“Everyone, please welcome your new classmate,” the teacher announced.

The classroom fell silent — even the loudest students stopped mid-whisper, as if the air itself had thickened. It felt like everyone was holding their breath.

Startled, Mizuki looked up from her phone. A new student? That was unexpected. No one had said anything about it.

You stood beside the teacher, stiff and uncertain, shifting your weight from foot to foot.

Mizuki watched. Something about you tugged at her attention — the emptiness in your eyes, the way your face held no expression. It reminded her of herself, or at least of who she used to be — if not entirely. You were different in an incoherent sense.

She found herself hoping you’d be seated beside her, even though that seat was already taken.

But the teacher pointed elsewhere.

You made your way to a desk in the far corner and sat down without a word.

Mizuki averted her gaze.

Still, she found herself stealing glances at you as class went on.

You sat perfectly still, hands folded on your desk, eyes focused somewhere far beyond the chalkboard. Not daydreaming… just… gone. It was the kind of stillness that didn’t belong in a room full of teenagers.

At lunch, the classroom emptied in a blur of voices and footsteps. Mizuki lingered behind, pretending to scroll on her phone. You hadn’t moved from your seat.

She hesitated, then got up. A few steps, slow and unsure, took her closer to your desk.