Chapter 20 — The Space Between Us

The uniform felt heavier than usual.

Shinichi tugged the collar into place, buttoning his shirt with slow, mechanical hands. His reflection in the mirror didn't look back — it simply existed, hollow-eyed and distant. The boy staring out wasn't someone he quite recognized anymore. His hair was uncombed, his expression still raw. He looked like someone who had lost a war no one else knew was happening.

He didn't eat.

Didn't check his bag.

Didn't say anything.

Instead, he walked down the narrow hallway to the quietest room in the house — the only room that still felt sacred.

The family shrine.

The scent of old incense lingered faintly in the air, like a memory that refused to fade. The photos stared back at him from their lacquered frames — his parents, his grandparents. All of them frozen in time, smiling in moments he could no longer reach.

He knelt.

The floor was cold beneath his knees, grounding him.

He didn't speak.

Didn't need to.

The words formed in his chest instead — heavy, wordless things. Not prayers, not questions.

Just grief. Still. Quiet. Present.

And something else.

Resignation.

He bowed, low and long. A goodbye that wasn't spoken, but felt all the same.

Then, almost like an afterthought, he whispered:

"I'm going to school now."

And he left.

The summer morning outside was cruel in its cheerfulness. Birds chirped. Children laughed in the distance. A breeze tugged at his sleeves. The world was loud and alive — as if it had no room for his sorrow.

Still, he walked.

One step. Then another.

Because there was nothing else to do.

A few blocks from the school, he heard her voice.

"Shinichi!"

Megumi's voice — bright, familiar, immediate. She jogged up beside him, her usual grin already forming.

But then her eyes caught his.

And she stopped.

Her expression softened. Concern bloomed across her features like a shadow passing over the sun.

"Hey…" she said, slowing to match his pace. "What happened?"

He kept walking. Eyes forward. Shoulders stiff.

"No—nothing," he said softly. "Don't worry about it."

Megumi frowned, her gaze searching his face. But something in his posture — the way he wouldn't meet her eyes, the slump in his shoulders — told her not to press. Not yet.

"…Okay," she said finally.

The rest of the walk was silent.

Not the comfortable silence they used to share — the kind born from years of easy friendship.

This was different.

This silence carried weight. Unease. Distance.

A subtle curtain had begun to fall between them again. Quiet. Slow. Invisible, but real.

And neither of them seemed able to stop it.

As they reached the school gates, the buzz of the morning crowd grew louder. Students milled about, straightening ties, adjusting skirts, nervously fixing their hair.

Inspection day.

At the front gates, the student council stood in a neat row — clipboards in hand, eyes sharp. Akane was at the center, as always, immaculate in her uniform and presence. Her long black hair was pulled back into a high ponytail today, and the crisp white armband on her sleeve practically gleamed in the sun.

When her eyes met Shinichi's — they narrowed almost imperceptibly.

Megumi gave a small groan beside him. "Ugh. Forgot it was inspection. You think they'll notice if I've got mismatched socks?"

Shinichi didn't answer.

Akane stepped forward.

"Megumi Nakamura," she said coolly, giving her a once-over. "Shirt untucked. Socks uneven. Hair not tied."

Megumi rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Let me guess — three demerits and a lifetime ban from heaven?"

"You'll get a warning," Akane replied smoothly, checking a box on her clipboard. "For now."

Then her gaze shifted.

"Shinichi Fujimoto."

The name lingered on her lips.

Her eyes lingered longer.

Her voice, as she spoke again, was even, but quieter. Controlled.

"…You look tired."

Megumi glanced between them but said nothing.

Shinichi met Akane's gaze for a split second.

Then looked away.

"I'm fine," he said flatly.

Akane didn't press.

She didn't need to.

Her eyes scanned his uniform — perfectly neat, just as expected. But her expression didn't change.

"Proceed," she said at last, stepping aside.

As the two of them walked past the checkpoint and into the school courtyard, Megumi cast one last look over her shoulder at Akane.

The student council president stood still, clipboard held firmly, her eyes already moving to the next pair of students. But her posture was just a little too rigid.

Megumi narrowed her eyes slightly.

"…She's watching you again."

Shinichi didn't answer.

And Megumi didn't know if that silence bothered her more…

Or scared her.