Chapter 2: A Step Too Small
The alarm buzzed against the nightstand like an angry insect.
Mikoto Kurokawa groaned, slapping it into silence before dragging himself upright.
His black hair stuck up in every direction, a stubborn mess that refused to behave no matter how much he combed it.
"Great, it's doing its best to look like a bird's nest," he muttered, poking at his hair and trying to flatten the rebellious strands.
The morning air in his apartment was chilly — the kind that made you second-guess leaving the warmth of the bed.
Rubbing his eyes, Mikoto shuffled toward the tiny bathroom.
The water heater groaned to life as he stepped into the shower, the first blast of cold making him hiss before it finally turned warm.
He grumbled under his breath, "Cold shower, huh? Guess my morning's already started with a bang."
Steam filled the small bathroom, fogging the cracked mirror as he washed the remnants of sleep from his skin.
He stood there for a moment longer than necessary, letting the water beat against his back.
Today, he thought.
Today, maybe I'll actually say something real to her.
It wasn't a big plan.
It wasn't a grand confession.
Just… something more than the usual nods and polite greetings.
After throwing on his freshly ironed white shirt, black pants, and dark necktie, Mikoto padded into the kitchen, towel still draped around his shoulders.
He cracked two eggs into a pan, letting them sizzle while he toasted a slice of bread.
The kitchen was cramped — barely enough space to move — but it had a certain charm.
He plated his breakfast, ate quickly while checking his phone for bus timings, then grabbed his bag and dashed out the door, barely managing to lock it behind him.
The bus stop was only a five-minute walk, but the heavy spring air made even that short distance feel sluggish.
When the bus finally pulled up — old, slightly rusty around the edges — Mikoto climbed aboard, tapping his IC card against the reader with a beep.
He grabbed a seat by the window, staring out as the familiar streets of Suginami drifted by.
The city was waking up — office workers clutching coffee cups, little kids with giant backpacks chasing each other, elderly couples walking tiny, yapping dogs.
Normal.
Ordinary.
Mikoto leaned his head against the glass, feeling the slight vibration of the engine through his skull.
Somewhere deep inside, he hoped today wouldn't just be another ordinary day.
When the bus jerked to a stop near Meiwa Academy, Mikoto hopped off and started up the familiar road toward the front gates.
The moment he passed under the giant cherry blossom trees lining the entrance, he heard the familiar shouts.
"Yo, Mikoto!"
"Morning, genius!"
Two of his classmates — Yuuji and Kenji — jogged over, their ties loosened and shirts already half-untucked despite it barely being eight-thirty.
Yuuji threw an arm around Mikoto's shoulders dramatically.
"Save us again this semester, man," he whined. "Math is already killing me."
Kenji laughed, ruffling Mikoto's hair before he could duck away. "Or at least let us copy your homework sometimes."
"You guys are hopeless," Mikoto said, smirking despite himself.
"But you're our hopeless hero," Yuuji declared, pretending to wipe a fake tear from his eye.
A group of girls nearby giggled as they passed, one of them shyly waving at Mikoto.
He nodded back politely, used to the attention by now.
Kenji elbowed him in the ribs. "Popular as ever. Teach us your ways, sensei."
Mikoto just rolled his eyes. "Be born taller," he deadpanned.
The three of them cracked up, laughter echoing under the blooming cherry trees as they made their way through the courtyard.
"Man, it must be rough," Kenji continued, wiping tears from his eyes. "Everyone's got their eyes on you, and you don't even know what to do with all the love."
Yuuji snickered. "At least we won't be lonely when you hit the big time. Maybe you can give us a shoutout at the awards ceremony or something."
Mikoto shook his head, but secretly, it warmed his heart.
The school grounds buzzed with energy — the clatter of lockers being slammed shut, the screech of sneakers against pavement, the murmur of students comparing class schedules.
The faint smell of cafeteria bread drifted through the air, mixing with the sharper scent of freshly cut grass.
Climbing the wide stairs up to the third floor, Mikoto and his friends joked about who would fail which subject first, trading wild bets that involved way too much spicy ramen as punishment.
"Okay, I'll take bets on who's going to skip the most homework this semester," Yuuji said, waggling his eyebrows.
Mikoto rolled his eyes. "Please, don't get us all in trouble."
As they neared the classroom, Mikoto noticed the familiar sight of his homeroom — 3-A — the same room he'd sat in last year, the same creaky old desks, the same oversized clock ticking too loudly above the door.
He stepped inside —
and immediately noticed something.
The seat two rows ahead, by the window.
Empty.
Riko Ayanami wasn't there yet.
His chest tightened a little, though he wasn't sure why.
She was probably just running late.
It wasn't a big deal.
Still…
The classroom felt different without her presence — like a painting missing its brightest color.
Inside the classroom, everything was the same — the faint smell of chalk, the creak of old wooden desks, the murmur of students catching up before the bell.
He slid into his seat by the window, resting his chin in his hand as he gazed outside.
The sky was a heavy gray now, and the wind rattled the glass softly.
"Morning, Mikoto!" Satoshi plopped down beside him with a grin. "Big day?"
Mikoto raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"You said yesterday you'd finally confess, remember?" Satoshi teased, nudging him in the ribs.
Mikoto sighed. "I never said that."
"Close enough," Satoshi said, chuckling.
He wasn't wrong, though.
Yuuji and Kenji immediately turned to him, wolfish grins spreading across their faces.
"Finally?" Yuuji said, clasping his hands dramatically. "Our boy becomes a man!"
Mikoto groaned, slamming his bag down onto his desk. "You guys are worse than the drama club."
"Drama club?" Kenji raised an eyebrow. "That's a compliment! You have no idea how intense those people can get."
Mikoto buried his face in his hands. "Can we please just have one normal day?"
Even a few other classmates chuckled, tossing amused glances their way.
Mikoto covered his face with his hand, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow him whole.
Mikoto's gaze drifted toward the front of the classroom, where Riko had just walked in, her black hair damp from the misty rain, sticking slightly to the sides of her face. She laughed at something Nanami said, her smile lighting up the room in a way that made Mikoto's heart ache.
She looked… perfect.
Even soaked by the weather, even rumpled from the rush to school — she was perfect.
Mikoto swallowed hard and tore his gaze away before she could catch him staring.
Not like yesterday.
Yesterday had been a fluke — a casual smile given to a hundred people every day.
Nothing special.
Still, it had been enough to keep him awake half the night.
Before he could suffer more, the homeroom teacher walked in, calling the class to order with a sharp clap.
Students scrambled to their seats, the buzz of conversation dying down reluctantly.
Mikoto sat back, letting out a slow breath as he pulled out his notebook.
Outside the window, the rain had started again, gentle and steady, blurring the world into watercolor shapes.
The day stretched ahead of him, full of small promises and tiny, trembling hopes.
Maybe today wouldn't be extraordinary.
But maybe it didn't have to be.
Maybe — just maybe — a small step was enough.
For now.
The day dragged on in the usual slow rhythm of early spring lectures: biology, Japanese literature, world history.
Mikoto drifted through it all half-present, half somewhere else — somewhere warmer, braver, closer to her.
By lunchtime, the rain had started in earnest. Students crowded into the cafeteria, umbrellas dripping near the entrances, wet shoes squeaking against the linoleum floors.
Mikoto found himself standing near the vending machines, pretending to decide between green tea and canned coffee.
"Hey, Mikoto!"
A familiar voice — Nanami.
He turned, startled.
Nanami Fujiwara grinned at him, her pink hair slightly frizzy from the rain, cheeks flushed with cold.
"Can you help me with the math homework later?" she asked, shifting her lunch tray awkwardly. "Riko too. We're both kind of dying in that class."
He blinked.
Help them?
Both of them?
He opened his mouth to answer, but Nanami was already grabbing Riko by the wrist and dragging her over.
"See? Told you he'd say yes!" Nanami beamed.
Riko stood there, brushing wet strands of hair behind her ear, her black eyes bright, a soft pink rising in her cheeks.
"Sorry, Mikoto-kun," she said shyly. "If you're too busy, it's okay."
Busy?
He would've canceled his own funeral if it meant spending an hour with her.
"N-No, it's fine," Mikoto said, cursing how his voice cracked slightly.
Nanami giggled, sensing the awkwardness but choosing to be merciful.
"We'll meet after school in the library, okay?"
And just like that, they were gone — swept back into the crowd of noisy students.
Mikoto stood there for a moment, feeling the vending machine hum against his hand, his heart beating a little too fast.
Was this fate?
No — don't get ahead of yourself.
It was just homework.
But it was a start.
A step — small, trembling, maybe stupid — but a step forward.
The afternoon slipped by painfully slow.
Mikoto couldn't focus in class at all — not on ancient poetry, not on physics formulas, not even when Satoshi started flicking paper balls at the back of his head.
All he could think about was the library after school.
Was this it?
Was this the moment everything started to change?
When the final bell rang, Mikoto's body moved on its own, gathering his things with practiced ease, heart hammering against his ribs.
He didn't know it yet —
but today would be the last truly ordinary day of his life.
Tomorrow, everything would begin to fall apart.
And he would never be the same again.
But for now, he hurried toward the library, toward the only place he wanted to be —
toward her.