Chapter 1: Just Another Ordinary Day
Spring afternoons in Tokyo always carried a kind of lazy magic.
The kind that made everything slow down — like the world itself was caught between dreams and reality.
The breeze outside Meiwa Academy was soft, carrying the faint scent of blooming cherry blossoms through the open windows.
The classroom, bathed in late sunlight, buzzed with a sleepy kind of energy: pages turning, the scratch of pencils, the occasional muffled whisper when the teacher's back was turned.
Dust floated lazily in the light, and the chalkboard, already half-erased, stood as a half-hearted reminder that class was still in session.
The uniforms were neat and clean — white shirts buttoned to the collar, black pants crisp, and dark ties hanging from tired necks. It was early spring in Tokyo's Suginami ward, and the first week of classes at Meiwa Academy had already settled into its usual rhythm.
Mikoto Kurokawa sat near the window, his tall frame slouched slightly, black hair tousled in an effortlessly cool way. His dark eyes were half-lidded, giving him a detached air, but every so often they flicked toward the girl sitting two rows ahead — Riko Ayanami.
Her long black hair cascaded down her back, shining under the sun, and she was laughing quietly with her best friend, Nanami Fujieda — a girl with medium-length pink hair and a playful smile.
I leaned back in my chair, one leg stretched casually under the desk, tapping the end of my pen against my notebook.
The lesson blurred into background noise.
I wasn't bored because I didn't understand — if anything, the material was too easy.
Mikoto Kurokawa.
Nineteen.
Third-year student.
Top of the class.
Smart enough to get by without trying.
Handsome enough to be noticed without asking for it.
Tall enough that my friends always made me walk at the back during group photos.
Everyone liked Mikoto. He wasn't just smart — he was brilliant, always at the top of the class — but he carried it with an easy charm that made people admire him without hating him. Some girls had even confessed to him in the past. He had turned them down, politely.
There was only one person he ever looked at like that.
And she had no idea.
People said I was cool — calm, reliable, the guy you asked for help before exams or for advice when you didn't know what to do.
I didn't hate it.
But it wasn't really me.
Because the truth was, I was just a coward with a good memory and a good poker face.
Especially when it came to her.
Riko Takamine.
The final bell rang, slicing the afternoon in two. Chairs scraped back, conversations burst out, and students started shoving notebooks into bags with the eager energy of people free for the day.
students stood, some eager, some dragging their feet. Mikoto gathered his things slowly, not because he was lazy — but because he liked lingering, just a little longer, near her.
The hallway buzzed with noise, but somehow my eyes found her instantly.
Riko Takamine — walking ahead, her long black hair swaying like a river of ink with every step.
It always amazed me how effortless she looked, even in the plain school uniform.
Beside her, Nanami Fujiwara trotted along, her medium-length pink hair bouncing with a lightness that suited her bright, easygoing smile.
They were total opposites in some ways — Riko with her quiet grace, Nanami with her lively energy — but together, they felt perfectly balanced.
I shoved my hands in my pockets, pretending not to stare.
People loved Riko.
She had that kind of brightness that drew everyone in without even trying.
The kind of laugh that made you turn your head, even from across the room.
And me?
I loved her for all the little things most people missed.
The way her brows furrowed when she focused too hard.
The way she worried about everyone else more than herself.
The way her smile could knock the air out of my lungs, even when it wasn't meant for me.
Always by her side was Nanami Fujiwara — her best friend, her shadow.
If Riko was the sun, then Nanami was the soft clouds that followed her everywhere.
They were inseparable, closer than sisters.
Watching them sometimes hurt more than I'd admit.
I wasn't part of that world.
I was just an extra — background noise in the story of their lives.
"Yo, Mikoto!"
A hand clapped his shoulder. It was Satoshi, one of his rare close friends.
"Another day, another hundred points, eh? You're gonna make us look bad, man."
Mikoto gave a small smirk. "I'm not trying to."
"Sure, sure. Say hi to your future wife too," Satoshi teased, nodding toward Riko.
Mikoto's ears burned slightly.
He didn't deny it. Everyone knew Mikoto liked Riko — but nobody thought he had a chance. Not because he wasn't good enough.
Because Riko…
Riko was somehow always just out of reach, like sunlight through water.
I moved slower, savoring the last few moments of the scene burned into my mind.
Riko laughed — a soft, effortless sound — and turned to say something to Nanami.
As they passed my desk, Riko's gaze flickered toward me.
A second.
Maybe less.
But she smiled.
Not a special smile, not a secret one.
Just a casual kindness she gave to everyone.
Still, it was enough to set my heart stumbling in my chest.
I nodded back, keeping my face carefully blank.
Playing the part of the "cool guy" like always.
They disappeared into the crowd, their laughter trailing behind them.
I packed up my things and slung my bag over my shoulder, stepping into the river of students flowing toward the exits.
Outside, the streets of Suginami buzzed with life.
The smell of grilled yakitori from a corner vendor mixed with the sweetness of sakura petals raining down onto the sidewalks.
As Mikoto walked down the main street toward his apartment, he passed by Lawson, the familiar convenience store near the station. His stomach grumbled — he hadn't eaten lunch.
He pushed open the door, the little bell chiming above his head, and grabbed a rice ball and a canned coffee. As he lined up to pay, he noticed a pack of strawberry Pocky at the counter — Riko's favorite.
Without thinking too much, he grabbed one and placed it with his things.
"Why am I even buying this…" he muttered under his breath as he left the store.
He didn't have anyone to give it to. But somehow, it felt wrong not to.
The streets of Suginami were alive with the low buzz of life — the rumble of trains, the chatter of students, the soft, sighing wind that carried the scent of cherry blossoms and hot asphalt.
It was the kind of afternoon that felt like it would last forever.
I passed a convenience store, nodded absently to the old lady sweeping her doorstep, and crossed the street just as the traffic light started blinking red.
The rumble of a distant train echoed through the air, and somewhere nearby, a kid laughed, chasing after a lost balloon.
Normal.
Ordinary.
Day.
My apartment was small, two rooms squeezed together on the second floor of an old building and a balcony that barely fit a single chair.
But it was mine. It wasn't much, but it was enough. His parents lived far away in Osaka — his father a businessman, always traveling, his mother a corporate manager who barely had time to call.
He had grown used to being alone.
I kicked off my shoes at the door.
The living room was a comfortable mess — textbooks stacked haphazardly on the coffee table, a half-finished cup of instant ramen leaning precariously near the edge, my laptop blinking with some forgotten tab still open.
And there, on the walls, were my secrets.
Three posters.
All of Riko.
One from the cultural festival — her laughing with a paper fan tucked behind her ear.
One from the track meet — mid-run, hair flying, eyes blazing.
And one from the winter concert — holding a violin she could barely play but looking so proud it made my chest ache.
He tossed his bag onto the bed and collapsed into his chair, swiveling to face his desk.
He picked up the strawberry Pocky and turned it over in his hands.
Memories drifted in —
Riko smiling at him that day they met, when he transferred into the school two years ago. How she had welcomed him with the brightest smile, even though he was the awkward new kid.
She had probably forgotten that day by now.
But Mikoto hadn't.
The room was quiet, the soft hum of the city leaking in through the window.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes wandering to the posters above his desk.
"If only I could stay by your side forever…" he murmured, almost too softly to hear.
The Pocky box slipped from his hand onto the desk with a soft thud.
I flopped onto my bed, staring up at the cracked ceiling.
Tomorrow.
Maybe tomorrow, I'd finally talk to her for real.
Say something more than just a nod, or a polite "good morning."
Maybe tomorrow, I'd be braver.
Maybe.
The city hummed outside — trains rattling, car horns in the distance, the faint thrum of life going on without me.
I closed my eyes and let the loneliness sink into my bones.
Sleep crept up on him slowly, and before he knew it, Mikoto drifted off —
surrounded by the soft glow of Tokyo's neon lights, and the distant memory of her smile.
⸻
[End of Chapter 1]