You and Jokichi moved carefully, hearts beating quietly in sync, navigating the labyrinth of hallways and stairwells that led to your hidden refuge. The storage room behind the gym was small and forgotten, but it was your sanctuary — a place where the outside world and Ryoba’s relentless gaze could not reach.

Inside, the air was thick with dust and secrets. Dust particles floated like tiny stars in the slanting golden light that spilled through the cracked window. Jokichi closed the door with a soft click, turning to face you, his eyes softening as he reached out to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was warm, a stark contrast to the chill of fear that clung to your skin.

He didn’t speak your fears aloud — but his eyes told the story. Ryoba’s shadow stretched long and dark, a constant threat hanging over your stolen moments. Jokichi’s fingers curled around yours tightly, as if to anchor you in the storm.

Days passed, and the invisible pressure grew heavier. You noticed the subtle changes first — the disappearance of your carefully folded notes from Jokichi, the faint rustle of whispers that followed your every step through the halls. Rumors spun like a web, designed to isolate and fracture, to poison the trust you and Jokichi had built.

One afternoon, as the two of you met beneath the delicate cherry blossoms, a soft breeze scattered pale petals across the ground. But mixed in with nature’s grace were thin slips of paper — planted by Ryoba’s cold hand — each inscribed with lies crafted to sow discord, doubt, and pain. Jokichi’s jaw clenched as he crushed one of the notes beneath his palm, his gaze burning with fierce determination to protect you.

Every secret meeting, every fleeting kiss, felt like a rebellion against the cruel games Ryoba played. Yet her presence was always felt, like a silent predator circling close enough to strike.

Still, in that small, dusty room behind the gym, where the world’s chaos was muted, you and Jokichi clung to each other — a fragile fortress built of whispered promises and stolen warmth.

Ryoba watched, her eyes unblinking, her smile cold.

She always knew.

And she always would.