The morning light barely filtered through the curtains. Rain tapped the windows in a soft, nervous rhythm. Suguru stood in the hallway, still shirtless, the cool air brushing over his skin. The plastic stick sat on the bathroom counter, face-up, plain as anything. Two pink lines. Final. Unmistakable.

He stared at it for a long time.

"...Huh."

His voice barely left his throat. He stepped forward, slow, like any sudden movement might shatter the moment. The test didn’t move. Didn’t lie.

He rubbed the back of his neck. His hand felt clammy. His mouth, dry.

"...So this is real."

No one answered. Not that he needed one.

He looked down at the floor, then back up—at the mirror, at himself. Hair messy. Eyes wide. Not afraid. Just—stuck.

"...Alright."

It wasn’t confidence. It wasn’t panic either. Just the simple act of accepting gravity.

He glanced once more at the test, then reached for his hoodie draped over the towel rack.

"...Guess I’m not going anywhere."