Chapter 2: Just a Feeling

Daiki shuffled his way through the cafeteria line, his stomach growling more insistently than usual. He wasn't particularly fond of the lunch rush, but today he was feeling unusually hungry—probably from staying up late finishing a stream for his latest sponsor deal. He grabbed his tray and ordered his usual: a hefty omelette with stew on the side. Today, though, he bought a bit more than usual.

He moved through the line with little thought, focusing instead on the warm steam rising from his meal. As he left the queue, his eyes scanned the cafeteria. It was busy, as usual, but his usual spot was open—the corner by the windows, tucked away from the noise. It was his safe zone, where he could eat in peace without anyone bothering him.

Daiki set his tray down and settled into the chair, the weight of the meal more than a little noticeable. It wasn't like he ate large portions often, but when he did, they were always a bit much for his slender frame. Still, the food smelled comforting, and that was all that mattered right now.

As he dug into the omelette, his thoughts drifted. He could see students laughing, talking in groups across the room. He wondered—briefly—what it would be like to sit with them, to join in on the conversations. Not that he'd ever do it. No, it was easier this way, He thought. No one expected anything from him, and that was how he preferred it.

He let out a small sigh, taking a spoonful of stew. There were moments, fleeting as they were, when the thought of having friends—people to talk to—crossed his mind. But then he always dismissed it. He didn't need them. Not with his secret.

The persona of KZ was something he'd carefully built and concealed, something that made him the star of the virtual world. To show that side of himself to anyone in real life was a risk he couldn't afford. His classmates would never understand that side of him. No, it was better to stay silent, to remain hidden in plain sight.

Just then, Daiki heard footsteps approaching. He glanced up, half-expecting to be left alone, but saw Yuki making his way over. His eyes briefly flicked toward the empty seat across from him before Yuki set his tray down, smiling as he did so.

"Akezawa-san," Yuki said casually. "Remember what I said? I'll work on putting the slides together. You could focus on gathering the research for our topic—if that's okay with you. Im just making sure if you're fine with this set-up." Yuki smiled.

Daiki paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. He'd been so distracted by his thoughts that he almost forgot—project, partners, history.

He gave a brief nod, glancing up at Yuki for a moment. "Yeah, that works," Daiki muttered, then returned to poking at his meal. His stomach, now full, seemed content with the break from thought.

Yuki didn't mind the lack of enthusiasm. He simply went on, his voice light and friendly. "Great! I'll go ahead and put together the slides tonight, and then we can figure out how to organize the research together. If you need anything, just let me know, mkay?"

Daiki nodded again, grateful for the straightforwardness. It was nice not to have to explain or over-explain, especially when he wasn't in the mood for small talk.

The rest of the lunch passed in comfortable silence. The clink of utensils against trays was the only sound between them, and Daiki felt himself relax more with each passing minute. Yuki didn't expect anything, didn't push him, and that made it easier for Kaito to focus on the meal and keep his thoughts to himself.

Drowning in his mind, Daiki couldn't deny how nice it was to have someone like Yuki as a project partner. The guy didn't push him for conversation, didn't expect him to open up. It made the whole thing... bearable. Not that Daiki would admit it, nor did he realize it.

When Yuki finished his lunch, he leaned back slightly, looking up at Daiki. "I'm kind of glad it's you for this project. You seem like someone who knows how to get things done, even if you don't say much."

Daiki blinked, surprised by the comment. He wasn't sure how to respond, so he just muttered, "I don't like wasting time." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either.

Yuki chuckled lightly. "Fair enough. We'll get it done quick and easy then."

Daiki stood up, gathering his tray. He was finished, and the thought of leaving was just a relief. He didn't want to stay longer than necessary, but he didn't want to seem rude. Yuki had been fine with the silence, and Daiki appreciated that.

"Alright, I'll see you later, Akezawa-san," Yuki said, his voice bright and easy.

"Yeah. Later," he muttered, his voice soft as he walked away and returned his tray at the counter.

Daiki stepped out of the cafeteria. The hallway was filled with students, their voices a steady hum of conversation, laughter, and the occasional clatter of shoes against the floor. He kept his gaze forward, moving at a steady pace toward the classroom, but he couldn't help glancing sideways as he passed by the other rooms.

Through the open doors, he saw clusters of students gathered around desks, chatting, leaning in close to share whispers or bursts of laughter. Some waved at passing friends, others threw crumpled bits of paper at each other, grinning at inside jokes he'd never understand. There was something seamless about it—the way they fit together without hesitation, without effort.

His fingers curled slightly around the strap of his bag.

It's better this way, he told himself, pushing the thought of their easy camaraderie aside. Better to be alone than to deal with people who could turn on you the second you slip up.

He knew how it worked. Friendships weren't just built on kindness or understanding; they were built on expectations, on trust that could be broken at any moment. And Daiki couldn't afford that.

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly as if to dislodge the thoughts creeping in. It was fine. He had KZ—his world, his stage, his control. He didn't need the distractions, the attachments, the risks. He didn't need to worry about anyone seeing through the carefully crafted walls he'd put up.

Still, as he walked past another classroom, he caught sight of a girl laughing at something her friend had whispered, her head thrown back, her eyes bright with amusement. For a fleeting moment, something in Daiki's chest twisted, an odd pang of something he refused to name.

Keep walking. Don't think about it.

By the time he reached his classroom, the usual dull weight had settled in his stomach, the one that always came before the next class. He knew the routine—find his seat, stay quiet, do the work, and wait for the day to end. It was nothing new, nothing unexpected. And yet, as he stepped inside and saw the familiar sight of students chatting around him, that weight only grew heavier.

Because for all the certainty he tried to hold onto, for all the convincing he did in his own mind—somewhere, deep down, a quiet voice still wondered if maybe, just maybe, he was wrong.

And that was a thought far more dangerous than loneliness.