from her in two weeks. Actually, she’s been sick a lot lately...”

  The room shifted. Several heads turned toward the boy at the back. The question had been casual, almost an afterthought, but it landed with a weight the teacher clearly hadn’t intended.

  “Why are you asking me?” the boy snapped, that same piercing glare still fixed in place.

  “I thought you two were close,” the man replied.

  The entire class instantly erupted into murmurs. Whispers bounced from desk to desk, some curious, some teasing, none of them kind enough to leave alone.

  The boy clicked his tongue.

  “I don’t know anything,” he muttered. Then he pushed his chair back, rose to his feet, and walked out of the room without another word.

  The teacher stared after him, the worksheet still hanging loosely in his hand.

  “Did I hit a nerve? Maybe it’s a sensitive topic?”

  The boy spent the rest of the class on the school rooftop, the same place he always retreated to when the walls below felt too close. A low metal railing ran along the perimeter, with a few wooden benches used by students occasionally during breaks. At that hour, though, they were empty. From up there, the campus spread out beneath him in neat rows of walkways and trimmed hedges, orderly and predictable in a way that the rest of his life refused to be.

  His grades, consistently excellent until the past few weeks, afforded him an unofficial privilege: teachers would mostly overlook his absences from classes. But that day it wasn’t boredom or defiance that had driven him up the stairs. It was something worse.

  He sat with his back against the wall, knees pulled up, arms resting on top of them. The autumn breeze carried the faint scent of dry leaves and distant cooking smoke, indifferent to the boy alone beneath the open sky.

  “Only five days left... Damn it. Why did it have to be this way?”

  He pressed his forehead into his knees and squeezed his eyes shut. The tears were there, waiting, pushing at the edges. But he refused to let them through.

  My name is Kagayaki Ryūta. I’m sixteen years old and live on my own in a small town south of Yokohama called Miura. My parents died a long time ago. I never really knew them. The house I’ve lived in since I was little is in a rough neighborhood where trusting people is a luxury you can’t afford. Because of that, I have no friends. There’s only one person who truly understands me, someone I can open up to, but soon she will...

  He didn’t realize how long he had been sitting there. Time had a way of slipping when his mind turned inward, folding over the same thoughts again and again until the edges blurred together.

  He might have even fallen asleep at some point. He wasn’t sure. The only thing that pulled him back was a dull ache in his neck and the angle of the sunlight, which had shifted noticeably since he last opened his eyes.

  His gaze drifted to his watch.

  “It’s that late already? I should get going,” he muttered, pushing himself to his feet. His legs were stiff from sitting too long in the same position, and he took a moment to steady himself before heading for the door.

  As he reached the ground floor, the bell rang to end the last period for most students. Within seconds, the hallways filled with voices and footsteps, a current of red blazers and white shirts flowing toward the exits. It would have been easy to blend in and slip out unnoticed, just another face in the crowd, unless someone was specifically looking for him.

  And someone was.

  “Ryūta, there you are!”

  “Hm?” He turned and saw two boys and three girls walking toward him, all wearing the same uniform he did.

  Honshitsu Preparatory High School, which Ryūta attended, was one of the most prestigious educational institutions in the world. Admission wasn’t determined by wealth or family name, but by aptitude and discipline. Only the most diligent students were accepted regardless of background. Because of that strict rule, everyone who walked those halls already possessed strong morals and above-average knowledge, giving Japan considerable influence over the governance of Tachiaoi.

  The uniform reflected that prestige. A red blazer, white shirt, and dark brown shoes formed the foundation. Boys wore red ties with dark gray trousers, while girls had scarves and skirts in the same tones, along with thigh-high black stockings. The blazer and tie, or their female equivalents, were trimmed with gold and adorned with the school emblem: an owl with outstretched wings, holding a polished ruby in its beak, set inside a pentagon standing on one of its points.

  Due to the warm weather, the dress code was more relaxed. Blazers hung over arms or stayed behind in lockers, and most of the girls had forgone their stockings entirely.

  “We were thinking of grabbing some dango. Want to join us?” one of the boys asked, a hopeful smile on his face.

  Ryūta studied them for a brief moment. They weren’t strangers, not exactly, but they weren’t close either. Classmates who shared hallways, exam schedules and little else beyond that. On another day, in another frame of mind, he might have even considered it. But not then.

  “Sorry, I’m not in the mood right now,” he replied, and turned on his heel without waiting for a response.

  He felt their eyes on his back as he walked away, yet no one called after him.

  “Leave him. He’s always been the loner type,” one of the girls said in a neutral tone, though the boy who had made the offer lingered a beat longer.

  The look on his face made it clear that he would have welcomed Ryūta’s company.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  But eventually, the hallway swallowed the boy’s retreating figure, and the group moved on.

  “The doctor said I have about two weeks left. But please, don’t tell anyone. I don’t want them to worry. I just... want to go quietly.”

  “Hime...” he whispered her name as the memory surfaced, tears welling in his eyes before he could stop them.

  The next three days passed in the same hollow rhythm. Ryūta came to school each morning, sat through a class or two, then climbed the stairs to the rooftop and stayed there until the campus emptied. He didn’t speak to anyone. He barely ate. Only his mind circled endlessly around the same question: what could he do? He turned it over from every angle, searching for an answer. But there was nothing.

  No one could do anything. And that helplessness, more than the grief itself, was what kept him awake at night, staring at the ceiling of his empty apartment until exhaustion finally pulled him under.

  On the fourth morning, he left home. Not for school, but in the opposite direction.

  The train carried him through districts he rarely visited, past residential blocks that grew steadily larger and more refined with each stop. When he stepped onto the platform at last, the air felt quieter. Not literally. It was Yokohama, after all, crowded and loud. Yet it felt heavier. He walked down a narrow street lined with stone walls and mature trees, their branches arching overhead to form a canopy that filtered the pale autumn light into scattered patterns on the pavement.

  The street opened into a wide square. At its center stood a grand family estate, its traditional architecture meticulously maintained. Every tile and timber spoke of generations of care. Ryūta had been there many times before, enough to know every crack in the walkway and seasonal change in the garden. But standing in front of that gate on that morning felt nothing at all familiar.

  He knew well that the next time he left the residence, his life would change completely.

  He steeled himself, drew a slow breath, and pressed the bell.

  A gray-haired butler in his seventies opened the door. The old man’s posture was impeccable as always when the boy visited, his suit pressed, his shoes polished, but the shadows under his eyes betrayed the toll of recent weeks. He tried to force a smile when he saw who stood at the gate, and after a moment, the effort gave way to something more genuine.

  “Oh, Young Master!” he said, his voice carrying a warmth that no amount of exhaustion could fully suppress.

  “Good afternoon. How is she?” Ryūta asked in a low voice, though he already knew the answer.

  The butler lowered his gaze and shook his head. Neither of them spoke after that. The old man simply stepped aside and led the boy into the house, through familiar corridors, past rooms where the curtains had been drawn, and up the stairs to a bedroom at the far end.

  Ryūta entered quietly. The room was warm, perhaps too warm, with a faint medicinal scent lingering beneath the smell of fresh linens. Sunlight filtered through half-closed blinds, casting thin stripes of gold across the floor.

  He approached the bed and knelt beside it on the rug, the way he always did when he visited.

  A girl lay beneath the covers. Her long, slightly wavy brown hair fanned across the pillow, her brown eyes, though open, distant and barely able to focus. Her skin was pale, almost translucent in the muted light, each breath she drew coming with a faint tremor that she tried, but failed, to conceal.

  Her name was Aizawa Himeko, and to Ryūta, she meant more than anything, even the world itself.

  “Hey. How are you?” he whispered, a soft smile finding its way through his broken heart to his face.

  “Hey. I’m okay,” Himeko replied with a smile of her own. Her breathing told a different story, shallow and labored, each exhale carrying a slight rasp that hadn’t been there the last time he visited.

  “Do you need anything? Want me to bring you something?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  They sat in silence for a while, the kind that only exists between two people who have long since stopped needing words. He watched her, memorizing the way the light caught the edges of her hair, the small movements of her fingers against the blanket, the way her eyes softened every time they met his. She watched him in return, reading the worry he thought he was hiding, reading him the way she always had.

  A few minutes later, Himeko spoke.

  “Tell me, Ryūta... how long have we known each other?”

  “Only two years,” he answered.

  “Right... only two years...” She paused, her gaze drifting toward the window, then back to him. “Feels like I’ve known you forever.”

  “Sometimes I feel the same. You’ve always been honest and straightforward with me. You saw things in me no one else did. You always knew what I was thinking, even when I tried to hide it.”

  “You’re an open book to me. But you could open up to others too, if you wanted to.”

  “If that’s true, it’s only because of you. You saved me.”

  “No,” Himeko shook her head slowly and carefully, as if the smallest movement cost her something. “*You* saved me. Without you, my life would have been meaningless,” she said, reaching out her hand.

  Ryūta took it in both of his. Her fingers were cold and lighter than he remembered. He held them gently, like he had never done before.

  Then, the tears he had been fighting for days finally broke free, rolling down his cheeks in quiet, steady streams.

  “Why did it have to be like this?”

  “Wow... I’ve never seen you cry. Maybe I didn’t know you as well as I thought,” Himeko joked, reaching up with her free hand to wipe the tears from his face. Her touch was featherlight, barely there, yet it carried more tenderness than any gesture he had ever received.

  “I’m not crying! Something just got in my eye!”

  “What a coincidence... Mine too,” she smiled, tears tracing her own cheeks as well.

  Neither of them pretended anymore. They let them fall, without shame or excuse, sharing the weight of what they both knew was coming.

  After another few minutes, the girl spoke again, her voice quieter than before.

  “Ryūta, do you remember how you used to read to me?”

  “How could I forget? You would always fall asleep before the end,” he teased, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

  “I can’t help it, your voice is so soothing,” she said. Then, after a breath that took longer than it should have, she asked, “Could you read to me again? Just one last time?”

  The words cut deep. The boy paused, steadying himself before he answered.

  “Of course.”

  Himeko took a small book from her nightstand, no bigger than her palm. Its cover was worn at the corners, the spine cracked from years of handling. She opened it to the final page with practiced ease, pointed to the last paragraph, and handed it to Ryūta.

  He let out a slow breath and began to read.

  “When the girl opened her eyes, she found herself lying in a meadow, surrounded by flowers and butterflies as far as she could see. The sun shone brightly overhead, its warmth blending with the soft breeze that caressed her face. She didn’t know where she was, only that it was a good place, one where she was safe. Slowly, her sorrow faded, and her soul found peace.”

  “That’s beautiful...” Himeko whispered, barely audible.

  Ryūta looked up from the book.

  Her eyes were open, turned toward the ceiling, but they no longer saw the room. The light in them had softened into something distant and unreachable, already halfway to somewhere he couldn’t follow. Her breathing had grown so shallow that he could barely hear it over the silence.

  She was slipping away. He knew it. He had known it long before he walked through the door, and every second since had been borrowed time, a kindness the world had no obligation to give.

  He placed the book back on the nightstand. Then, gently, he took her hand again and continued the story from memory, his voice steady even as everything inside him broke apart.

  “The girl didn’t know where to go. Three butterflies showed her the way, leading her to a small stream. In its gentle, crystal-clear waters stood a boy, her long-lost beloved who welcomed her with open arms and a sincere smile. As their eyes met, their fingers intertwined, and their lips touched, they reclaimed the happiness once stolen from them. Guided by the butterflies, they crossed to the far bank and continued their journey toward the distant horizon, never to part again.”

  Himeko’s delicate fingers relaxed and slipped from his hands as she closed her tearful eyes one last time, a faint smile still resting on her lips.

  “Hime? You fell asleep again, didn’t you...?”

  His voice cracked on the last word. He lowered his head onto his arm, crumpling the blanket in his fist, and wept. Not the quiet, restrained tears from before, but deep, raw, bitter sobs that shook his entire frame.

  Outside, the sky turned gray. The first drops of rain struck the windowpane softly, then with growing insistence, until the sound filled the room and drowned out everything else.

  Somewhere downstairs, the butler set down the tray he had been carrying, then raised his head and let his eyes fall shut. In the next room, a woman’s muffled cry broke through the walls, her trembling hand pressed over her mouth to hold back the rest.

  Everyone in the house knew their beloved was gone.

  My name is Kagayaki Ryūta. I’m sixteen years old, and I live alone in a small town. My parents died a long time ago. I never really knew them. The house I’ve lived in since I was little is in a rough neighborhood where trusting people is a luxury you can’t afford. Because of that, I have no friends. There was only one person who truly understood me, but today, I lost her too. I find comfort in knowing my love for her wasn’t one-sided. Though no one will ever be able to replace her, I can try to find new meaning in my life. In her memory. To move on, and live happily. It won’t be easy, but I know that’s what she would have wanted. That was what I was thinking on that rainy morning as I stepped out of that house, unaware of the horrors and wonders the future still had in store for us.