The morning breeze carried a slight chill as I walked through the school gates, my hands tucked into my pockets. The sun barely peeked through the scattered clouds, casting long shadows across the courtyard. Students moved around in their usual clusters—laughing, chatting, pretending they had their lives figured out.
I wasn't sure if I envied them or pitied them.
It had been a day since I had faced my past. A day since I had finally stopped running. And yet, nothing about the world had changed. The school still smelled like cheap disinfectant. The hallways were still noisy. Teachers still pretended to care.
The only thing different was me.
And Kane.
She was waiting for me near the shoe lockers, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. The moment she saw me, she pushed off and walked over, her violet eyes scanning my face.
"You look like shit," she muttered.
"Good morning to you too."
She huffed, pulling at my sleeve before I could say anything else. "Come on, Sayoko's waiting in class."
I let her drag me through the hallway, passing students who barely spared us a glance. My mind still replayed our conversation from last time—my confession, the way she didn't push for an answer.
It still lingered in the air between us. Unspoken, but not ignored.
By the time we reached the classroom, Sayoko was already sitting at her desk, twirling a pen between her fingers. The second she saw me, she raised an eyebrow.
"You actually showed up early," she mused.
"Don't get used to it."
She smirked but didn't press further. Kane slid into her seat beside me, and I took mine. The classroom was still half-empty, with only a few students trickling in.
Haru wasn't here yet.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling.
I knew he was going to start asking questions soon. He wasn't an idiot. He had noticed the way Sayoko and Kane looked at me differently now, the way something had shifted between us. He had always been perceptive, and I knew it was only a matter of time before he started digging.
And part of me wondered—when he found out the truth, would he still look at me the same way?
The bell rang, snapping me out of my thoughts.
Class began, but my mind was elsewhere.
Because no matter how much I tried to act normal, I couldn't shake the feeling that today wasn't going to be just another day.
Something was coming.
And I wasn't sure if I was ready for it.
The first period passed in a blur of monotone lectures and half-scribbled notes. My pen tapped against my notebook, the rhythmic sound filling the quiet space in my head where thoughts of last night kept creeping in.
Kane sat beside me, close enough that I could feel her presence but not close enough to touch. Every now and then, she'd glance at me, like she was waiting for me to say something. But I didn't.
Sayoko, two seats away, acted as if nothing had changed, but I knew she was watching. Observing.
The second period had barely started when Haru stumbled into the classroom, looking like he'd just rolled out of bed. His uniform was a little wrinkled, and he was rubbing his eyes as he dropped into his seat behind me with a sigh.
"Rough morning?" I muttered.
"You have no idea," he groaned, stretching. Then, he leaned forward, his voice quieter. "More importantly, how did it go?"
I paused.
Haru wasn't the type to pry without reason, but I could see the curiosity in his eyes—the way he was trying to piece together the gaps I had left.
I shrugged. "I'll tell you later."
His gaze lingered for a second too long, but he didn't push. Instead, he nodded, tapping his fingers against the desk like he was mentally filing it away for later.
The day dragged on, and by lunchtime, I had made my decision.
I couldn't run from this.
When the bell rang, I stood up and turned to them—Kane, Sayoko, Haru.
"Come eat lunch with me," I said.
That alone made Haru raise an eyebrow. Usually, I ate alone or just sat near them without really joining in. For me to be the one inviting them—it was new.
"Alright," Haru said, grabbing his lunch. "What's the occasion?"
Sayoko closed her book, studying me. "You're acting weird."
Kane didn't say anything, just waited.
I sighed. "I have something I want to talk about."
Something heavy.
Something they deserved to know.
We made our way to the rooftop in silence. The wind was colder than I expected, carrying the faint scent of rain.
We sat down, the four of us, forming a small circle. I hesitated, fingers tightening around my lunchbox.
Then, I looked up at them.
"I need you to listen," I said, my voice steady. "And after I'm done, I want you to decide for yourselves if you still want to be here."
Haru frowned. "What are you talking about?"
I exhaled slowly.
"My past," I said. "Everything I've done."
Sayoko's expression didn't change. Kane's grip on her chopsticks tightened slightly. Haru leaned forward, brows furrowing.
I took a breath.
And I started talking.
When I was eleven, I was a genius.
At least, that's what they called me.
I was the child prodigy, the golden boy, the one who could do anything if I just tried. Every test, every competition, every lesson—I excelled. Not because I wanted to, but because it was expected of me.
Because my parents had made it clear: I was their second chance.
The things they couldn't achieve, the dreams they had abandoned—I was the vessel meant to fulfill them.
And I did.
I played the piano flawlessly, even though I hated it. I solved math equations faster than my tutors. I memorized textbooks from cover to cover. I spoke the words they wanted to hear, moved the way they wanted me to move.
I did everything right.
And yet, I never felt like it was enough.
---
"Faster, Yuki." My father's voice was sharp, unwavering. "You hesitated on that last note."
I straightened my posture, fingers poised over the piano keys. I had played the piece a hundred times, but one mistake—just one—was unacceptable.
So I played again.
My mother sat nearby, nodding in approval. "Good. Now, after this, you'll go through tomorrow's lessons. Then we'll review your mock test results."
I nodded automatically. I had already scored 99%. But that wasn't the point.
There was always something more to do.
Something more to be.
---
I never had time to be a child.
While other kids played outside, I studied. While they laughed, I recited facts. I was always running toward the next goal, the next expectation, the next moment that would make my parents proud.
The only person who seemed to see it was Shinobu.
She had been the perfect daughter once—until I was born. Until our parents realized she wasn't the prodigy they had wanted.
She never said it, but I knew she resented me. At first, it was just frustration, little things—a cold stare, a snide remark. But over time, something shifted.
She started watching me more closely. Not with jealousy.
With concern.
One night, when I was hunched over my desk, barely keeping my eyes open as I memorized another page of formulas, she walked in.
"You don't have to do this, you know."
I didn't look up. "Do what?"
"This. All of it." Her voice was quiet, but firm. "You don't have to be them, Yuki."
I gripped my pencil tighter. "I want to do this."
"Liar."
Her words hit me harder than they should have.
She sat beside me, crossing her arms. "You think if you work hard enough, they'll finally be happy. That they'll look at you and see you, not just some… replacement for their failures."
I clenched my jaw. "They love me."
"I never said they didn't," she muttered. "But do they know you?"
I had no answer for that.
Because deep down, I knew the truth.
They loved the version of me they had created.
Not me.
---
Years passed like that.
Days blending into nights, lessons into expectations. The pressure never stopped.
Until one day, something inside me snapped.
It wasn't a grand realization. No dramatic moment of defiance. Just a quiet understanding—one that settled in my bones like ice.
My parents weren't suffering because of me.
They were suffering through me.
Because no matter how much I achieved, no matter how much I gave up, they were never satisfied. They never would be.
They would keep pushing.
Until I broke.
Or until I ended it.
---
The night it happened, it rained.
I remember the weight of the knife in my hands. The way my fingers shook—not with fear, but with certainty.
I had spent my entire life trying to give them what they wanted.
Now, I was giving them peace.
It was quick.
They didn't even scream.
And for the first time in my life, the house was silent.
I stood there, the blade dripping onto the floor, my breath coming in slow, steady beats.
them were staring at me, their expressions unreadable.
I swallowed and continued.
"I killed them."
Silence.
A heavy, suffocating silence.
I kept my voice steady. "I told myself it was to end their suffering. That they would never be free from their own expectations, so I had to be the one to stop it."
I clenched my fists, my nails pressing into my palms.
"But the truth is… I don't know if that was the real reason."
I met their gazes.
"I don't know if I did it for them. Or for myself."
Another silence.
Then, Kane finally spoke.
"...You're telling us this because you want us to decide, right?" Her voice was quiet. "Whether we still want to be around you?"
I nodded.
Haru exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Man… I don't even know what to say."
Sayoko didn't speak. She just watched me, her expression unreadable.
I waited.
For their judgment.
For their rejection.
For them to finally see me as the monster I always knew I was.
But instead, Kane reached resting her hand over mine.
"You're still here, Yuki."
I looked at her, confused.
"You told us because you trust us," she said. "That means something."
Haru huffed. "Yeah, I mean… I'm still processing, but it's not like you're that different from yesterday." He gave a small smirk. "Still the same brooding idiot."
Sayoko finally spoke, her voice calm. "What do you want, Yuki? Do you want us to leave?"
I hesitated.
Then, I shook my head.
"...No."
I didn't want to be alone anymore.
Kane squeezed my hand lightly before pulling away. "Then that's enough for me."
The weight in my chest loosened—just a little.
For the first time in a long time…
I wasn't alone.
The wind was gentle on the rooftop, carrying the distant sounds of students chattering below. The four of us sat in a quiet circle, the lunches I had invited them for mostly untouched.
I had told them everything.
My past.
The pressure. The suffocation. The blood.
For a long time, no one spoke.
I gripped the fabric of my uniform, feeling the weight of their silence. "You're really not going to ask anything else?"
Kane sat beside me, watching me carefully. "Do you want us to?"
I hesitated. Did I?
I had spent years avoiding my past, keeping it locked away. But now, sitting here with them still beside me, part of me wanted to let it all out—to tell them every painful detail, every moment that led to that night.
Haru sighed, leaning back against the metal railing. "Look, man. I won't lie. This is a lot to take in. But it's not like knowing this suddenly changes who you are to me."
Sayoko finally spoke, her voice as calm and unreadable as always. "It's not about the past, Yuki. It's about who you are now. And who you want to be."
I swallowed. Who I wanted to be?
I had spent so long running from my past that I never stopped to think about my future. I thought I had no right to one.
But maybe… maybe I did.
Kane crossed her arms, her expression serious. "If you do want us to ask, then fine. I have one question."
I braced myself.
"Do you regret it?"
The question hit harder than I expected.
I let out a breath. "I don't know."
It was the truth.
I regretted what I did. But did I regret ending it?
If I hadn't done it, I'd still be living under their control.
A puppet.
A tool.
Would that have been better?
I exhaled, shaking my head. "I just… I don't know."
Kane watched me for a moment, then nodded. "Alright." She leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees. "Then focus on now. And on us. You're not alone anymore, Yuki."
Something in my chest tightened.
Not alone.
I had spent years convincing myself that loneliness was my punishment. That I deserved it.
But now, with them here, still by my side after everything—
Maybe I had been wrong.
Haru stretched, breaking the tension. "Man, this got too serious for a lunch break. Let's just eat already."
Kane smirked. "You're just hungry."
"Of course I am!" He looked at me. "You invited us for lunch, dude. Let's actually eat."
I blinked. Then, despite everything—despite the heaviness in my chest, the scars of my past—I let out a small chuckle.
For the first time in a long time, I felt… lighter.
Maybe, just maybe—
I did have a future.
And I wasn't going to face it alone.