CHAPTER XXXIV
-The Distance Between Us-
As the door clicked shut behind her, the clock glowing 1:13 AM, Yuzuki’s sobs echoed in the stillness—raw and unguarded. Down the hall, Ayame leaned against the closed door, her own face tight with fear and frustration. Earlier, standing under the clinical glare of Yuzuki’s desk lamp, her words had spilled out in a torrent—unyielding, heavy with dread.
“Yuzuki, listen to me. That boy—Rin, or whatever he is—he’s not good for you. I don’t care how much you claim to understand him, or how special you think your connection is. It’s dangerous. These…supernatural things you talk about—they’re not for you, not for our family. They are nothing but trouble, and I won’t let you get pulled into whatever mess he’s in.”
Ayame’s face was stern, her eyes unnervingly cold.
“I know you think you can handle it, but you don’t see how reckless you’re being. You’re risking your future. You’re risking everything! People like us—we’re not supposed to be involved with things like him.”
She sat at the edge of Yuzuki’s bed, voice lowering to a trembling sternness, “You don’t understand, Yuzuki. I’m your mother. It’s my job to keep you safe. And if it means keeping you far away from…from Rin, or any of the others like him, I’ll do it—even if it breaks your heart. I cannot sit by and watch you throw your life away for someone who isn’t even…human.”
She squeezed Yuzuki’s hands tighter, her expression turning desperate.
“If this goes on, I’ll change your school, Yuzuki. I’ll take you away from all of this—these people, these things, even your friends if I have to. You’ll never see Rin again or even Kaito at this rate. I mean it. I know you’re hurting now, but in time, you’ll understand it’s for your own good. You’ll thank me for this one day, even if you hate me right now.”
Ayame’s voice had grown harsh, nearly pleading.
“I just want you to have a normal, safe life. I want you to grow up without all this…nonsense weighing you down. I want you to forget about him, Yuzuki. Promise me you’ll try.”
Those last words lingered like a bruise in the quiet aftermath, as Yuzuki’s sobs racked her small frame and Ayame, heart pounding, wondered if she had done the right thing—or if she had only carved a deeper ache between mother and daughter, all in the name of love and fear.
The door to Ayame’s bedroom slammed shut, rattling in its frame. She staggered inside, clutching the edge of her bed before collapsing onto it, her shoulders shaking with every ragged breath. In the hush of midnight, her sobs were unrestrained—deep, wounded, utterly solitary.
She pressed her palms to her eyes, voice muffled and bitter:
“Why—why did I have to be left dealing with all this? If he hadn’t made the choices he did… If he hadn’t turned his back on us… If he hadn’t gone, I wouldn’t be alone to carry all of this weight.”
Her voice broke, eyes wet with anger and exhaustion.
“All these years—trying to build a safe home, trying to keep her safe, trying to be both parents because of him. It’s always me explaining things, me protecting her, me picking up the pieces. Why can’t he be the one facing these decisions, just once?”
She buried her face in her pillow, tears soaking through the fabric.
“It’s just not fair. This fear, this loneliness—it’s only here because he walked away. And now she hates me for doing what I have to…for keeping her safe, for loving her in the only way I know how.”
Ayame curled tighter, her grief raw—and for a long time, all that filled the room were her broken apologies to the night, and the blame she couldn’t stop whispering toward the shadow of someone long gone.
Morning crept in with heavy skies and heavier thoughts. The sting of last night ached behind Yuzuki’s tired eyes as she trudged down the street toward school, her steps slow, head bowed. Each breath still carried the echo of her mother’s harsh words, making the world seem a little colder.
Without warning, someone barreled right into her, nearly knocking her off balance.
“YUZUKI-CHANN!” a familiar voice chirped, immediately latching onto Yuzuki’s arm.
Startled, Yuzuki glanced down to see a shock of vibrant blue hair brushing against her cheek—Ayaka had her arm wrapped around Yuzuki’s, hugging it close.
“Ayaka-san?” Yuzuki said, her tone flat, voice weak and distant.
Ayaka pouted, looking up with mock offense. “I’ve been calling your name since the end of the street and you didn’t even turn! HMPH!” she huffed.
“Ah… is that so?” Yuzuki managed, almost on autopilot.
Ayaka leaned in, peering into Yuzuki’s face. “Why do you look so depressed?” she teased gently. “Were your cookies a disaster? Or is it nervousness about seeing your supernatural, hmm?”
Yuzuki’s reply was barely a whisper: “None… at all…”
I can’t talk about last night, she thought. The gloom seemed to deepen around her.
“YUZUKI-CHAN!” Ayaka called out louder, poking Yuzuki’s cheek. “Don’t sulk! Look where you’re going, or you’ll get run over before you even make it to school!”
“Really?” Yuzuki replied dully.
“YES, really!” Ayaka insisted, refusing to let go and wrapping her arm tighter around Yuzuki’s. “Ah! Guess what—my grandma came over, and my parents told her all about me seeing supernaturals. They said I watch too much anime and dream up too much manga and then they go like my dreams are full of ‘premium manga’ and then blame anime for my imagination. How does that even make sense? No—how is that even the same thing?! You’d think not watching anime would fix my dreams? Huh? Seriously. Just HOW IS NOT WATCHING ANIME going to stop my dreams? But more importantly! Did Grandma laugh? Nope! She got all serious and legit made me this bracelet—look!” She waved her left arm, showing a braided black cotton thread adorned with glass beads, onyx, hematite, and bits of obsidian, a little feather and tiny bells dangling from it. “It’s supposed to protect me from spirits and ghosts.”
“Wow… nice,” Yuzuki replied, gaze unfocused, her heart still heavy.
“And! She made one for you too!” Ayaka grinned, producing a nearly identical thread, except the feathers were replaced with a silver moon charm. She held it out to Yuzuki with excitement.
“WHAAAAT?” Yuzuki finally reacted, surprise flickering in her eyes.
Without waiting, Ayaka released her hold, quickly tying the new bracelet onto Yuzuki’s left wrist. “There! Now it’s perfect! We match!” she beamed, linking their wrists together for a moment.
For the first time that morning, Yuzuki’s dullness lifted—if only for a heartbeat—as Ayaka’s infectious energy and unexpected kindness tried to stitch a semblance of comfort through the ache of the night before.
By 8:15 AM, Yuzuki and Ayaka reached the school gates, morning sun already glinting off the windows. As they climbed the stairs toward the 3rd Floor, Yuzuki automatically glanced at the usual landing—where the korobokkuru would typically be waiting, faces eager and round. Today, the stairwell was silent. No tiny voices, no wide-eyed greetings.
Oh... so they hate me too, now? she thought, a fresh wave of loneliness dulling her further. Well then, that’s great, I guess... Her mood sagged as she trudged through the halls.
Homeroom came and went. The bell signaling break time rang out, flooding the corridors with chatter and stomping feet—but still, not a single korobokkuru crossed Yuzuki’s path. Not in the halls, not peeking into her classroom, not anywhere.
As the classroom emptied, Yuzuki gathered her notebook and wandered up to the podium for math correction. The math teacher shuffled her belongings, the last stragglers—Kaito among them—already dashing out with friends. Himari, seated at her desk, was assembling her lunch: containers stacked neatly, chopsticks lined up with prefect precision.
The math teacher looked over as she packed. “Takasago-san, Mikazuki-san, please carry these notebooks to my table in the staffroom with me.” She handed off a stack for the girls to follow.
Himari, efficient and silent as always, stood immediately to help. Yuzuki followed, not feeling particularly chatty—especially after the infamous music room incident. Prefect 2, Kaito was nowhere to be seen to take her spot, so Yuzuki grudgingly played along.
They trailed behind their teacher, arms full, silence hanging between them. Neither girl felt any need to fill it. At the staffroom, they carefully stacked the notebooks atop the teacher’s desk. She looked up from her seat, “Come in the sixth period and collect them.”
“Yes, Sensei,” Himari replied, bowing. Yuzuki mimicked her.
On their way out, another teacher caught them at the door, hand gripping Himari’s arm. “Ah, dears, please go to the library on the second floor and get those documents from the librarian. Tell her Class 2-F’s homeroom teacher is asking for them.”
“Of course, Sensei,” Himari responded, breaking into brisk prefect mode. The two girls made their way downstairs.
As they descended to the second floor, Yuzuki observed how perfectly Himari slipped into the role—wondering how exhausting it must be to always follow orders, always lead. But at the second-floor landing, Himari’s friends were waiting. They swarmed her, voices chirping with lunchtime updates, questions, and gossip.
“Himari-san—did your team finish the committee planning?”
“Are you eating lunch with us today?”
“Did you see the art display—?”
The conversation grew and tangled, completely shutting Yuzuki out. For three awkward minutes, Yuzuki hovered beside them, waiting for a pause that never came. Finally, she cleared her throat. “Himari-san, should I go and collect them?”
Himari turned with a distracted smile, half-listening. “Huh? Oh! Yeah. Go ahead. I’ll come soon,” she said, already spinning back into the knot of friends.
Feeling invisible, Yuzuki made her way down the sunny hallway toward the library. She pressed her palm against the large, creaking door and pushed it open.
Right inside, blocking the path, stood Shingure—tall, unmistakable, and impossible to ignore.
The day, somehow, was only just beginning.
“Yuzuki!” Shingure’s voice rang out, cheerful and clear, but Yuzuki brushed past him as if he were no more than a winter breeze, shoulders squared and eyes fixed ahead.
He blinked, caught off guard. “Huh?”
Shingure didn’t let it go. “Yuzuki~” he sang, footsteps echoing through the quiet library as he followed, persistent with that trademark annoying playfulness.
Yuzuki cut straight for the librarian’s desk but Shingure was too quick, reaching out to gently but firmly catch her by the wrist. He stepped into the patch of morning light filtering through the tall windows, eyes glinting with his familiar, unreadable calm. When he spoke, his words flowed with practiced poetry, every syllable calculated:
“Yuzuki, why do you run from the rain?
Don’t you know the downpour only seeks the flowers that turn away the hardest?
Fate is a current, and I—the rain—am fated to fall wherever you choose to walk.
Let not the shadows of last night drown the melody that once belonged to us.
Your silence is a storm far crueler than any lightning I could summon…”
The words faded into a wistful hush. His grip, at first insistent, softened, offering her the choice to respond.
Instead, Yuzuki yanked her hand free and marched toward the Left Wing, her patience gone. Reaching the empty corridor, she spun on her heel, expression stormy. “OUR FRIENDSHIP ENDED THE MOMENT YOUR FAN TOUCHED RIN,” she snapped, voice loud and sharp, echoing down the hallway. The accusation split the distance between them—painfully clear, nothing poetic about it.
Shingure faltered just for a beat, repeating, “Fan touched Rin?” His voice lost its music, suddenly clipped, almost defensive.
But then he recovered his composure, a short dismissive laugh escaping his lips. He closed the gap, too close, confidence draping around him like a cloak. His eyes flicked over Yuzuki, landing on her neatly braided hair; his hand reached out with practiced ease, twirling a strand around his finger.
“Aww, so that’s what all this storm is about?” he asked, voice oozing mock sympathy. “Getting all bent out of shape for your little supernatural friend? Honestly, Yuzuki…” He let the smirk linger, fingers toying with her hair. “You really think that little drizzle stands a chance against my rain?”
Yuzuki jerked her head away, glaring. “Keep your hands—and your melodrama—to yourself. All you do is riddle and perform tragedy, but in the end you’re just pitiful. Maybe if you cared half as much for people as you do for poetry, you wouldn’t be so alone.”
She didn’t wait for his reaction. Without another word, Yuzuki strode away, braid swinging, every line of her body radiating anger as she marched to the librarian’s desk—leaving Shingure standing alone, swallowed by the hush and the motes of afternoon light.
Yuzuki strode up to the librarian’s desk and offered a courteous, if slightly weary, smile.
“Sensei, Class 2-F’s homeroom teacher is asking for some documents,” she announced.
The librarian glanced up, returning the smile with practiced warmth.
“Ah! Yes, I have them here—give me a second, I’ll go fetch everything,” she replied, rising from her chair. Yuzuki watched as the librarian vanished between the tightly-packed bookshelves, the rustle of papers and the occasional thump of a binder following her.
It seemed to take three full trips before the librarian was back at the counter, arms loaded with paperwork. She set the stacks on the desk, one atop the other, until there was a formidable pile teetering in front of Yuzuki.
“Oh, will you look at that,” the librarian chuckled, adjusting her glasses. “That’s quite a bit. How will you carry all this in one go?”
Yuzuki sized up the papers, then offered a practical solution.
“My friend, her name is Takasago Himari, she’s on her way here. I’ll take half, and if you see her, please ask her to bring the other half for me.”
The librarian nodded, already separating the stacks.
“Oh, okay—no problem. I’ll be sure to let your friend know. Thank you, dear.”
Yuzuki nodded once, gathering her share—mind already drifting ahead to the next task, but grateful for the brief, efficient exchange.
Yuzuki hurried out of the library, arms loaded with her stack of documents. As she made her way toward the staircase, she caught sight of Himari still lingering on the second floor, surrounded by her friends and laughing, clearly in no rush.
As soon as Himari noticed Yuzuki approaching, she gave her friends a quick wave, “Ah, I have to go now, sorry!” She broke away from the group and came jogging over, her prefect smile back on.
“Did you already get all the documents?” Himari asked, eyeing the papers in Yuzuki’s arms.
Yuzuki didn’t slow down, her expression neutral. “No. The other half is still in the library—go get them. I’m heading back.”
Without waiting for a reply, Yuzuki continued on her way, footsteps brisk as she disappeared above the staircase. Himari, flustered, spun on her heel and rushed toward the library doors, leaving her friends behind as the afternoon bustle carried on around them.
To be Continued....
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