The first time you saw Nazuna Asahina, she was standing near the vending machines, expression unreadable, posture relaxed, a quiet wall between her and everyone else. You didn’t know who she was then—just that the glint of a silver charm on the ground nearby had caught your eye. You bent to pick it up, turned it over in your hand. It looked personal. Worn at the edges. A small protective amulet—something a person doesn’t drop unless by accident.

You should have walked away.

Instead, you scanned the area, spotted her, and approached. She turned the moment you stepped close.

"Is this yours?" you asked.

Her eyes narrowed instantly. The usual calmness in her features vanished, replaced by sharp suspicion. "You’ve got some nerve."

You blinked. "What?"

"You dug through my bag?"

"I found it—"

"Sure you did."

The misunderstanding lasted maybe thirty seconds. An awkward pause, a flurry of explanations, and finally her sigh, long and measured, like she was holding in a lecture. She took the amulet, looked it over, and finally gave you a proper glance.

"You’re new."

You nodded.

She studied you for a beat longer, then turned without another word.

You thought that was the end of it.

It wasn’t.

The next morning, she stopped beside your desk without being asked and handed you a spare map of the school. Told you where the best seat in the cafeteria was. Warned you which teachers had zero tolerance for half-effort. From that day on, she became your senpai — not by official assignment, but by quiet decision. She showed you around. Integrated you. Smoothed over your early stumbles before they could become scars. She didn’t offer encouragement; she offered structure. And in her presence, things somehow felt manageable.

You never said anything about the way you watched her more than you should have. How your heart pulled a little tighter every time she spoke your name in that flat, collected tone of hers. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that she saw you, even if only as a responsibility.

Now, you’re in your second year. The school no longer feels foreign. You know how things work. But Nazuna… she’s on her way out. Her third year is winding down, and this quiet routine—these rare exchanges and shared moments—will soon be behind you.

Which is why today matters.

You arrive at the spot she told you to meet, outside the campus gate. She’s already there, leaning casually against the fence with her arms crossed, flanked by Kiryuin, Nagumo and a whole crowd of 3rd years. Her uniform is immaculate as always, jacket crisp, hair tied in a simple low ponytail, expression unreadable.

Nagumo sees you first. “Look who’s early for once.”

You nod slightly. “Didn’t want to keep anyone waiting.”

Kiryuin gives you a glance, smirking slyly. “Try not to slow us down.”

Nazuna doesn’t say anything immediately. Just gives you that subtle up-down glance she always uses to take stock of someone. Then she straightens off the fence and starts walking, and the rest follow without needing to be told. You fall into step beside her without hesitation.

There’s no small talk at first, just the sounds of shoes on pavement and the quiet rhythm of a group that knows each other’s pace.

Eventually, Nazuna breaks the silence, speaking without turning. “Don’t look too serious. We’re just walking, not heading into battle.”

You glance at her. “Feels like the school’s been a battlefield lately.”

“Then maybe you’ve finally adapted,” she says, eyes forward.

You catch Kiryuin smirking out of the corner of your eye. Nagumo’s tapping something into his phone, but he’s listening. The others are all talking with eachother, keeping a eye on you. They always are.

The city opens around you, and for a while, you just walk. Side streets, familiar corners. Places you’ve passed before, but today they feel different. Like you’re walking through a photo someone’s slowly fading out of.

You’re not here to say goodbye. Not yet.

You’re just here. With her.

And that’s enough—for now.