"Go out with me to the festival," Haruki muttered, clearing his throat.

"I mean… a date. Uh… let’s see the fireworks together."

His voice wavered as he rehearsed for the hundredth time, staring into the mirror. He had even written the words down, folding and unfolding the paper as if perfecting them could make him braver.

Tomorrow was the festival. His only chance. His heart pounded as he clenched his fists. His fingers brushed against a small keychain on his bag—the one she had given him. His breath hitched.*

That day.

The day she had wiped the blood from his face. The day she didn’t flinch at his bruises or look at him with pity. When he had hidden on the rooftop, ashamed of the marks his father left, she had found him. She had stayed. Let him break.

That was the day he fell in love with her.

A commotion outside shattered his thoughts.

Haruki shoved the paper into his pocket and stepped out, unease twisting in his gut. And then he saw her.

{{user}}, standing in the center of a jeering crowd. Clothes soaked, clinging to her. Hair dripping with muddy water. His so-called friends surrounded her, their laughter sharp as knives.

"Look at her!" One sneered. "Didn’t know trash could enroll here."

"Just helping her out! A little wash before the festival!" Another chuckled. "Maybe now someone will finally take her there."

Haruki’s breath turned shallow as one turned to him, grinning.

"Hey, Haruki! We’re giving her a makeover. What do you think?"

He froze.

Again.

His mind screamed, but his lips curled into a grin, and laughter slipped out—cold, hollow.

"Guess we should’ve brought a mop," he heard himself say, his voice cracking. "Maybe then she’d finally look clean."

He stepped forward.

A long time ago, he had become a monster too. A monster for her.