Episode3

After the Bell

The moment class ended, desks scraped and students flooded the aisles. Akira’s legs almost forgot how to work; he half-vaulted from his seat, heart leaping ahead of his body.

He reached Tatsuya’s row just as the other boy rose, tall and deliberate. Sunlight hit the silver flecks in Tatsuya’s grey irises—metallic, beautiful, guarded.

“Tatsuya—” Akira blurted. Then froze. What next? I’m sorry I broke your heart at my funeral?

Kurobane regarded him with a mild frown. Up close, Akira noticed details he’d missed before: the fine line of concentration between Tatsuya’s brows, the faint shadow under his eyes—as if he never quite slept.

“Yes?” the taller boy said.

Akira’s rehearsed sentences tangled together. Tell him you believe him. Thank him. Warn him about Mio. The weight of ten stolen years pressed on his tongue.

“I… uh—Good morning,” he finished lamely.

Tatsuya’s lips twitched, not quite a smile, not quite mockery. “Good morning,” he echoed, voice softer than expected.

For one flickering instant Akira saw it: the same gentleness that had shattered when he’d cried over a corpse. His chest tightened.

Before he could find braver words, a trio of classmates swept between them, dragging Tatsuya’s attention away with questions about the upcoming basketball try-outs. Akira stepped back, swallowed the knot in his throat, and let the tide carry his second chance out of reach—for now.

---

Lunchtime Revelations

Akira spent break on the rooftop, wrestling memory against possibility. The distant city skyline looked identical to his first life, but everything beneath it felt re-written.

Mio will walk into that classroom this afternoon. And I’ll smile at her. And the countdown will begin.

No. Not this time.

He gripped the railing. A gust lifted his messy hair; he closed his eyes and pictured tomorrow’s headlines if he did nothing—Tragedy at Twenty-Seven: Orphaned Entrepreneur Dies on Eve of Wedding. The story etched in stone, waiting.

So change it.

A sudden clatter of the door startled him. Tatsuya emerged, bent soda can in hand, evidently seeking solitude of his own. His eyes widened a fraction at finding Akira there first.

“Sorry,” Tatsuya murmured, turning as if to leave.

“Wait.” Akira’s voice held more steel than he felt. “Stay. I… could use the company.”

That earned him a cautious glance. After a moment, Tatsuya stepped forward and leaned against the opposite railing, several feet away—close enough for silence to feel shared.

Wind tousled their hair. Gulls cried somewhere above the sports field. Neither spoke. Yet Akira’s racing thoughts slowed, soothed by the simple fact that Tatsuya remained.

This is the beginning, Akira told himself. Tiny, but real.

---

Afternoon Arrival

The classroom door slid open with theatrical timing. Mio Tachibana entered, sunshine in human form: honey-brown curls, delicate smile, eyes like polished amber. Gasps and whispered admiration rippled through 2-B.

Akira’s stomach flipped—not with love, but with a sharp, sour dread.

She introduced herself confidently. Somewhere behind him, a chair squeaked; Akira knew it was Tatsuya, sitting a little straighter, invisible hackles rising. The memory overlapped in his mind: Tatsuya warning him again and again that something felt off. He’d laughed it off every time.

Mio’s innocent, he’d insisted, right until her poison stopped his heart.

Akira forced a neutral expression as Mio bowed and took the empty seat diagonally in front of him—strategically placed to capture maximum adoration. She glanced back, eyes widening in delight when they met his.

“Hi! You’re… Itsuki-kun, right?”

In the first timeline, his pulse had sprinted. Now, it crawled like a wary animal. “Yeah,” he answered softly. “Welcome.”

Her smile could have melted glaciers. It chilled him to the bone.

Classes dragged. Akira’s thoughts orbited two suns: Protect Tatsuya. Expose Mio. When the final bell rang, he gathered his books and slipped them into his bag, only to find Tatsuya lingering beside his desk.

“I forgot,” the taller boy said, voice low, “Student council posted volunteer sign-ups for the festival. You usually help with decorations, right?”

Akira blinked. He noticed that? “I… yeah, I was thinking about it.”

“Come early tomorrow.” Tatsuya’s thumb brushed an imaginary fleck from his blazer sleeve—a subtle, almost shy gesture. “Hallway bulletin, second floor. I’ll save you a spot.”

He turned before Akira could respond, striding toward the exit. At the door he paused, glancing back just once. A question, a promise, something unsaid flickered in those cool grey eyes.

Akira’s heart lifted. He’s reaching out. Even before everything that will break us, he’s giving me another chance.

“Thank you, Tatsuya,” he called.

Tatsuya nodded—more like a bow of respect than mere acknowledgment—and left.

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