Morning of the 3rd Day
I told my mom about the bullying and was so tired that I went straight to bed.
When I woke up in my room, it was around 9:00 p.m. I must’ve been more exhausted than I thought.
At this time, my mother and brother were probably still cleaning up after work.
Outside my room, I found an onigiri, a bowl of miso soup with seaweed and tofu, and a bottle of water.
I think my mother left them for me. [I know you must be tired, so sleep well. Eat when you wake up.] the note read.
The onigiri was cold, but the fillings were my two favorites: tuna mayo and salmon. Even cold rice felt like a treat when paired with warm miso soup.
I sighed with relief and felt deeply thankful for the people around me. Takayanagi-sensei and Mitsui-sensei. The principal and vice principal. Ichijo-san, Satoshi, Mom, and my brother.
I had thought I’d lost everything after being betrayed, but I realized there were still many people who cared for me. I couldn’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if I hadn’t met Ichijo-san on the rooftop that day. I probably would’ve made everyone sad.
I truly owed Ichijo-san so much for everything she had done for me.
While reflecting on this, I glanced at my phone and remembered that we had exchanged numbers at the café earlier.
[Senpai, I’d like to go to school with you tomorrow, please!!!]
The message had arrived about half an hour ago. It was funny how something that once felt like a big step—walking to school together—had become so normal.
I also received a message from Satoshi. Though casual as usual, I could sense his concern for me.
Reflecting further, I noticed that the SNS platforms where I used to receive harassing messages during summer vacation and the start of school had been quiet lately. Even though I had muted notifications, there were hardly any pop-ups.
Perhaps Ichijo-san’s strategy was working. Still, I couldn’t shake my apprehension about returning to that class…
I had written a manuscript for the literature club’s magazine, but they’d thrown it away.
Although the data was still saved on my phone, knowing my hard work had been discarded left me feeling bitter.
Despite the setback, I tried to comfort myself by focusing on what I had gained.
Looking back, I realized my love for Miyuki, my childhood friend and former lover, had vanished. What remained wasn’t affection but disappointment and anger.
This realization came hand in hand with a new emotion growing within me.
Whenever I thought about her, I felt the need to slowly close my eyes.
Miyuki’s PoV
I spoil my Senpai. When we’re together, and he says, “I love you,”
That’s enough to soothe my fragile heart.
In those moments, I’m happy. I can forget my guilt, possessiveness, and jealousy toward Eiji.
“Senpai.”
I whispered sweetly, playfully, as I hugged him.
“What’s wrong?”
“Why don’t you skip school with me tomorrow? I want to spend as much time with you as possible.”
“That sounds lovely.”
He responded, embracing me tightly in return.
Eiji’s PoV
I woke up earlier than usual, getting ready while thinking about the events of yesterday. I didn’t want to keep Ichijo-san waiting.
“Oh, you’re early. Is Ai-chan coming today too?”
My mom teased me, and my brother chuckled quietly, keeping things light so I wouldn’t feel uneasy.
“Yes, she is.”
“I see. Then I’ll invite her for oyster fries today.”
“Sure, I’ll let her know.”
It seemed like my mom really liked Ichijo-san—and why wouldn’t she? She had been my biggest supporter during my weakest moments.
When I stepped outside, there she was, waiting for me with her usual angelic smile.
“Good morning, Senpai!”
I could almost see her fluffy white wings.
“Good morning, Ichijo-san.”
We began walking at a leisurely pace.
“Oh, Senpai! I actually have something for you.”
She said while rummaging through her school bag.
“Hmm? It’s not my birthday today.”
I blurted out, genuinely surprised.
“It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s a thank-you gift for accompanying me to the café yesterday. Here you go.”
She handed me a thick envelope. It felt like it might contain a notebook.
“Can I open it?”
“Of course. It’s not money, but I think you’ll like it.”
She smiled shyly as she spoke.
I opened the envelope to find a manuscript paper with a novel written on it.
The characters were familiar. The content was something I remembered well.
I looked at the title.
It was the original copy of the novel I had written—the one the literature club manager had supposedly thrown away.
“How did you get this?”
“I worked hard to save it.”
She said with a mischievous smile.