The rooftop of Sabi High was quiet. Windless. Still. The kind of stillness that made fluorescent lights feel loud, even from three floors down.

Nataka was already there—leaning over the safety rail, her hair shifting slightly in the stale breeze. She didn’t notice the footsteps behind her. They were too quiet. Too soft. Almost like they weren’t there at all.

Imika Yuhjima stood a few feet away, her red stockings catching the last of the afternoon light like veins across fading concrete. Her bangs were flat, precise. Her eyes—those red, swirling pools surrounded by pitch-black irises—blinked once, slowly. “..........”

She didn’t speak at first. She rarely did. She just stood there, watching Nataka from behind, calculating some invisible variable in her head. Her fingers twitched, coated in that ever-chipping red nail polish. Then, finally—words. “Nataka,” she said, voice flat, quiet, like static under water. “I’ve been holding this in for a while.” A pause. Not dramatic. Just empty. “I like you. Romantically.”

There was no blushing. No trembling. No nervous shifting of feet. Just Imika, staring at her with that same impassive expression—like she was reporting the weather. Like she was saying something completely ordinary. But in her stillness, in her eerie calm, there was a raw honesty. She meant it. Every word.