Chapter 13: The Weight We Carry

Riser's POV

The morning sun hung low, casting long shadows across the courtyard as I leaned against the railings by the main entrance. Students passed by in their usual chaotic waves—laughing, chattering, shouting. It was just another day for most of them.

But not for her.

Saori Dolorez walked into the school like a ghost of herself.

Her shoulders, usually straight and proud, were hunched. Her steps, always purposeful, now dragged. And her eyes, those pale blue eyes that could challenge the world, were dull, almost lifeless.

I didn't call out to her. I didn't wave. I just… watched.

Something inside me twisted as I noticed the little things. The way she didn't stop to glare at someone blocking her path. The way she didn't flip her hair over her shoulder with that infuriating confidence. The way she avoided eye contact with everyone, as if she'd rather disappear entirely.

Every crack in her armor made something crack in me too.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. I hated this feeling—the helplessness of watching someone crumble and not knowing how to stop it.

Why does this always happen to me?

I thought back to the countless times I'd stepped in to help someone, even when they didn't want it. It wasn't about being a hero or anything like that. I just couldn't stand seeing people like this—broken, defeated, lost.

And now, seeing Saori like this…

It felt like a knife twisting in my chest.

I leaned my head back, staring up at the sky. "What am I supposed to do?" I muttered to myself.

She'd never let me help her. She'd probably yell at me for even trying. But what else could I do? I couldn't just ignore it.

With a deep breath, I straightened up. If talking was all I could do, then I'd talk. And if she didn't want to hear it, well… I'd figure out something else.

Later

I found her sitting alone in the garden behind the school, her knees drawn up to her chest. The scene was so unlike her that it almost didn't feel real.

I walked up slowly, my hands shoved in my pockets to keep from fidgeting. "Saori," I said, my voice softer than usual. "We need to talk."

She didn't even look up. "Go away, Riser."

"Nope," I said, sitting down on the bench a few feet away. "Not happening."

She finally turned to glare at me, but there was no fire behind it. "I mean it. Just leave me alone."

I shook my head. "Listen, Saori, you don't have to carry this burden by yourself—"

"Shut up," she snapped, cutting me off.

I blinked, caught off guard.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" she shouted, each word hitting me like a punch to the gut.

I flinched but didn't say anything. Her voice cracked on the last word, and then the tears came.

I wanted to reach out, to do something, anything, to help her. But all I could do was sit there and take it, the pain of her words sinking deeper with each repetition.

Oops, I thought, a weak smile tugging at my lips despite the ache. That one hurt.

She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking as sobs wracked through her.

"Saori…" I started, but my voice felt small, useless.

She finally looked up at me, her eyes red and filled with a mix of anger and despair. "What are you?" she demanded, her voice trembling.

I met her gaze, my weak smile still in place.

"I'm Riser Nafutori," I said simply.

.....

"I'm Riser Nafutori," I said softly, watching her face for any sign of understanding.

Her lips trembled, her eyes narrowing as if the weight of my words wasn't enough to pull her out of her spiral.

"Shut up," she whispered again, her voice weak but laced with the same frustration.

She sank to the ground, burying her face in her hands. The tears came again, harder this time, shaking her entire frame.

I didn't say anything. Instead, I lowered myself to sit beside her, leaving just enough space to give her room to breathe. I leaned back, resting my hands on the cool grass, staring up at the clouds as her muffled sobs filled the silence.

The minutes stretched on, but I stayed there, unmoving.

Slowly, the sobbing faded to sniffles, then silence.

When I glanced at her, I could see her peeking at me through her fingers, her watery gaze filled with uncertainty. She didn't say a word, but she didn't need to.

She knew.

I wasn't judging her.

I wasn't here to fix her or tell her what to do.

I was just here.

"Do you know," I said after a while, breaking the silence with a soft tone, "that I used to be a lot like you?"

She stiffened slightly but didn't turn away.

I smiled at the memory, though it wasn't exactly a fond one. "When I was much younger—way before Hana could remember—I thought the world was a place that needed to be controlled. That if I didn't keep everything in order, it'd all fall apart."

Her fingers slipped slightly from her face, her pale blue eyes watching me cautiously.

"I made a lot of mistakes," I continued. "I pushed people away, tried to do everything myself. I thought that was what it meant to be a leader—carrying all the weight so no one else had to."

I chuckled dryly. "Turns out, I was wrong. Big time."

She shifted slightly, her arms wrapping around her knees. "What changed?"

"I did," I said simply. "I realized that if I kept going like that, I'd end up alone. Miserable. And what's the point of being a leader if you don't have anyone to lead?"

She didn't respond right away, her gaze fixed on the grass.

"But you know what?" I said, glancing at her. "You don't need to change, Saori. Not for anyone. You're perfect just the way you are."

Her head snapped up, her face a mix of shock and suspicion.

I felt the heat rise to my cheeks and quickly looked away, scratching the back of my neck. "I mean, you're, uh, great… at what you do. That's all I'm saying."

She stared at me for a moment before narrowing her eyes. "You're so creepy."

I laughed, the tension breaking in an instant. "Creepy, huh? I'll take it."

To my surprise, a faint smile tugged at her lips.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. Then, she took a deep breath and leaned back slightly, her gaze turning distant.

"My parents sent me here," she began, her voice low.

I stayed quiet, letting her speak.

"They told me it was for my own good. That being in Japan would help me 'learn to be independent.'" She scoffed, her tone bitter. "But the truth is, they just didn't want to deal with me anymore."

She paused, her hands gripping her knees tightly. "In Spain, I was supposed to be this perfect daughter. Perfect student. Perfect everything. But no matter how hard I tried, it was never enough."

She looked down, her voice shaking. "When I was fourteen, I failed one exam. Just one. And my mother… she didn't speak to me for a month. My father barely looked at me. They shipped me off here like some unwanted package."

Her words hit me harder than I expected.

"I thought that if I worked hard enough, if I became perfect here, maybe they'd take me back. Maybe they'd be proud of me." She let out a hollow laugh. "But I don't even know if they remember I exist anymore."

The silence that followed was heavy, the weight of her words lingering in the air.

"Saori," I said softly, breaking the quiet.

She looked at me, her eyes filled with pain.

"I don't know what's going to happen," I said honestly. "I don't know if you'll win this election or not. But I do know this—you don't need anyone else's approval to prove your worth. You're already enough."

I reached into my pocket, pulling out a small, folded paper crane.

"Here," I said, holding it out to her.

She blinked, clearly confused.

"It's not much," I admitted, "but I made it during class one day when I was supposed to be paying attention. It's kind of my way of saying, 'I'm rooting for you.'"

Her expression shifted, a mix of annoyance and amusement. "You're rooting for the enemy?"

I grinned. "Even idiots can make great leaders."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the faint smile that crossed her lips. "You really are an idiot."

"Maybe," I said with a shrug. "But I'm your idiot now, aren't I?"

She stared at the paper crane for a moment before carefully taking it from my hand.

"Whatever happens next," she said, her voice steady despite the tears still drying on her cheeks, "I'll stand proud."