I opened my eyes to the gray ceiling above me. It was morning again.
Sunlight bled through the edges of my curtains—warm but distant. I reached for my phone, not because I had notifications, but because it was part of the ritual.
6:32 AM.
I stared at the time for a few seconds, hoping it would somehow give me motivation. It didn't.
Dragging myself out of bed, I moved like clockwork. Fold blanket. Check weather app. Head to the bathroom. Brush teeth. Avoid the mirror too long. Back to my room. Change into my uniform. Eat breakfast—quietly, if possible.
The house was already moving. I heard my father talking to my mom downstairs, something about work. Rika-neesan's door was still shut, as usual.
I didn't bother to say anything. I rarely did.
The clatter of dishes and the hum of the TV became the background noise of another day I didn't want to face. But I still stepped out the door, bag in hand.
Because that's just what you do.
The air outside was crisp with the scent of fallen leaves. Autumn in Saitama always had that quiet melancholy that suited me too well. Streets were lined with rows of bicycles, vending machines humming quietly, and students in the same uniform as me.
I passed two girls giggling while fixing their skirts near a bus stop. A group of guys was joking about yesterday's baseball game.
I gave a faint nod when someone from class waved at me. "Good morning," I murmured. My voice wasn't weak, just… restrained.
At school, the same old shoes in the same old lockers. The same hallway smell—floor wax and chalk dust. A few classmates greeted me out of politeness. I returned their nods with a smile that never reached my eyes.
"Yo, you're early again."
I turned. It was Haruki.
Haruki Amasawa—my friend since 5th grade. He was always the brighter one between us. The kind of guy who could make friends easily but chose to stick with me anyway. He had this light to him, even when things weren't perfect.
"Of course I'm early," I replied, slipping into my indoor shoes. "My house doesn't exactly give me a reason to stay longer."
Haruki smirked a little. "Still, I respect the dedication. Or is it just because you hate crowds?"
"Both," I said dryly.
He chuckled. "Classic Makoto."
We headed to class together. The hallway was already filling with noise—chatter, footsteps, laughter echoing off the walls. But walking beside Haruki made it easier to tune out.
Toukashi High School, Class 2-B. That was our homeroom.
The classroom buzzed with the usual energy. Near the windows, Fujimoto-san and Nakahara-kun were already arguing about who cheated during yesterday's card game. Closer to the door, Mori-san was fixing her bangs while showing something on her phone to Hayasaka-kun, who only nodded without looking away from his book.
"Hey, Tatsunami-kun," Mori-san said suddenly, noticing me. "You're always early. You a morning person or what?"
I shook my head slightly. "Not really."
"He just likes avoiding people," Haruki cut in, laughing.
Mori-san grinned. "Makes sense. You do give off quiet main character vibes."
I didn't reply to that.
Reina Mori. She was one of those girls people naturally noticed—pretty, popular, and one of the top students in the class. The kind of girl guys asked out all the time.
And yet, I never really understood why.
Maybe it was the way she smiled so easily, or how she always had something clever to say. But still, it confused me.
Not that I was interested. I didn't think much about stuff like that—romance, dating, all that drama. It felt distant. Unnecessary.
Like a language I was never taught.
Haruki and I took our seats. Mine was third from the back, by the wall. Haruki sat next to me, near the aisle. His desk was already a little messy—pencil case half-open, a gum wrapper tucked in the corner. Mine was bare, just like always.
Soon enough, our homeroom teacher stepped in.
"All right everyone, take your seats," said Mr. Hayashi, our homeroom and Modern Japanese teacher. He was in his late 30s, with a tired voice and a tie that never quite matched his shirt.
"We're starting today with some practice reading, so open your textbooks to page 42. Fujimoto-san, you'll start."
Groans filled the room, but we all complied.
The class rolled on. Haruki passed me a note during the lesson—a doodle of me as an anime character with gloomy eyes and a speech bubble saying Why am I here?
I stifled a laugh.
After lunch, classes went by in a blur. Numbers, grammar rules, historical trivia. My notes were neat, but half the time, I wasn't really there.
By the time Ms. Shimizu dismissed us after Home Economics, my brain was fried.
"Wait up," Haruki called, catching up to me as we exited the room.
He reached into his bag and pulled something out—a manga volume.
I blinked. The cover showed a high school boy standing in a field under a cloudy sky—melancholic, a bit hopeful. The kind of story I'd usually find myself lost in.
"What's this?" I asked, taking it cautiously.
Haruki shrugged. "Picked it up at the station bookstore. Figured you might like it."
I flipped through a few pages. The art was detailed, the expressions subtle. It looked… good.
"I didn't know you read manga," I muttered.
"I was curious," he said, smiling. "You always talk about how it helps you escape, so I thought I'd try it. Plus, I read the first few pages and… I don't know. It felt kinda real."
That caught me off guard.
Haruki always felt more grounded than me. It was strange imagining him finding comfort in fiction too.
"…Thanks," I said quietly, tucking the book into my bag.
He didn't reply. Just grinned and looked ahead as we walked down the stairs.
But something felt different.
That small gesture—it meant more than he knew.
By the time I left school, the sun had already begun to set. The walk home was quiet, paved with scattered leaves and the low hum of cicadas clinging to summer's last breath. I took the longer route, avoiding the main road.
When I finally reached our house, I slipped off my shoes and mumbled, "I'm home," knowing no one would answer.
Dinner wasn't ready. Not that I was hungry.
I went straight to my room, dropped my bag by the door, and sat on my bed.
The manga Haruki gave me peeked out of my bag, its cover catching the last light of the day. I pulled it out, stared at it for a moment.
"Well…" I muttered to myself, cracking it open. "Let's give this manga a try."
The room grew still. Only the faint rustle of pages could be heard.
And for a while, just a while, the world didn't feel so heavy.