7:42 AM.
The morning didn’t start bad. Which—considering everything—was weird enough to notice.
I wasn’t spiraling. Wasn’t counting cracks in the ceiling or rereading the same message twice.
If anything, I felt… okay.
I kept thinking about Hina. The way she crouched beside her busted bike, half-apologizing and half-laughing. How her voice dipped slightly when she talked about her brothers. Her mother’s bakery. Like she didn’t want to admit how tired she really was.
And the way she looked at me outside the ramen shop. Not shocked. Not weirded out. Just… curious. Like I wasn’t a complete ghost.
It lingered.
That warmth. That flicker of maybe I’m not completely invisible after all.
I walked a little slower on purpose.
Until I saw it.
A scrap of paper pinned to a streetlight. Half-soaked.
In memory of S.F.
The ink had run down the side. No photo. No last name. Just those two letters.
My chest tightened.
It could’ve been anyone. But it wasn’t.
I picked up my pace.
8:01 AM.
The name stuck with me more than it should have.
Sera Fujimoto.
I hadn’t known it yesterday. Hadn’t even tried to. Just another girl in class. Window seat. Untied shoes. Gone.
Today, the silence in her chair felt louder.
I kept telling myself she was just absent. That she took the day off. That maybe I was wrong about everything.
That maybe it was just another echo of anxiety pretending to be something else.
10:48 AM.
I took the long way to the vending machines—looped past the music room, through the rear corridor.
I don’t know why.
Maybe I wanted proof. Maybe I didn’t.
That’s when I saw her.
A girl I only half-recognized. Same school uniform, skirt a little too neat, black tights. Red eyes.
Not the crying kind— The kind you get when you've already run out of tears.
She stood quietly by a locker in the corner—Sera’s locker. Pulled a small white envelope from her sleeve and placed it down, gently.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
No note. No words. Just the envelope. Marked in fine strokes of handwriting.
I didn’t move. I barely breathed.
She turned. Didn’t look at me. Didn’t look at anyone.
She walked off without a word, her steps quiet, precise. Like she’d done this before.
Two boys nearby were whispering. Not to me. Just between themselves.
“That’s her cousin, I think. They’re holding the funeral today.”
I didn’t hear anything else.
Didn’t want to.
I turned away. Walked. Fast. Without thinking.
I ended up back near our classroom before I even realized it.
The chair was still empty. Same old sunlight pouring through the blinds. Someone laughed three seats away.
I stared at that chair.
Tried to remember if she ever smiled. If she ever looked tired. Or rushed. Or happy. Or—
Nothing came.
Just a name. A locker. And a white envelope that weighed more than it should’ve.
11:03 AM.
The back stairwell was empty.
I sat on the bottom step and gripped the edge of the railing until my knuckles cracked.
It wasn’t loud. Wasn’t a scream or a breakdown. Just stillness. And static.
I kept seeing the envelope. The neat handwriting. The red eyes.
She was real. And now she wasn’t.
And I had seen it. Or something like it. Thought it. Felt it.
And I did nothing.
Not even ask her name.
11:24 AM.
The stairwell door creaked open.
I didn’t look up. Didn’t need to.
Mr. Riku sat down a few steps above me.
He didn’t say anything right away. Just waited.
“You left class again.”
I nodded, barely.
“Not trying to make this a habit, are we?”
I didn’t answer.
“You knew her?”
I swallowed hard.
“No,” I said. “Not really.”
“But you knew?” he asked again. Carefully.
“No. I didn’t know anything. I just… thought.”
“Thought what?”
“That something bad would happen. That she’d crash. That she’d die. And she did.”
The last word cracked open something in my chest.
I looked down at my hands.
They were shaking.
Mr. Riku was quiet.
“I’ve always been like this,” I muttered. “Always afraid. Always spiraling. Every damn day. Ever since…”
I stopped.
“Since your father?”
I flinched. Didn’t ask how he knew.
“My mom doesn’t talk about him anymore. She’s got work, double shifts, headaches, bills. And me. Just me.”“I’m all she’s got now. So I can’t tell her that sometimes I wake up convinced something’s going to fall from the sky and kill us both.”“I can’t tell her that when I walk across the street, I see five ways to die before I reach the curb.”“I can’t tell anyone.”
My voice cracked again.
“So I bottle it. Push it down. Smile when I’m supposed to. Pretend I’m okay.”“But I’m not okay. I’m tired. I’m angry. I’m so goddamn angry.”
“At what?”
I snapped my head up.
“At EVERYTHING!”“At the world!” “At fate!”“At MYSELF!”“At—”
I stood up too fast.
My breath hitched. My vision swam.
“At HIM!”“He said he’d be back for dinner. He promised. And I knew something was wrong—I FELT it. And I didn’t say anything. I was just a kid, but I KNEW!”
My hands weren’t just shaking now—they were buzzing. A hot pressure building behind my teeth, behind my ribs.
I remembered the last time I saw him. The way his coat smelled like stale smoke. The sound of the door clicking shut.
I should’ve said something. I should’ve said don’t go.
Something in the air shifted.
The world dimmed.
And then—
It started.
A glow, faint at first. Like heat rising off my skin.
Thin red lines began to shimmer around me—webbing into the air, faint and trembling.
Threads.
Dozens of them.
Hundreds.
Tied to desks. Lockers. Doors. Windows. People.
The whole school around me, veined in crimson strands of fate.
And they were tightening.
Each one straining like a pulled wire. Vibrating. Humming.
“Kaito,” Mr. Riku said, louder now. “Look at me. You have to calm down.”
I couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. The threads vibrated with pressure. Like they were waiting for a signal. One wrong breath and—
“Don’t pull them—Kaito, FOCUS! You’re going to—”
My legs gave out. My chest locked.
The threads… didn’t snap.
But they sang—a high, metallic whine, just as the world tipped sideways.
Blinding light.
And then—
The last thing I remember was falling.
And Mr. Riku, shouting my name.
