Chapter 3: "Ordinary Days (and the Hidden Unusual)"

The following days at school unfolded according to the same old "script"—one so familiar that it had become tiresome.

The same dull lessons, where teachers took turns "monologuing" about knowledge that, perhaps, only they found interesting. The same bland conversations among classmates, about topics that, to me, held no significance. The same meaningless jokes, the noisy chatter, the...

(Well, I don't want to keep rambling. You're probably already too familiar with this typical "school-life motif.")

And I, Suzuki Yuuto, remained a "ghost" in the classroom—a "shadow" unnoticed by the crowd. I quietly observed everything, silently took notes on everything, and… silently tried my best not to attract anyone's attention.

The mysterious piece of paper I had found on my desk the other day—no matter how much I thought about it, I still couldn't uncover a single clue about its origin. It lay untouched inside my desk, like an unsolvable riddle, an unknown variable in an equation with no solution.

(Maybe I should just forget about it. Maybe it was just a scrap of paper, an advertisement, something… meaningless. But, somehow, I couldn't.)

…

Break time.

Instead of going to the school cafeteria—a place that, to me, was no different from a chaotic zoo—I decided to stay in the classroom, alone.

I opened my familiar notebook and began my "work." (For me, "work" meant… observing and taking notes.)

"Date… Month… Year…: The girl sitting in front of me—today, she didn't furrow her brows (?). It seems like she's in a good mood. The school's hotboy and hotgirl are still 'performing' their overly dramatic love story. The guy sitting next to me just dozed off again in History class (probably for the Nth time—I've stopped counting at this point)..."

I diligently recorded everything I observed, with meticulous detail and… objectivity.

To many, this might seem like a pointless, time-wasting activity with no real purpose. But to me, it was a way to connect with the world around me, a way to understand people, a way to… kill time.

(And, perhaps, it was also a way for me to avoid actually participating in that world.)

…

"Yuuto."

I flinched, looking up abruptly. It was my homeroom teacher. (For some reason, every time he called my name, I felt… uneasy.)

"Could you help me with something, Yuuto?" he asked, smiling kindly. (Though, I suspected that smile was fake.)

"Y-yes, sir? What is it?" I stammered.

"I need to take some important documents down to the teachers' office. Could you come with me and lend a hand?"

"…Alright."

Reluctantly, I stood up and followed him out of the classroom.

(Why me? Why not someone else? In this class, there were plenty of people stronger than me, more energetic than me, and… more willing to help than me.)

(But, of course, I couldn't say that out loud. I could only remain silent and comply.)

…

When we reached the teachers' office, I waited outside while my homeroom teacher went in to handle his work.

And that was when I saw her.

Sitting on one of the waiting chairs right in front of the office door. Long black hair, falling gently over her shoulders. Thick glasses, covering most of her face. And that same familiar green book.

It was the girl I had met in the library the other day.

(What was she doing here? Was she waiting to meet a teacher? Or… was she waiting for someone else, just like me?)

I stood there, unmoving, secretly observing her. (Of course, I didn't dare to look at her directly. I was afraid she would notice… and judge me.)

She kept her head down, completely engrossed in her book, seemingly unaware of my presence—or of anyone else's, for that matter.

And once again, I found myself inexplicably drawn to her eyes.

(Even though, this time, I couldn't actually see them. I could only picture them in my mind, based on the memory from our previous encounter.)

Eyes that were… mysterious. Eyes that were… beautiful. Eyes that seemed to hold an entire world within them.

…

"Yuuto, come in and help me for a moment."

My teacher's voice abruptly cut through my wandering thoughts.

Startled, I quickly stepped into the office, leaving the girl alone outside.

(Inside, I felt a pang of regret—regret that I had missed another rare chance to watch her just a little longer.)

…

After assisting my teacher, I returned to class.

Yet, for the rest of the school day, the image of the girl in the library—along with the green-covered book she was reading—lingered in my mind, refusing to fade away.

(Could it be that there was some invisible connection between us? Or was all of this just mere coincidence?)

(More importantly, why did I even care about her so much? She had nothing to do with my life.)

…

After school.

Usually, after class, I would go to the library. But today, I chose not to.

(Not because I didn't want to go. But because… I was afraid. Afraid that I might run into her again. Afraid that I would become flustered, awkward, and foolish in front of her.)

Instead, I decided to head straight home.

On the way, I stopped by a convenience store to buy a bottle of water.

And while waiting in line to pay, I saw her again.

Standing a few people ahead of me. Long black hair, thick glasses, and… a green canvas bag slung over her shoulder.

(Green again. The color of… hope? The color of… life? Or the color of… something else?)

Holding my breath, I silently observed her from behind.

I watched as she bought a carton of milk and a piece of bread.

(A simple, modest meal. Just like… me.)

Then, she paid and quickly left the store.

And once again, I missed my chance to speak to her, to get to know her, to… understand her.

…

Back home, I went straight to my room, shut the door, and took out my notebook.

"Date… Month… Year…: Saw the library girl again. Teachers' office. Convenience store. Green. Milk. Bread. ???."

I hesitated for a moment, then added another line:

"Maybe… it's time I start gathering more information about this girl."

…And elsewhere, in a quiet moment, I recalled passing by the library after school.

On a table, I saw a green-covered book, left there all alone.

I had no idea who had dropped it, or who had forgotten it.

(But how was I supposed to learn more about her? And, more importantly, why did I even want to?)

I stared at my notes and wondered—since when had I begun to care so much about someone else?

"Tomorrow… maybe, I'll go back to the library."